No Memes of Escape

by Olivia Blacke

  “Where are your parents now?” Izzy rarely talked about her childhood, and up until now, I’d never heard her mention her family at all. It was strange, in a city where so many grown adults still lived at home, for Izzy to seem to come out of nowhere.

  “Florida.” She rolled her eyes. “Palm Beach, I think. It’s been a while since we talked.”

  I didn’t push it any further. If she wanted to talk about it, she would. “Do you think the shed’s still there?”

  “Nah. Collapsed after a particularly bad snowstorm.” She walked briskly away from the house, without looking back. Three houses later, she turned and walked up the path to a glass-front door obscured behind a barred security door. She knocked and a second later, the door opened. Gennifer stepped onto the front porch.

  Gennifer swept Izzy up in a huge bear hug. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t think I’d ever live to see you step foot in Staten Island after graduation.”

  “I’m as surprised as anyone,” Izzy said. “I’m dying out here. Can we come in?”

  “Of course! But we’ve got to try to keep it down, please, the baby just went down for a nap.” I was impressed. I didn’t even know where I was going to be living in a few days, but Gennifer seemed to have it all figured out—a husband, a baby, even a cute little house in the suburbs. It was hard to wrap my head around the fact that people my age were already having babies of their own, while I was still sitting at the kids’ table.

  I wasn’t ready for adulting.

  Gennifer ushered us inside and disappeared into the kitchen. “Water? Soda? Coffee? Beer?”

  “Water’s fine,” Izzy said, and I agreed. This morning’s coffee was long gone, and I didn’t realize how parched I was until she offered. Traipsing around three of the five boroughs in this heat would do that to a person.

  We settled onto couches with a bright floral pattern preserved underneath a thick plastic cover and waited for Gennifer to return from the kitchen. She handed us our drinks and then placed coasters on the coffee table in front of us. “So, Vickie,” Izzy prompted.

  “Yup. Her service is next Tuesday. You coming?”

  “I’ll have to think about it. Maybe. To be honest, I’m kinda surprised you two hung out. She was a real jerk to you back in high school.”

  Gennifer shrugged. “She’s not so bad. We got to talking at the five-year class reunion. Missed you, by the way.” Izzy made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat, and Gennifer continued, “She’s trying to get me to sell Mom’s house and buy something bigger in New Jersey, but we like it here, you know? Plus, Pete’s job is on the island and this is a good school district for when Penny gets older.”

  “So you guys were, what? Friends?” Izzy asked.

  “I mean, we weren’t close, not really. You know how she is.” Gennifer flinched, and then corrected herself. “Was. She wasn’t mean to me like she was back in the day, but she could be intense.”

  “Amanda called her a bully,” I said, because Gennifer seemed to be dancing around the fact. “Is that what you meant when you said she used to be mean to you?”

  “We were just kids,” Gennifer replied.

  “She picked on everyone, but you were a favorite target,” Izzy added.

  “I wouldn’t say that. Sure, she was opinionated and used to stick gum in my hair when we were little. But it wasn’t like we spent a lot of time together.”

  “Then why were you at her celebration?” I asked.

  “Do you know how hard it is to make friends as an adult?” Gennifer asked. When I nodded, vigorously, Gennifer grinned. “The struggle is real.”

  I turned to Izzy. “That’s why I’m so lucky to have you. And Parker. And why I wouldn’t risk blowing that for a date.”

  “Yeah, sure. Heard you the first time,” Izzy said, but she still didn’t sound convinced.

  I turned to Gennifer. “Did Vickie have any close friends? It was supposed to be her special day, but as far as I can tell, the only people that she got to come out with her were a coworker, some clients, and women she went to school with who didn’t even like her that much.”

  Gennifer laughed. “Far be it from me to throw shade, but Vickie’s not exactly the friendly type. She wasn’t what I’d call easy to get along with.”

  “But who would want to kill her?” I asked.

  “A couple of years ago? I would have said Izzy.”

  “What?” I looked back and forth between her and Izzy.

  Izzy stared daggers at Gennifer. “Go ahead. Spill the tea.”

  “Not to put anyone on blast, but Vickie has . . . had . . . a reputation. She liked to steal anything anyone else had, especially boys. But especially boys that Izzy wanted. There used to be a saying back in high school that the easiest way for a guy to get Vickie’s attention was for them to ask Izzy out on a date. Wasn’t that true?”

  Izzy’s jaw moved as if she was grinding her teeth together. Instead of answering, she gave a terse nod. Then she relaxed her jaw. “That was ages ago.”

  “Sure, but back in the day, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you took a crowbar to her. Who was that one guy you had such a huge crush on, but then he dumped you on prom night? Brad something?”

  “Brad Maplecourt,” she supplied.

  “Wait, is that the same Brad that hid out in your shed?” I asked.

  “Aw, yes, I’d forgotten about that!” Gennifer exclaimed. “We used to smuggle soda pops out of your house and hide in the shed for hours cutting pictures out of magazines. Good times.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You know that girl Amanda that was in the escape room with us? Vickie stole her boyfriend just last week. I mean, honestly, some people just never grow up. Vickie was even bragging about it Friday right before Amanda got there, like it was some kind of contest and she was winning.”

  “Amanda’s current boyfriend was cheating on her with Vickie? Are you sure they weren’t talking about old news?” I asked. I gave Izzy a knowing look. Unless Gennifer was mistaken, it sounded like history was repeating itself. Funny how Amanda hadn’t mentioned that to us when we interviewed her yesterday.

  “That’s what Vickie said. And I overheard the two of them arguing while we were walking. They tried to keep their voices down so we couldn’t eavesdrop, but Amanda sure was mad about something.”

  My phone rang and I glanced at the screen. I expected it to be Todd, calling to yell at me for ditching work, since he was pretty much the only person I knew who called instead of texting like everyone else. Then I saw the caller ID. Vincent Castillo. I showed the screen to Izzy, and she waved me away. “I’m not here,” she said.

  I jumped up and moved to the hall before answering, “Hey.”

  “Izzy with you?” he asked, no greeting, no anything. Then again, that would have been a waste of time since I already knew it was him.

  “Nope,” I said, crossing my fingers to ward off the white lie. I mean, Izzy wasn’t with me. She was in the other room.

  “Odessa,” he growled, his voice low and warning.

  “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not Izzy’s keeper. Besides . . .”

  “If you try to tell me her phone’s dead or out of minutes or some such nonsense, I’ll, well, I’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

  “Look, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her next time I see her, alrighty?”

  “Promise?”

  “Pinkie swear,” I said, keeping my fingers crossed.

  The doorbell rang. Upstairs, a baby began to cry.

  “Rats,” Gennifer said, sprinting up the stairs. “Get that for me, will ya?”

  I opened the front door.

  Detective Vincent Castillo stood on the front step. And he did not look happy.

  19

  Odessa Dean @OdessaWaiting ∙ July 15

  Does anyone even pinki
e swear anymore, or is it just me? It’s just me, isn’t it? #pinkieswear #sorrynotsorry

  As usual, Vincent Castillo’s dark hair was buzzed short. He wore tight, dark indigo jeans with a pale green shirt and a coal gray vest. He held his phone up to one ear and the other hand was poised to ring the doorbell again. He glared at me as he hung up the phone.

  Before I could say anything, Izzy appeared from the living room. “Who is it?” She froze, then let out an exaggerated sigh. “Might as well come on in and join the party.”

  Castillo brushed past me. “Pinkie swear?” he asked, shaking his head. “I expected better from you.” I shrugged and followed him. When he sat down on the sofa, the plastic cover let out a squeak. “You’ve been dodging my calls,” he said to Izzy. “And worse, you got Odessa to cover for you.”

  “I wasn’t covering . . .”

  He silenced me with another glare.

  “Vince, I was about to call you,” Izzy said. Overhead, I could hear creaks coming from old, loose floorboards as Gennifer presumably paced with the baby, trying to quiet her. “How did you find me?”

  “I’m good at my job.” He glanced around the living room, taking in the floral furniture, the baby playpen in the center of the carpet, and the framed photographs on the walls before focusing on the stairs leading to the second floor. “Is Ms. Buckley available?”

  “She’s upstairs. I’ll go get her for you,” Izzy volunteered.

  “Nice try,” Castillo said, rising from the sofa. “Then you can shimmy out an upstairs window to what, the drainpipe? A trellis?”

  “I feel seen,” Izzy said.

  “Which one is it? A drainpipe or a trellis?” Castillo asked.

  “The garage roof,” Izzy admitted. “The yard slopes up to meet it. There’s only a three-foot drop from there.”

  “What’d you do, scope the place out before you came over?” he asked.

  “Gennifer grew up here and I was over a lot. We might have snuck out once or twice when we were in high school. Odessa, do you mind asking Gennifer to come downstairs?”

  As I mounted the stairs, I heard Castillo chuckle. “I have to admire your spirit, Iz.” If he was laughing, maybe he wasn’t arresting Izzy. Or me, for that matter. Was I harboring a fugitive? Aiding and abetting? I sure hoped not.

  “Hey, Gennifer, Detective Castillo is here to see you,” I said, sticking my head into a room that looked like the pink factory had exploded. The walls were pink. The carpet was pink. The curtains were pink. The five-foot-tall bear shoved into a pink rocking chair was pink. On seeing me, the baby’s cries escalated to wails.

  Little Penny had chubby little cheeks and chubby little fists that she waved about in frustration. She had a full head of dark hair and if her screams were any indication, very healthy lungs. Poor thing. I often felt like crying when people woke me up from naps, too.

  Gennifer nodded at me over the baby’s head. “Coming.”

  I followed them back down the stairs, wondering if Vincent would notice if we slipped out while he was interrogating Gennifer. Izzy must have been on the same wavelength, because as soon as she saw me, she announced, “We’ll just give you two some privacy,” and headed for the front door.

  “Sit,” he told her. Izzy sat.

  Gennifer stood in the center of her living room, bouncing the fussy baby on her hip. “Can I offer you something? Coffee? Water?”

  “I’m fine,” Castillo said. “I’m here to follow up on Ms. Marsh’s death. Have you thought of anything new?”

  Gennifer shook her head. “Sorry, no.”

  “Okay, then, I think we’re finished here.”

  “That’s it?” Izzy asked, popping up off the couch. “You’ve been hounding me for days and all you have for Gennifer is one lousy question?”

  “Ms. Buckley has been very forthcoming and cooperative. And her fingerprints weren’t found on the murder weapon.”

  “Yeah, well, did she tell you that there was a Facebook invite that went out for Vickie’s little celebration party? Instead of focusing on the people who did show up, maybe you should be interrogating the ones that didn’t.”

  “I’m sure there were plenty of people that weren’t locked in the escape room when Ms. Marsh died. That’s over eight million solid alibis in New York City alone. I’m more interested in the people that were in the room at the time.” He shifted his focus to Gennifer. “But as long as I’m here, mind sharing that Facebook invite?”

  Gennifer nodded. “Screenshots okay?” She handed Penny off to Izzy, retrieved her phone, and started scrolling through the app.

  Castillo handed her his business card. “If you could email that to me, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Send me a copy, too,” Izzy mouthed, pantomiming with her free hand.

  Castillo’s phone chimed. He scrolled through his email before standing. “Thank you very much, Ms. Buckley. Izzy, Odessa, let’s go. I’m giving both of you a ride back to Williamsburg.”

  “I’d love to, but Penny just fell back asleep,” Izzy said, rocking the baby. She really did look like a tiny angel, when she wasn’t screaming at the top of her lungs.

  “Give the baby back and get in the car,” Castillo ordered.

  We complied, following him back to his car. Izzy got in the front seat, and I climbed into the back. It wasn’t the same marked cruiser Castillo had been driving the day before—or was that two days ago? The days were starting to blur together—but it was obviously police issue, from the nondescript paint job to the smell of one too many stakeouts. I sat in the back, in the middle so I wouldn’t miss a word from the front seat. I mean, it’s not eavesdropping if everyone’s in the same car, right?

  Right?

  Which might have been true if anyone was talking.

  “Are we under arrest?” Izzy asked.

  “For what? Hanging out in Staten Island? They might revoke your hipster card if anyone finds out, but last I checked, it wasn’t an arrestable offense. Technically, you haven’t even left New York City.”

  “We’re not hipsters,” Izzy protested.

  “You live in Williamsburg. You work in a bookstore that sells craft beer. You won a cornhole tournament. You might as well both have man buns and ironic mustache tattoos on your fingers.”

  “That doesn’t make us . . .”

  “You’ve been dodging my calls,” he interrupted her.

  “It’s been a hectic few days.”

  “Yup, imagine it has been. Good thing I can save you, what, an hour or so on transit.” He merged into a line of traffic heading for the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge. At almost a mile long, the Verrazzano was one of the longest suspension bridges in the U.S. It was certainly the longest and highest bridge I had ever seen, and crossing it made my stomach coil up in knots. I wasn’t scared of heights, not really, but flying across a double-decker bridge at what felt like a gazillion miles per hour with multiple lanes of traffic was where I drew the line.

  “Thanks,” Izzy said, looking out the passenger window. I didn’t understand how she could do that so casually, when what I really wanted to do was close my eyes and hold my breath until we were safely on the other side. Of course, that wouldn’t block out the sound of the wind buffeting the car or the heart-stopping thud of the tires going over supports. “Sorry. I know you’re mad.”

  “I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.” He let the silence stretch out again, before asking, “Where are you staying?”

  “Around,” Izzy responded.

  “I’m not familiar with that neighborhood. Sorta hard to drop you off at ‘around.’ ”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Not only was the end of the bridge in sight, but dropping us off seemed a whole lot more encouraging than locking us up and throwing away the key.

  “You can drop us at Untapped,” Izzy said, shifting in her seat. I could tell by the weariness in her voic
e that she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. The silence stretched out between us. I was half tempted to ask Castillo to turn on the radio, just to break the tension. But Izzy broke first. “I haven’t been avoiding you, you know. I’ve been busy. Plus, after our last conversation, I wasn’t sure you wanted to talk to me.”

  “Sure. I’ve left you twenty messages a day because I didn’t want to talk.”

  “I told you . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah. Your phone is dead. It’s out of minutes. You can’t find your charger. The dog ate it.” He took one hand off the steering wheel and dropped it on her knee. “Here’s the problem, Iz. I know you’re not the murdering type, but as lead detective on this case, I need to convince my captain that I’m completely objective or she’s gonna replace me with someone who isn’t dating you. Someone who is gonna take one look at your fingerprints on the murder weapon, review the witness statements that all say the same thing—you didn’t get along with the vic—and bring you in for a forty-eight-hour hold while they interrogate you and wait for you to slip up.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Izzy protested.

  “To some cops, that might not matter.” He paused and let that sink in. “Here’s the deal. You had beef with the vic. You provided the murder weapon—your cornhole trophy. I’ve only got five possible suspects, and none of you can give a full accounting as to where the other suspects were at any given time. It’s impossible to narrow down the vic’s death to less than an hour-long window when you all were in a locked room together, so all I have to go on is fingerprints. Your fingerprints. And you were one of the people who discovered the body. You see why this might be a problem?”