By nightfall, the compound in Mbuyu Street had its usual lights on in the main house, but the workshop was completely dark.
Mariam noticed the difference before she even reached the gate.
The veranda light was burning. The refrigerator inside hummed as usual. In one of the rental stalls, a small radio played softly.
Only the workshop was black.
Pendo was already standing by the door, hands on his hips.
“Mama, this isn’t normal.”
“Don’t touch anything.”
“I came and found the meter dead.”
“The main breaker?”
“I don’t know. Elias said we shouldn’t open without him.”
Mariam took out her phone and photographed the meter from a distance. The screen was blank. No indicator light.
“Where is Elias?”
“Inside.”
She called him.
He answered after four rings.
“Yes?”
“The workshop has no power.”
“And what do you want me to do about it?”
“Come. We look at it together.”
“Tomorrow.”
“The stock is inside, and the school batch needs finishing.”
“Mariam—”
“I’m not opening without you. Come.”
Ten minutes later he emerged with the key, wearing the expression of a man exhausted by the fact that every conversation had become an evidence session.
“Again?”
“Tonight it’s the electricity.”
“I paused the frontage proposal, like you wanted.”
“That is a different issue.”
He unlocked the outer padlock but held back the key to the inner grille.
“What exactly are we looking for?”
“Why the meter is off and whether the stock is intact.”
“And the sample batch,” Pendo said.
Elias looked at him. “Stay out of the family matter.”
“My wages are inside the family matter now.”
Mariam silenced Pendo with a look.
“Open it.”
Elias unlocked the grille.
The smell of fabric, machine oil, and dust met Mariam the moment they stepped inside. For a second she could almost imagine Hamisi appearing from the back and asking why they were working in darkness.
He did not.
Pendo shone his phone torch toward the sub-meter.
“Look.”
The workshop breaker was down.
“Maybe it tripped,” Elias said.
Mariam did not touch it.
“Why is the main house fine?”
“Different circuits.”
“I know. I want to know why this one went down.”
“It was up yesterday,” Pendo said.
Elias turned on him. “You were inside yesterday?”
“During supervised access for the sample.”
“What time did you leave?”
“We can check the log,” Mariam said.
She opened the notebook she had started after the lockout. Yesterday’s entry read: Mariam, Pendo, Elias present; entry 10:05, exit 10:32; breaker status not checked.
“So we don’t know it was up when you left,” Elias said.
“The lights were on,” Pendo replied.
“That proves it was up then. Not after.”
Mariam nodded. “Fine. We don’t jump ahead.”
She wrote: workshop power off on arrival; main house power on; sub-meter breaker found down; cause unknown.
Elias read over her shoulder.
“Cause unknown?”
“Yes.”
“You could also write that you don’t know whether anyone switched it off.”
“That is what unknown means.”
Pendo exhaled hard.
“But who else could have come in?”
“Don’t turn the question into an accusation,” Mariam said. “First, the locks.”
They photographed the outer padlock, the grille lock, and the side window. No forced-entry marks. The inner latch looked normal.
“Now?” Elias asked.
“We lift the breaker in front of each other.”
Mariam put on a rubber glove from the toolbox and pushed the switch up.
One light came on.
The overlock machine gave a short beep.
No fuse blew.
“So someone switched it off,” Pendo said.
“Or the breaker dropped without leaving damage,” Mariam replied. “We do not know who.”
“But—”
“Pendo.”
He stopped.
They moved on to stock.
One roll of blue poplin—present. Two grey rolls—present. Button boxes—three, not four as Mariam remembered. Zips—one pack opened. Overlock thread—present. Completed samples—two.
“This is why I keep saying memory is not enough,” Elias said.
Mariam nodded. “On that, I agree.”
“I may have taken one box of buttons before the funeral,” Pendo said.
“Production sheet?” Mariam asked.
“It might show it.”
They went to the shelf beside the larger machine.
Mariam looked for the measurement book.
It was not there.
She checked again.
Top shelf. Bottom drawer. Under the pattern papers. Inside the plastic crate.
Nothing.
“Was it here?” Elias asked.
Mariam forced herself to answer with facts.
“Last confirmed location?”
“Monday,” Pendo said. “I put it on the second shelf after recording sizes.”
“Who was inside?”
“Me, Mama Mariam, and you.”
Elias’s face tightened.
“What are you implying?”
“I answered the question.”
Mariam put a hand on the worktable.
“Stop. No one is called a thief without proof.”
“But both of you are looking at me.”
“Because you hold the key,” Pendo said.
“And Mariam held a key before the lock changed.”
“But she doesn’t now.”
“This is exactly why we need an access protocol,” Mariam said. “Not accusations.”
She opened a fresh page.
ENTRY — two-person witness where possible. POWER STATUS — record on entry and exit. STOCK REMOVAL — item, reason, signature. DOCUMENTS — scan critical books. KEY HOLDERS — listed.
Elias gave a bitter laugh. “My father’s house has become a government warehouse.”
“Because every missing item turns into an accusation.”
“And you believe I didn’t take the book?”
Mariam looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
The answer hurt him more than a direct accusation.
“You could have said you don’t suspect me.”
“I would be lying if I said that. Suspicion is not proof.”
Silence filled the room.
They searched under the cutting table. Fabric scraps, an invoice envelope, a broken ruler, an old receipt, two spools of thread.
No book.
Mariam felt her stomach tighten. The book was not just measurements. It held customer contacts, deposits, fitting notes, school sizes, order history. A person could damage the workshop without moving a single machine.
“If it’s gone, we lose two wedding fittings,” Pendo said.
“We rebuild from messages.”
“And school sizes?”
“Procurement has a copy.”
“Private clients?”
“We call them.”
“You see?” Elias said. “Everything has a backup.”
“No. Everything has a cost to rebuild.”
Mariam wrote down the missing item and the last-seen date. Then she asked Elias to sign that he had been present when they discovered it.
“I’m not signing that I stole anything.”
“It doesn’t say that.”
He read the line twice.
Observed missing from usual shelf during supervised access. Cause unknown.
He signed.
Pendo signed too.
Before leaving, Mariam lowered the breaker and raised it again to test whether it would slip. It held.
She recorded that as well.
Elias locked the grille and then the outer padlock.
“Tomorrow we need a duplicate key for supervised hours,” Mariam said.
“No.”
“Then a temporary-access request goes to the mediator.”
“Do whatever you want.”
Pendo slipped back inside for a final glance at one shelf. He emerged seconds later pale-faced.
He stepped close to Mariam and whispered,
“The measurement book is gone.”
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