Chesapeake Crimes: Invitation to Murder. Donna Andrews
say “How suspenseful,” drawling his sarcasm, stretching each syllable to yield maximum condescension. “I’m trembling. As usual, David has come up with such a wonderful idea.”
“Hush, Hubert,” Delphine slapped his arm. “David said escape rooms are fun. Let’s give it a try.”
“Fine,” Hubert said. “But it’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back.”
I struggled to not roll my eyes at how pretentious he was. You’d think a guy nearing thirty would stop trying to impress people. Not Hubert. He rolled his words around the back of his throat to sound French and insisted on pronouncing his name with a French accent, Ooh Bear, which wasn’t even how the French said it. Then again, the closest he’d ever been to France was a snooty restaurant downtown.
“It’s just a game,” I said. “The whole point is to kill an hour. Grandma won’t be finished with her procedure for another hour at least.”
“Procedure” was a bland term for giving Grandma enough morphine to blunt the pain from pancreatic cancer for the few days she had left.
Until recently, Aunt Janet and I were the only relatives who visited Grandma regularly. But with her death near, Hubert had begun showing up, clearly hoping for a fat inheritance to launch the wine import business he loved to talk about. Delphine had started visiting Grandma too, probably out of duty, considering she always brought a friend with her for company. Today she’d invited her roommate, Felicia, and Felicia’s boyfriend, Cody, to join us, both at the hospital and here in the escape room. As usual, Felicia slumped against a wall, as if her skeleton was napping. Cody slouched too, like an athlete leaving the field after a losing game. Cody kept eyeing Delphine. She seemed not to notice, but Felicia sure did. Man, that guy was such a tool.
Felicia grabbed Cody’s hand in a possessive way and said, “So what’s an escape room anyway?”
Earbud Girl started to open her mouth, but I cut in. This was my idea, and I needed to make it sound exciting. “It’s like a scavenger hunt. You’re locked in a room, and you have one hour to search it. You need to look for hidden keys or for things in a series that tell you the numbers to punch into a combination lock in a door somewhere and then escape. But not the door we came in. Another door we’ll have to find.”
“Scintillating,” Hubert said.
“This room looks like a library,” Cody said. “Are we supposed to read books for clues?” He grinned at Delphine. “Delphine’s a big reader. She can spot the clues for us.”
Felicia glared at him.
I shook my head. “Escape rooms have themes. This one has an Agatha Christie mystery theme.” Grandma loved Agatha Christie novels. I’d read a ton of them to her last summer, after my first year at college, when her eyesight shrank to a pinhole. I knew she’d enjoy hearing about our mystery escape room outing. I looked forward to seeing if she figured out the clues. She probably would.
“Why don’t we listen to the rules?” Aunt Janet startled me, though she spoke softly. I’d forgotten she was there. It was easy to do. She never said much or made a fuss. Even her clothes were in neutral colors, usually tan or gray or blue, though still stylish for an older woman. Her jewelry was expensive but not flashy.
Earbud Girl recited the scenario in a monotone. “You have been called in to solve a murder. The Styles family woke this morning to find Lucius Styles stabbed to death in the library. No knife was found in the room. The library doors were locked and will open with a code known only to the family. Lucius Styles was wealthy, and his death leaves a sizeable estate to his relatives, some of whom are greedy, some of whom have money troubles, and some of whom fall into both categories.”
I muttered to Aunt Janet, “That hit a little close to home.” Grandma was stinking rich and Hubert, who always had money troubles, was eagerly awaiting his inheritance. He’d have to share it with Aunt Janet and Delphine. Since I was a step-grandson, I was out of the picture inheritance-wise. Grandma had no problem giving me love, but when it came to money, she said she felt compelled to leave things to her blood relatives.
“Human nature is the same everywhere, dear,” Aunt Janet whispered back.
She squeezed my shoulders briefly. Aunt Janet reminded me of Grandma, who poured more affection on me than my own parents ever had.
Earbud Girl was still talking. I’d probably missed key information.
“Despite the police’s suspicions, the Styles family is certain an outsider killed Lucius, and they’ve hired you to find the killer’s escape route before the police return in one hour.”
At least no one would kill Grandma. Cancer was handling that one.
“All the clues you need are in the room.” The girl pointed to a television high on the wall. “Time remaining will display on the screen, and we’ll also post some hints, so keep an eye on the monitor. Any questions?”
We were all quiet a moment. Then Aunt Janet said, “What time of year did the murder take place?”
The girl gawked at Aunt Janet as if she’d asked whether aliens were green or blue. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”
“There are ashes in the fireplace.” Aunt Janet pointed at gray crumbles and charred paper in the tiny hearth. “Normal for December, unusual for July.” Like Grandma, Aunt Janet was quiet, but with an underlying strength that could surprise you.
“Whatever.” The girl stepped into the hall and started to close the door. “Are you ready?”
I scanned the room. It had all the elements of a mansion library, but with less substance, like a poor relation trying to blend in. The teetering bookshelf threatened to vomit dusty books onto the scuffed floor, and the coat rack in the corner sported a giant splinter. Dirt clods collected at the corners, and a musty smell filled the air. Unlike the families in Agatha Christie’s novels, the Styles family apparently hadn’t employed domestic help.
“Time starts now.” The door closed and the clock on the screen started counting down. Already only fifty-nine minutes and miscellaneous seconds left.
“Let’s examine the room for clues and compare notes,” Delphine said.
The room was dark, all browns and grays, with only a few lamps to fight the gloom, and no windows to reveal that we were on the third floor of an office building. The fireplace wall had imitation wood paneling, while two other walls had a wallpapered image of stacked stones. The bookshelf on the fourth wall held peeling books. A battered antique desk in the center of the room held a green-shaded lamp and brass paperweights. A toppled chair lay on an Oriental rug next to the taped outline of a sprawled body.
“I think we should have a plan.” Aunt Janet’s pale-blue eyes glinted. She was enjoying this.
“I have no idea where to start,” Delphine said. “David, you’ve done escape rooms before. What do we do?”
“We should especially look for anything to do with numbers,” I told her. “So we can use them to open combination locks.” I knew by now to avoid interesting objects that turned out not to have anything to do with the solution. In a Harry Potter escape room, I’d gotten all caught up with a note gripped in the beak of a stuffed owl, and missed the real clues.
Delphine spun a stained globe near the bookshelf. “Maybe there’s a misspelled country that will give us a clue.” I rolled my lips together to stop a smile. Escape room clues weren’t that subtle. The clues tended to be physical, not intellectual.
“I will look for zee clues.” Hubert ruffled the spines of some decaying books before twirling a stray hair on his mustache. “I am the great detective Hercule Poirot, and I will find the…qu’est-ce que c’est? Evidence.”
“You know Poirot was Belgian, right?” I said. “Not French.”
“Is not important. The little gray cells, they are what count.” He tapped his squarish head. I fought