But Riot seemed unaffected, turning away from Mackenzie’s flirtation to lay a hand on Persey’s shoulder. “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he said, his voice hardly above a whisper. “But if he was murdered, then we have to assume Escape-Capades is involved….”
Persey stiffened. “You think this was planned?”
He nodded. “Which means no one is going to call the police.”
No police. No help. And they were completely cut off from the outside world. Persey felt the bottom of her stomach fall away as the realization sunk in. We’re at the mercy of Escape-Capades.
“And if someone from Escape-Capades killed him,” Riot continued, dropping his voice even further, “we have much bigger problems.”
We sure the hell do.
Riot placed his other hand on her opposite shoulder. “Because they may not want any witnesses.”
You’re right.
The tingling of panic returned to Persey’s hands as she looked up at Riot. His soft eyes were a stark contrast to his firmly set jaw, lips pressed tightly together. She saw kindness in him, but also fear, and she wasn’t sure which of them scared her more.
She turned away, unwilling to let him see the wave of emotions cycling through her. The others were never going to listen—they had spread out around the room, searching for clues, blissfully (pathetically) unaware of what was happening.
But maybe they were right? Despite Riot’s willingness to believe her—or maybe because of it since he was a conspiracy-theory kinda guy—perhaps she’d been mistaken in what she’d seen. Riot probably wanted to believe that there was something nefarious at work. No police could mean that Escape-Capades was involved, but it could also mean that there was no reason to call them. No actual murder.
Persey forced a laugh. “Maybe I’m just seeing things,” she said, shaking free of Riot. “We’re not exactly superspies. No one could have killed him in that room without someone else seeing.” It sounded like a good rationale, and she wanted to believe it.
“If you say so,” Riot said, retreating to the stairs that led to the balcony. “But I’m going to keep my eyes open, and I suggest you do the same.”
I always do.
“FIND ANYTHING INTERESTING?” WES ASKED, STROLLING through the aisles, staring aimlessly at all the collectibles.
“Like I’d tell you if I did.” Mackenzie leaned against the wall, yawning. The weed hadn’t worn off yet.
Arlo glared over her shoulder. “You could, like, pretend you’re trying.”
“Why?” Kevin laughed by Mackenzie’s side. “We’re not even on the clock yet.”
A chime dinged as if in answer. As if someone was listening. Above the elevator door, the countdown clock had just blipped to life ushering in another forty-five minutes of puzzle-solving fun. In addition to the digital face, the clock was ringed by eight lightbulbs, screwed directly into the wall, lending the room an old-timey fun-house vibe.
“I wonder what those are for?” Persey asked to no one in particular.
“Eight of them,” Shaun replied. “Eight of us. Just like the cubicles.” Not that his observation explained anything, but it was certainly something to keep in mind.
“An original Greatest American Hero costume,” Arlo said, gawking at a mannequin wearing a heinous long-sleeve suit and cape with a curly blond wig on its head.
“Looks like Harpo Marx and Mrs. Claus had a love child,” Kevin mused.
Arlo slowly circled the mannequin. “There are only two of these left in existence.” Then her eyes caught something else. “That must be a Batarang set,” she said pointing to a case with metal-tipped bat-shaped plastic boomerangs, “from one of the films. Batman Returns, if I were pressed to make a guess.”
“You’re not,” Wes said.
“And that appears to be an original-issue Captain America action figure. From 1973, I believe.” The smugness in her voice signaled that she knew damn well which year the little red-white-and-blue toy had been issued. She practically could have designed this room herself. “This collector is into everything. DC and Marvel. Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger. I’d pretty much kill for most of this stuff.”
Mackenzie clicked her tongue. “Careful what you wish for.”
“Pop culture is amusing,” Shaun said, “for a distraction.” Persey was confident he’d never been amused or distracted in his entire life.
Wes chortled, his laugh dripping with condescension. “It used to be. Now every hipster with an eBay account can claim some piece of media history.”
Arlo bristled. “I’m not a hipster. I unironically listen to the Monkees, okay?”
“How could someone ironically listen to the Monkees?” Persey was genuinely confused.
Before Arlo could formulate an answer, Neela grabbed her arm, pointing to a framed envelope mounted on the wall.