The overhead chandelier went black. The low-fi ambient music piping from the smart speaker choked and cut off. The faux-electric fireplace flickered out. The hum of the six stolen space heaters fell silent.
We were plunged into sudden, absolute darkness.
Mom unleashed a piercing shriek. Cartier the Pomeranian began barking from within his stroller. Kyle yelled from his position behind the curtains, “I did not touch anything! I am innocent!”
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and activated the high-beam flashlight, cutting a harsh, white beam through the gloom.
I swept the light across the room.
“What just happened?” Brooke whispered, her voice devoid of its previous bravado.
“The main breaker just tripped,” I said, sighing. I pointed the beam at Mom. “How many electric space heaters were running concurrently on this floor?”
Mom flinched under the glare. “Six.”
“Six,” I repeated flatly. “And what about the electric warming trays on the buffet table?”
