Chapter 30 Adi
Adi
“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” said Adi.
He was still studying the note, trying to figure out the patterns, but so far was at a loss.
The stilted language, the odd punctuation, the typos .
. . Clearly there was more to it, something Alicia had wanted only Sierra to figure out.
“We need to decode the rest of this message.”
Carter peered over his shoulder. “What do you think all the strikethroughs mean?”
“Not sure. Give me a minute.”
“She wasn’t that smart,” Sierra said. “How did she write a code that’s too complicated for you?”
“I’ve had it for like twenty seconds!”
“Also, this,” said Beck, peering over Adi’s other shoulder and pointing to the bottom of the page. “ ‘Do not trust the Russells.’ Russells, plural.”
“Louis is smart enough to pull off a murder,” said Adi. “He had access to Alicia and the finale room where she was found . . .”
“And Ranielle was his alibi,” said Beck. “What if she was lying for him?”
Carter shook her head. “Why would Ranielle lie for her husband if he was having an affair? This letter only raises more questions.”
Adi narrowed his eyes. “You just don’t want to believe your precious Game Master could be a murderer.”
“Hey!” said Carter, looking truly appalled.
“We just learned that my precious Game Master is a lying, cheating scumbag, and yeah, I’m not thrilled about it, but I’d say I’m handling the news pretty well.
” She waved at the letter in his hand. “Just because Alicia had some personal drama with the Russells doesn’t mean Louis killed her. ”
Beck’s eyes widened. “Maybe they killed her together!” He slapped his hands to his cheeks. “That’s where Alicia was disappearing to all the time! She was meeting with Louis!”
“No,” Sierra said. “Well . . . I mean, maybe sometimes. But there was also a time she vanished right before filming an elimination round. Louis and Fitzy were both on set. I remember it specifically because it ruled out Fitzy as my top suspect for who she was cheating with—in both senses of the word. But then I figured maybe that time she was just going somewhere else.”
“Like where?” Beck said.
Sierra shrugged.
“We need to step back and really think this through,” Carter said. “Would you read the letter out loud again?”
Adi did so.
As soon as he finished, Sierra got up from the couch and started her signature pace. “What is she talking about, the light from the number-four villa?”
“I was wondering that, too,” said Beck. He took the note from Adi. “There are three digits here: two, four, and one. Could that mean something?”
“She gave us a hint,” said Carter. “What was the clue in episode two that everyone was hung up on? And did it have anything to do with a light?”
Sierra fidgeted with her lip ring. “Not that I can remember, but honestly, most of last season is a blur.”
“I’ll look it up.” Carter grabbed her laptop while Beck raised the note to the ceiling light.
“Nothing here. Do we have a black light?” He gasped, answering his own question.
“Yes! That flashlight from the welcome bag!” After fetching it, he played around with the settings, running the light back and forth beneath both sides of the paper .
. . but there was no invisible ink, no hidden message.
Adi wasn’t surprised. No, there was something buried in the actual text. It was written too strangely to be anything else.
Carter skimmed through the footage from season four on her laptop. “Episode two was the speakeasy.”
“Oh yeah,” said Beck. “I love that episode.”
But Sierra groaned. “That’s right. The piano.”
Adi peeled his gaze from the note to watch the footage.
The room had been themed after a Prohibition-era speakeasy, with messages in bottles of moonshine, on old-fashioned cocktail menus, and in the sheet music onstage for a four-piece jazz band.
There had been a particularly difficult puzzle where the contestants had to play a piece of music on a grand piano backward.
“Alicia’s team didn’t struggle too much,” said Carter, “but you got really frustrated.”
Sierra bristled. “Because Elijah wouldn’t listen to me!”
“Okay, okay.” Carter held up her hands, pacifying.
Sierra huffed, and muttered, “I was right, dammit.”
“Music, huh?” said Beck, setting the note down to watch the episode highlights. “Maybe it’s something to do with the note scale. A through G, right? Any of us play an instrument?”
“Clarinet in elementary school,” said Carter, “but I don’t remember much. And what does sheet music have to do with a light guiding us?”
“It doesn’t matter!” Sierra snapped. “Alicia told me all I need to know.” She jabbed a finger toward the note. “Louis Augustus Russell. Not Fitzy. Not Elijah. Not some random set designer or tech guy. It was the Game Master all along.” Her eyes were blazing. “We need to find a way to question him.”
Adi exchanged looks with the others. He didn’t necessarily disagree with Sierra. If they were going to take this accusation to the police, it might spur new interest in the investigation, but they still wouldn’t have any evidence. Real evidence. Like a confession.
Then, in a nervous voice, Carter said, “I might have a way.”
She set her phone on the coffee table between the laptop and Alicia’s note. “He gave me his phone number. His . . . private phone number.”
The statement was met with dismayed silence, before Sierra screamed, “He what?”
“Not for anything like that!” Carter said, waving her hands wildly. “He said I could interview him sometime. For my channel. That’s all.”
Adi bit back a snarky response. Carter looked too horrified to mock.
“Okay,” said Sierra, making a considerable effort to calm down. “Let’s get you that interview.”
Carter gulped, opening her messages.
It took them ten minutes to draft the text . . . but only a moment for Louis to respond. When Carter’s phone dinged, they froze like it was a bomb about to explode.
Together, they leaned forward to read.
Great to hear from you, Carter. I feel bad Ranielle cut us off last time.
She can be stingy with media interviews, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
?? My schedule will be packed until after tomorrow night’s elimination, but how about we plan on meeting afterward.
8pm? I can send a car to pick you up from the villas. Looking forward to it. —Louis