No Memes of Escape

by Olivia Blacke

  “Whatever,” he said. He raised his voice and addressed the rest of the assembled players. “If we’re all ready? Welcome to Verrazzano-Narrows Escape!, Williamsburg’s premier escape room experience. In a minute, your exciting experience will begin. Please follow me.”

  He led us to Door Three, the same room as we’d entered last time, and gave us the same speech, word for word. He went over safety and rules with about as much enthusiasm as someone might muster up to order a pizza over the phone if the website was down and they couldn’t order online. I admit I wasn’t paying much attention to him. Instead, I was watching the three suspects as closely as I could without being weird about it.

  On either side of me, Parker and Raleigh listened to his every word as if there might be a quiz later. “Good luck,” Brandon the Game Master intoned, and opened the door. We all crammed inside the dark room. I held my breath as the door clanged shut behind us.

  “There’s a switch on the wall somewhere,” Izzy said, and everyone shuffled. A few seconds later, the lights clicked on, illuminating the glowing numbers on the far wall. “Anyone remember what number we pushed last time?”

  “Four,” I said, reasonably sure that was it. If I was wrong, we would have another chance, but I wasn’t wrong. The door unlocked and swung open to reveal the library.

  The last time we’d been in here, the room had seemed impressive with its attention to detail and the overwhelming number of objects. Add in the noise of everyone talking at once and the confusion of not knowing what to do next, it was downright mystical. Now the shine had worn off and it wasn’t just because my last memory of this room had been Vickie lying facedown in a pool of blood just over there.

  I forced myself to turn my attention elsewhere.

  The room felt cheaper this time around. I was seeing painted plywood and sloppily constructed bookshelves where before it had been a magnificent library. Even the props looked faker. “Moby-Dick in the fish tank,” I said, pointing to the table in the middle of the room. “And someone grab that flashlight, too.”

  There might be other clues that we were missing, vital to solving puzzles farther down the road, but I wanted to be out of this room as quickly as humanly possible. Parker reached the book first and held it up. “What next?”

  “It goes in that slot up there,” Izzy said, pointing at the wall. “Hold the ladder still for me?”

  “No need,” Raleigh said, plucking the book out of Parker’s hand. “I can reach.” He had to stretch, but was able to settle the copy of Moby-Dick into place. I heard a click, and the secret passage swung open.

  “Seriously, what’s even the point?” Amanda asked as she turned on the flashlight app on her phone and entered the tunnel.

  Izzy was immediately behind her. “Come on, Amanda, be a sport. Do you really want to leave this room unsolved?”

  Marlie entered the tunnel, moving stiffly. It was her fault that she’d worn a long suit skirt and heels. She knew she’d have to crawl through this dark, narrow tunnel, and possibly worse. “I wasn’t going to lose any sleep if we didn’t,” she grumbled.

  “Just don’t go wasting all of our time with stupid questions this time around, okay, Marlie?” Gennifer grinned at me before following her. “At least it’s easier now that we know the solutions to some of the puzzles,” she said, her voice nearly swallowed up by the tunnel.

  “After you,” Raleigh said to me.

  “No, go ahead.” I gestured for both of them to go. After a minute of hesitation, Parker entered the tunnel with Raleigh at his heels. Raleigh was tall enough that crawling through the narrow passage was awkward for him. Only when I was convinced that everyone in the group was through to the other side was I ready to follow them. That was the biggest mistake I’d made last time, not keeping track of everyone in the party.

  I glanced around the library one last time, taking comfort in the fact that Castillo was back in the control room, watching our every move.

  Or was he?

  I couldn’t see any cameras.

  Yes, I knew that the whole point of hidden cameras was that they weren’t supposed to be easy to spot, but the last time we were in here, they had been obvious. I took a step back, and sure enough, there was a white globe mounted to the ceiling with a lens pointing at me. I hadn’t been able to see it before because when the secret passage door opened, it partially obscured the view.

  Talk about unfortunate design.

  Then again, it made sense to an extent. The Game Master wouldn’t have been able to see inside of the library once we solved the Moby-Dick puzzle. He wouldn’t have noticed that Vickie had either stayed behind or retraced her steps later. He couldn’t have seen the killer, much less witness the murder. He would have watched this screen long enough to verify that we moved on to the next room, and by then he wouldn’t have cared that his view was blocked because he assumed we were all in the billiard room like we were supposed to be.

  I ducked into the tunnel and crawled as quickly as I could. I got there just in time to hear Amanda, on her back underneath one of the pool tables, call out the numbers written in invisible ink while Marlie punched them into the lock and opened the next door.

  “It feels like we’re cheating,” Parker observed.

  “Not really, because this is as far as we got last time,” I told him. “Everything after this is totally new territory.”

  “Wait a second. It took you guys a full hour just to get this far?” Raleigh asked.

  “It’s harder than it looks.” I protested, but he did have a point. The puzzles were challenging but not nearly as intricate or difficult as I had imagined they’d be. If we’d worked together a little better, we would have made it further. “Come on, let’s see what’s in store for us in the next room.”

  Parker gasped when he saw the kitchen. “Just look at the size of this place!” he exclaimed. “I could die happy if I had a kitchen this big.”

  “I cook a little, too,” Raleigh added. “You should come over for breakfast sometime. I make a mean French toast with brioche bread.”

  “Oh yeah?” Parker asked, even though the invitation was clearly aimed at me. “But do you make your own brioche?”

  “No, I buy it at the market like everyone else,” Raleigh said, opening the top cabinets and pulling out anything that looked like it might be a clue.

  “I bake my own brioche,” Parker muttered.

  “I know you do, Parker,” I told him, patting him on the shoulder.

  “I make a killer vegan brioche,” Izzy added.

  All this talk about bread was making me hungry. I returned my attention to the escape room to distract myself from the rumble in my stomach. “What are we looking for, guys?”

  “Last time, the Game Master entered the room through the fridge when our time ran out, but I’ve already tried and the door feels like it’s sealed shut. Probably only opens from the outside for employees. But there’s a padlock on this pantry door, and I think that’s our way out,” Izzy said, rattling the door for effect.

  “Key or code?” I asked.

  “Key,” she replied. “Everyone keep their eyes peeled for a key.”

  “It’s hot in here,” Marlie said. “Is anyone else hot?” She walked over to a thermostat on the wall and started fiddling with the temperature. “I don’t think this dial is working. It’s set at fifty-six, and it’s at least seventy in here.”

  “Wait a second.” Gennifer came over to join her. “I did an escape room once where the thermostat was actually a puzzle. Start looking for anything with a temperature on it.”

  “Like this?” Raleigh asked, holding up a cookbook.

  “Maybe.” She joined him, and they started flipping through the pages to see if anything jumped out at them.

  I walked over to Marlie, who was tugging at her elaborate necklace. A bead of sweat formed on her temple. Guilty conscience, ma
ybe? Stress from returning to the scene of the crime? Fear of getting caught?

  Either way, short of wearing an “I’m guilty, ask me how!” button on her scalloped collar, I couldn’t think of a better sign that I was on the right track.

  Was Marlie the killer?

  23

  Dizzy Izzy @IsabelleWilliamsburg ∙ July 15

  TFW you return to the scene of the crime #innocentuntilprovenguilty

  Marlie leaned against the wall and fanned herself.

  “You all right?” I asked. It wasn’t difficult to feign concern. I was plenty concerned. Just not for her. If I was being completely honest, I was more worried my friends and I might be in the same room as a murderer. I glanced up at the white camera mounted in the corner. Unlike in the library room, I was in plain view. Castillo was watching, and that gave me courage.

  She sighed. “No. Hot flashes. They’re the worst.”

  Oh. I hadn’t considered that there might be another plausible explanation for her excessive sweat. Then again, even if it was just a hot flash, it didn’t let her off the hook. She could be using that as an excuse.

  “Can I get you something? Some water, maybe?”

  “Thanks, but it’ll pass.” She pulled out one of the kitchen stools and sat down. “You’re so sweet. Vickie used to make fun of me anytime I had a hot flash. Said I was old and out of touch. Said I might as well get out of the business before I needed a hip replacement or something. As if! I’m only in my fifties. Hardly ancient.”

  “Not at all,” I agreed. I was struck again by how unkind Vickie had been to the people around her. “I saw the sign outside. Vickie was listing this building?”

  Marlie nodded and dabbed sweat away from her upper lip. “It’s a big deal, actually. If Vickie had managed to sell this place, it would have set her for the year.”

  “Who gets the listing now?” I asked.

  “Who knows? Me, probably. I’ve been number two at the firm ever since Vickie came in, and I’ve inherited a lot of her listings now that she’s gone.”

  “So you stand to make a lot of money when the building sells,” I said.

  “When the building sells?” she asked with a wry laugh. “Honey, this place has been on the market as long as I can remember. The owner’s asking way too much. It’s a hot neighborhood, but this block is zoned commercial only. Any developer with a lick of sense would do better off investing in a residential-zoned building in Bed-Stuy, or something cheaper in Queens.”

  “It was your idea to host Vickie’s party here, wasn’t it?” I asked, the answer dawning on me. “You wanted to rub it in. That she might be broker of the month, but even she couldn’t sell this building.”

  She made an odd noise in the back of her throat, like she was suppressing a laugh. “You’re a very astute young woman, aren’t you? I think I like you. You know what? I’m gonna waive my commission if you want to reconsider that place on Bedford.”

  “You mean the murder apartment? No way,” I said, shaking my head vehemently.

  “You’re missing out on the deal of a lifetime.” She fished one of her business cards out of her purse and pressed it into my hand. “Give me a call tomorrow and I’ll take you around to look at a couple of other places. Fee-free.”

  “Golly, I’d love to, but even without your fee, I can’t afford anything in this neighborhood. Not on a waitress’s salary. Not without five or six roommates.”

  “Probably not. But keep the card and call me if you change your mind.”

  “Sure,” I said, tucking the card away into my bag. This time, I held on to my own messenger bag, thank you very much. I didn’t want to set it down and risk it becoming part of a murder scene. Again.

  Not like I thought there was going to be another murder. I had hoped that being here would shake something loose. So far, all I had was a swing and a miss. Marlie didn’t have any reason to kill Vickie. It was a little mean-spirited to arrange for Vickie’s party to be in a building that she’d failed to sell, but it was a far cry from murder.

  Marlie was organized. She had to be to make a living in real estate. She was fastidiously neat, or her decades-old, unfashionable wardrobe would be riddled with signs of wear. She wasn’t the type of person who would want blood on her hands, literally or figuratively. If Marlie was going to commit murder, she would pick a less messy method.

  Marlie didn’t kill Vickie. I would stake my boots on it.

  That left only Amanda and Gennifer.

  I wanted to interrogate them both, but Gennifer was busy vigilantly searching for clues to solve the escape room puzzle, whereas Amanda was checking her makeup in the reflection of the shiny range hood that hung over the oven. “Any luck?” I asked her.

  “They’ve got this well in hand,” Amanda said, flipping a hand toward where Gennifer, Izzy, and Raleigh huddled over the cookbook.

  “Don’t you want to contribute?”

  “I am contributing,” she insisted. “I got the numbers in the last room, didn’t I?”

  All right, technically she had, but that was only because she remembered me finding them under the pool table the first time around. Which I couldn’t have done without the flashlight she’d picked up in the first room. In a way, we had solved that clue together. I begrudgingly gave her half credit. “You know, the game would go a lot quicker if we all cooperated with each other.”

  “What’s with you and this silly game anyway?” she asked. For the first time, she put her phone away and concentrated her attention on me. “You tagged along the first time for what, a free escape room with a bunch of strangers? But what are you getting out of it now? You didn’t even know Vickie, so don’t give me that nonsense Izzy was spouting about doing this to honor her memory. I know you’re not supposed to talk bad about the dead, but Vickie was a jerk. Frankly, if you’d known her half as good as I did, you’d be happy she was dead.”

  “And are you? Happy?”

  “Do I look happy to you?”

  I wasn’t certain. Maybe? It was hard to tell under all that makeup and in the poses she held so carefully even when there wasn’t a camera pointed at her. “Is it true that Vickie was spending a lot of time with your boyfriend?”

  “Where did you hear that?” she asked.

  “I don’t remember,” I lied. “So, it is true?”

  “It most certainly is not,” she insisted. “You’re talking about Gary, right? I broke up with him last week because he was such a lousy Instagram boyfriend. I couldn’t give two figs who he’s seeing now.”

  “What’s an Instagram boyfriend?”

  She gave me an exasperated look. “Selfies are great and all, but sometimes I need a free hand to catch the perfect picture. That’s where an Instagram boyfriend comes in. I was trying to get this perfect pic and Gary was supposed to climb up a fire escape so he could get the angle right, but he dropped my phone, if you can believe that!”

  “You broke up with a guy because he dropped your phone?”

  “Do you have any idea what the latest iPhone costs?” she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

  “Your phone seemed right as rain,” I said, recalling navigating through it to recover the deleted photos. “It’s not even cracked.”

  “The screen shattered,” she said. “I had to trade it in for a refurb with half the memory. And I swear it’s got gremlins or something.”

  “Gremlins?” I asked.

  “It’s always messing up. Logging me out of apps. I never get email notifications anymore. GPS insists I’m somewhere in Jersey. Plus, it keeps rearranging my icons.”

  “But it still tags your pictures correctly, right?”

  “Hardly,” she said, blowing out a sigh. “They’re always out of order, and the metadata is all sorts of messed up. The numbering’s off and the time stamp’s always wrong.” I was hardly a techie, but I knew that the metadata was
the hidden information associated with a picture, like when it was taken and if location was turned on, where it was taken. “I swear, I’ve got thousands of followers on Insta. Would it kill Apple to give me a free iPhone? Imagine all that good publicity.”

  “Yeah, all right,” I agreed. I hadn’t checked lately, but Apple had a couple million more followers than Amanda. I doubted her influence would make a dent in their social media presence.

  Far be it from me to direct Amanda’s brand strategy. What did I know? I had only a handful of followers on my personal accounts. Sure, I managed the Untapped Books & Café’s accounts, but it wasn’t like people followed them to read my boring updates. They just wanted to know what was going on at Untapped and stay ahead of upcoming events and menu changes.

  But Amanda had also inadvertently let herself off the hook. Vickie hadn’t stolen her boyfriend. Plus, Amanda hadn’t deleted photos to hide evidence. The gaps in the pictures I’d recovered were explained away by the operating system bugs in her phone.

  “If you weren’t mad at Vickie for stealing your boyfriend, again, then why were you arguing on your way to the escape room?”

  “Aren’t you the nosy one?” Amanda asked. “We weren’t really arguing. Vickie was mad that I’d tagged her in an unflattering picture, so I took it down. Happy?”

  That explained why there were no pictures of Vickie on Amanda’s feed from that day. All things considered, Amanda didn’t seem to have a strong motive to kill Vickie, which left only one suspect.

  “Bingo!” Gennifer called from across the room. “Try setting the thermostat to seven hundred and fifty degrees.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Parker said as he headed toward the thermostat.

  “Nope.” She held the cookbook upside down and shook it so the pages flapped against one another. “There’s got to be a hundred recipes in here, and not a single one of them lists a temperature setting.”