I retreated to the corner of the café where I could survey the tables without hovering and wondered what I was going to do about Vickie. As far as I could tell, none of the top three suspects popped out at me. None of them were exactly Vickie’s biggest fan, but that didn’t mean they had murderous intent. Had I been asking the wrong questions? Or maybe they were all just really good actors.
In any event, I wasn’t going to solve this case by thinking about it in between serving tables. I needed to do something. I loved listening to true crime podcasts. One of my favorites featured a big dramatic scene at the end when the police detective corralled all the suspects in one room and asked a few vague questions to confirm their suspicions before making the big reveal.
If only I could do something like that.
Then it hit me—I could.
I pulled out my phone and called Izzy. She answered on the second ring, to my surprise. “Hey, glad to see you’re picking up for once,” I teased.
On the other end of the line, I could practically hear her roll her eyes at me. “Doofus. What’s up?”
“I’ve got an idea.”
“Uh-oh,” she replied.
“Bear with me. We round up everyone who was in the escape room and convince them to go back with us and try the game again.”
“To what end?” Izzy asked.
“We get them to return to the scene of the crime and trick one of them into confessing. Easy, peasy. Vickie’s killer is exposed, and you’re off the hook with all the loose ends tied up in a neat little bow.”
“I’m totally here for it. Gimme a minute to see what I can do, and I’ll get back to you soon about Escape Room Two: Escape Harder.”
“Thanks,” I told her, ending the call. If anyone could arrange to get everyone back together to the scene of the crime, it was Izzy.
Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, she texted me to say we were on. She was even able to use the coupons we got last time to lower the cost. I didn’t know how she’d managed to reserve the escape room on short notice or get everyone to agree to it, but we were set for this evening. If Izzy ever got tired of working at Untapped, she’d make a killing as an event planner.
I would have just enough time to go home, check in with my aunt, and change before meeting up with Izzy, assuming that my relief was on time. She wasn’t. A mere five minutes before I had to leave to get to the escape room, Emilie breezed in. Her hair was rolled into big poufy curls held back by a black handkerchief decorated with pink skulls. She wore a coordinating black-and-pink-checkered skirt fluffed out by layers of petticoats that whooshed when she walked. The garish Untapped Books & Café neon green polo shirt was such an incongruous addition to her outfit that she almost made it work.
Almost.
I untied my apron and tossed it over my shoulder. “Table Seven is ready to order, Table Eleven is debating dessert, the dude at the counter has been sitting there for ages but swears he’s good, and Table Six should be ready for their check.” I handed her the notepad where I kept track of orders.
“Hello to you, too,” Emilie said, grinning widely. Her lips were fire-engine red. I was more of a lip gloss girl, but I was impressed with her ability to have perfectly applied makeup at all times.
“Hey. Sorry, didn’t mean to be short, I’m in a hurry.”
“No need to apologize,” she replied with another toothy grin.
“Push the potato salad, Parker made a ton, but it’s not moving. We’re out of pita bread and just got in a shipment of beer so we have a great selection. I recommend the Orange Is the New Beer IPA. And by the way, cute scarf.”
“Thanks! And sorry for being late, I forgot I was scheduled to work tonight, until Andre called and asked me where I was.”
“No worries.” That was odd. Normally, it was Todd who ended up hassling anyone who was late for their shift. Then again, the downside for this new, more relaxed Todd might be that now that he was distracted by his internet dates, he was dropping the ball at work. I wondered if today’s beer shipment had been the shipper’s fault after all, or if Todd had forgotten to place the order last week.
I turned to wave at Parker but he was busy. I headed back toward the hall, where I hung my apron on its hook with a pang of sadness. This might be my last time using this hook. If I didn’t find an apartment in the next twenty-four hours, tomorrow at the end of my shift, I would have to turn my apron in. It would be washed and reissued to my replacement, or more likely, a string of replacements. Turnover at a café like Untapped was high and the average server lasted six months or less.
I stopped to check on Huckleberry. He’d managed to knock over a stack of books in his never-ending quest to find the best spots to nap, and was on his back, sound asleep in a bright shaft of sunshine, surrounded by this month’s employee picks. One ear was flipped inside out, his tongue lolled out of his mouth, and there was a thin line of drool coming from his muzzle. I snapped a picture and posted it with the caption “Untapped Books & Café—books *and* craft beer? What could possibly go wrong?” I reshelved the scattered books and scratched his belly without ever waking him up.
The bell over the door jingled and Raleigh stepped inside. Like last night, his hair was neatly buzzed, but tonight he had on red plastic-rimmed glasses and his T-shirt advertised the 1988 Calgary Olympics. “Fancy bumping into you here,” he said, resting his hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, Raleigh. I’ve got to run, but Emilie can seat you.”
He shook his head, a look of confusion on his face. “I thought you wanted to meet here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said something about an escape room?”
I groaned. Izzy. “Sorry for the mix-up. Let me guess, you got a message on Tinder?”
He chuckled. “Of course. That’s how we’ve been communicating.”
“Not exactly.” The door chimed and I stepped into a cross aisle to make room for the new customer to enter. Raleigh followed my lead, standing a little closer to me than I would have liked. He was tall enough to reach the top shelf with ease, which meant I had to crane my neck to look up to him when he was this close. “I’m not the person you’ve been talking with online.”
22
Chef Parker @2_Bee_Or_Not_2_Bee ∙ July 15
What did the Millennial do for their 25th birthday? They worked a double. Because they’re poor, have overwhelming student loan debt, and have no medical insurance. #dadjokes #happyalmostbirthdaytome
Raleigh shrugged. “Come on, no one is exactly who they say they are online. Although, I have to admit I was pleasantly surprised by you. You’re the real deal.”
“But that’s just it. You weren’t talking to me. You were talking to my friend, who was pretending to be me.”
“Are you telling me I’ve been catfished?” Raleigh asked, his brow wrinkling.
Unlike some men who let their facial hair explode in whatever direction it liked, including their ears and neck, Raleigh probably spent more time on personal grooming than I did. His eyebrows were as neat and ordered as his goatee, with nary a sign of the dreaded unibrow. Despite his dark hair, I didn’t see any telltale black chest hair peeking out of the collar of his ringer tee. His skin looked moisturized and if he had any pores, they would only be visible under an electron microscope. Add in long, full eyelashes and I was almost jealous of him.
None of which made this conversation any easier.
“Not exactly. I told her I wasn’t interested in dating, but she went ahead and opened a Tinder account for me anyway. I just found out she’s been talking to my matches without my knowledge so she can set me up on dates.” I thought back to all of the odd text messages, gifts, and the attempted video chat. Izzy had been busy.
“What a horrible friend!” he exclaimed.
“She meant well,” I said, defending her. I could get mad at Izzy for doing all this
behind my back, but I wasn’t gonna let Raleigh talk smack about my bestie. “She thought she was helping.”
He took a deep breath, unconsciously scratching at his elbow. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. It’s cringy, you know. I really liked you, or at least the you that I had such great conversations with.”
Great. Apparently, Izzy was a modern-day Cyrano de Bergerac. “I’d introduce you two, but she already has a boyfriend.”
“Isn’t that always the case? But this clears up why you act so different in person than you did over IM. I wrote it off as you being shy or something. I thought we had a real connection, but you acted like you didn’t know me at all. I guess that’s because you didn’t.” He sighed. “And the escape room? Was that a ruse, too?”
“No, that’s real,” I admitted. “In fact, I’m heading there now. I’m running late.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
Seriously? I told Raleigh that I wasn’t at all who or what he thought, and he still wanted to spend time with me? Those must have been some spectacular conversations he’d had with Izzy.
“Odessa, wait up!” I turned to see Parker hurrying toward us. “I’m glad I caught you. Instead of waiting for Wednesday, how about we go get that coffee and Limoncello cake we talked about now?” He looked over at me and then back to Raleigh. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Nope,” I replied. “Parker, this is Raleigh. We, um, kinda met on Tinder. Raleigh, this is my good friend Parker.” They exchanged curt nods. “Sorry, Parker, I’m gonna have to take a rain check on that Limoncello cake. I am supposed to be meeting Izzy at the escape room in . . .” I glanced at the clock on the wall over the front desk. It was enormous, a custom piece with heavy hands in the middle ringed by number-themed books that we swapped out whenever we got bored. The long hand was almost pointing at Twelve Years a Slave. I could see that someone had removed my most recent contribution, Life of Pi, which I had hung just a tad bit lower than the previous “three” book had been. “Well, now, actually.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Parker offered.
“I already Venmo’d you for my escape room ticket,” Raleigh said. “So I might as well come along.”
“Another escape room?” Parker asked. “This is your second in, what, a week? Next thing you know, you’re gonna be one of those escape room junkies that goes every weekend.”
“I doubt that,” I said. “They’re expensive. Why don’t you and Hazel join us?” I had no idea how many people could participate in an escape room or how many people were already coming, but it was comforting to know that there would be at least another friendly face there.
Not that Raleigh wasn’t friendly, I just didn’t know him very well. Or at all.
“Hazel’s got plans, but I’d love to tag along,” Parker agreed. He was closer to the front door, so he opened it and gestured to Raleigh. “After you.” I followed Raleigh out onto the sidewalk.
It was nearing sunset, and the sun was piercing between the Manhattan high-rise buildings on the other side of the river. It was still stifling outside, and I was glad I’d worn a breathable skirt. However, I’d forgotten to change out of my work shirt. I tugged at the stiff collar and willed myself not to sweat. I’d learned the hard way that these cheapo dyed polos were not color safe and unless I wanted to look like the Incredible Hulk, I’d do best to avoid sweaty skin coming into contact with the shirt until I’d had a chance to wash it a few times.
We arrived at the building on 5th Street, and I noticed a “For Sale” sign on the door below the “Verrazzano-Narrows Escape!” sign, along with a phone number and website address for the same company that Vickie Marsh and Marlie Robbinson worked for. I hadn’t noticed the sign the last time we were here. Vickie’s picture was on the sign as the listing agent. That was interesting. I wondered if the companies inside would soon be homeless or if they would continue to lease space from the new owner.
The idea that someone could own an entire building in New York City blew my mind. I couldn’t even afford bus fare to get home to Piney Island. I couldn’t fathom scraping up enough money to pay rent for a studio apartment in Williamsburg, much less the exorbitant real estate broker fee.
We approached the sign-in desk, and to my surprise, I instantly recognized a familiar face behind the counter. Yes, one of the two men was the same pimply-faced tuxedo-wearing man who had checked us in last time, but my attention was drawn to the other clerk. Standing there in a crisp white shirt and shiny black pants, with a sparkly red bow tie around his neck was Detective Vincent Castillo.
He narrowed his eyes at me and gave me a shake of the head so slight that if I wasn’t focused completely on him, I would have missed it.
“Hi,” I said. “Three more for the Clueless room. I see the rest of our party is already here.”
“Aren’t you . . .” Parker started to ask, and I stomped on his foot, cutting him off in midsentence. I’d forgotten that he had to have seen Castillo hanging around Untapped Books & Café before and likely recognized him.
“Everyone needs to sign in,” I said, grabbing clipboards that I shoved at Parker and Raleigh. If the Game Master noticed Parker’s gaffe, he didn’t show any sign of it. I got another clipboard for myself and turned to wave at the assorted women assembled on the waiting room chairs. “Hey, y’all. This is Parker and Raleigh,” I announced to the room.
Gennifer waved back. Marlie was there, too. She glanced at them without much interest. She was dressed as usual in business attire that had probably been purchased in a store that had gone out of business a decade ago. Her clothes were in great condition for their age, but they were out of fashion. Then again, maybe there were clothing websites that catered exclusively to real estate agents permanently stuck in the nineties.
Amanda was taking selfies of herself, of course. She didn’t notice us. She was too busy reviewing her pictures and then trying again with a slightly different angle.
Finally, there was Izzy. She looked bored as she played with her phone, but then my phone buzzed. It was a text from her. Act cool! it said, followed by a winky-face emoji. I gave her a half grin. It would have been nicer if she had warned me before I noticed Castillo behind the counter.
“Excuse me, ma’am, I need a copy of your driver’s license,” Castillo said, holding out his hand when I turned back toward the counter.
“Yeah, alrighty, sure.” As I dug for my wallet, Parker and Raleigh must have been in a race to see who could produce their driver’s license first, and both slapped their ID cards down on the counter at the same time. I noticed that Raleigh’s was an actual driver’s license, whereas Parker’s was a state ID. Considering how few native New Yorkers ever needed to learn how to drive a car, much less own one, it wasn’t surprising.
“Follow me,” Castillo said, indicating me. I gathered up the other IDs and followed him into an adjacent room where he lined up the IDs on a copier. “You don’t know me,” he said.
“I’m starting to think I really don’t,” I agreed.
“When Izzy told me your plan, I knew I couldn’t talk you two out of it, but I wasn’t about to let you get locked in a room with a bunch of potential murderers.”
“You know the door isn’t really locked, right?”
“Huh?” he asked.
“Ask the other guy, the Game Master. He’ll explain.”
“He is going to give me access to the cameras so I can watch your every move. Company policy is they only observe but never record, so I’m not taking my eyes off that screen.”
“Oh yeah? That’s inconvenient that they don’t have a tape of Vickie’s death.”
“That’s what I thought, too. Apparently, there was a legal kerfuffle a while back . . .” He shook his head to get himself back on track. “In any event, I’ll be watching closely, and I’m just a scream away.”
It was cute how overprotective he was of me and Izzy,
but then again, he might be more worried about protecting his crime scene or his pool of suspects. With Castillo, it was hard to tell. “You interrogated everyone here, even me. Aren’t you afraid they’ll recognize you?”
“Who? Me?” He pointed to his name tag. “My name is Trainee. I’m invisible. Those ladies haven’t so much as made eye contact with me. No one notices the help. I mean, tell me one thing about the last cabbie you met.”
“His name was Raoul. He was born and raised in Jamaica, Queens. He has two daughters, nine and twelve, and raises angora bunny rabbits that his kids sell in Grand Central Terminal on the weekends. Should I go on?”
“Only you, Odessa,” Castillo said, shaking his head, but he sounded grudgingly impressed.
“Problems?” The tuxedo-clad Game Master stuck his head in the room.
“Machine jammed,” Castillo lied, and pushed the button. He took the copy and handed me the IDs, walking out of the room without so much as a backward glance at me.
“I’m so glad you were able to squeeze us in today,” I told him. “Brandon, right?”
He looked impressed that I’d remembered. My little talent for remembering names sure did come in handy. “You guys got lucky. The cops released the room thirty seconds before your friend called to make a reservation. It’s about time. It was one of our most popular rooms before, and now that, well, you know, requests have been flooding in.”
Ew. “People specifically want that room because someone was murdered in it?” I asked as I followed him back to the waiting room. Maybe the landlord had made a mistake when he discounted the Williamsburg Slasher apartment. I hadn’t realized that a gruesome murder scene might actually make it more attractive to some people.
He shrugged. “I mean, you guys were pretty adamant about wanting this room, weren’t you?”
“That’s just because we thought that finishing the room would be a fitting way to say goodbye to our friend.” If only that were the real reason we were here. That would be a nice tribute, instead of searching for a killer.
No Memes of Escape Page 21