Chapter 32 Beck
Beck
Beck tossed and turned, unable to fall back asleep. He’d woken entirely too early, images of the Game Master’s hotel suite lodged in his mind, and had spent the past hour trying unsuccessfully to switch off his brain.
It was all just so awful. The body on the floor, the note on the table, the condensation dripping down the wine bottle, two glasses set up for a conversation he would never have—
Wait.
Beck sat up suddenly. He ran through the scenario again, the disjointed facts of the evening.
The text messages. The wineglasses. What he knew about Carter and Alicia and, most of all, what he knew about Louis Augustus Russell.
He tried to fit the puzzle pieces together in a way that would make sense, but .
. . they didn’t make sense. And now he knew why.
He threw off his blankets and ran into the hall, nearly crashing into Sierra as she burst out of her own room.
“Why did he invite Carter over?” Sierra cried, stopping Beck in his tracks.
“Holy crap,” he said, gesticulating wildly with his arms. “That’s what I was going to say!”
Sierra laughed, then clapped a hand over her mouth. It was the first time Beck had ever seen her without dark eyeliner and black lips.
Yet nothing was more surprising than her expression. She looked downright giddy.
“Either he wanted to do the interview,” Beck said, “or he wanted to seduce her. Which, gross, but there’s no reason he would kill himself before she got there!”
“Whassgoinon?” Carter mumbled, staggering out of her room.
“If he was planning to kill himself, why did he invite you over?” Beck said.
Carter stared at him through half-lidded eyes. Then, “I’m making coffee.” She shuffled to the kitchen.
Beck’s mind whirled. He didn’t need coffee. “Louis barely knew Carter. Of all the people in his life, why would he choose her, a contestant, to be the one to find his body? He wouldn’t invite her over and then kill himself.”
“Maybe because Carter’s a Solve Specialist?” suggested Adi, appearing in the doorway. “He wanted her to break the news to the Domain first, before the police did?”
“But that doesn’t explain—”
“—the second wineglass,” Beck and Sierra said in unison.
He blinked at her in surprise. Okay, now it was getting creepy.
“So . . . what are you saying?” called Carter from the kitchen.
The three of them made their way to the stools around the island.
“Louis didn’t kill himself,” said Sierra. “And if he didn’t kill himself, that means . . .”
“He was murdered,” finished Beck.
“But what about the suicide note?” asked Carter. “It was definitely his handwriting.”
“Maybe he was under duress?” said Adi. “Forced to write it at gunpoint?”
“Or it was forged,” said Sierra. “It’s not hard to find samples of his handwriting online.”
Beck pinched the bridge of his nose, now trying to remember the details from the hotel room rather than block them out. Louis had been expecting Carter, but his killer had gotten there first.
“Okay,” he said slowly, “the killer must be someone he knew well. Someone who could have put something in his drink without him suspecting them.”
Adi’s voice hardened. “And who do we think that could be?”
As the smell of strong coffee filled the room, Beck traded grim looks with his teammates.
“Ranielle,” said Sierra.
“Ranielle,” Adi agreed.
Carter got some creamer out of the fridge and started filling mugs. “So do we still think Louis killed Alicia? Or did Ranielle kill Alicia, and she’s trying to frame him for it?”
“Yes, that,” Sierra said, without hesitation.
“It makes perfect sense. He was having an affair, so she killed Alicia and convinced Louis to provide an alibi. But when he started to feel guilty about lying, he came up with a plan to start putting clues into the game, hoping Ranielle would come clean on her own before he told everyone the truth. We thought Ranielle had given the fake alibi, but it was the other way around. Maybe he was even planning to tell Carter the truth, but Ranielle found out about their meeting, so she went to meet with him first, and . . . well. You know.”
“Wow,” whispered Beck. “That’s . . . That’s really good detective work, Sierra.”
“Oh, thank god,” Carter said, placing a hand over her heart and wilting against the island. “Maybe you’re right. It really was an interview he wanted. Not . . . you know . . .”
Adi gave a suspicious grunt. “I wouldn’t write off that possibility yet.” She shot him a perturbed look as he grimaced. “I was thinking about it last night, and what if Louis was the one who spiked your drink at the party?”
“Shit,” Sierra said. “You could be right.”
Carter groaned and leaned over the counter, burying her face into her elbows.
“Sorry,” Adi muttered. “But he’s dead now. So, there’s that.”
She groaned again, louder this time.
“If we’re right,” said Beck, “Ranielle might have killed him and left minutes before we arrived.”
There was a sharp knock at the door. Beck and Sierra looked at each other.
The knock came again.
“All right, all right,” Sierra said, slipping off the stool.
She opened the door and cursed.
“Good morning to you, too,” said Ranielle Russell, stepping inside. She was impeccably dressed and glossy as always, her yellow suit a blinding beacon.
A stocky Hispanic man followed her, along with a Black woman in a gray power suit.
“Detective Lopez wants to ask the four of you some questions,” Ranielle said, gesturing to the man. “My lawyer is here to represent you. I’ve spoken with your parents, and they’ve already given their consent to this interview.”
All business, Beck noticed, his insides turning at the sight of her. Hardly a grieving widow.
He, Sierra, Carter, and Adi shuffled to one of the sofas, sitting shoulder to shoulder while the detective, Ranielle, and her lawyer stood opposite them.
“Um,” said Carter. “Does anyone want coffee?”
“No thank you,” said Detective Lopez. He took out his phone.
“Mind if I record this?” They murmured their consent, and he continued.
“Ms. Angelos, I listened to the 911 call you made. It must’ve been a horrific experience.
” He was good at arranging his features into a caring and sympathetic expression.
“Yeah, well, horrific experiences are sort of my thing,” said Sierra, arms crossed as she slumped dolefully into the cushions.
How easily she could step back into the role of the sullen, hostile villain.
Beck hadn’t even realized the transformation was underway until it was complete.
Though maybe not quite as effective without her usual makeup.
The detective turned to Carter. “Your statement says that you and Louis had scheduled a meeting. Can you elaborate?”
“Uh . . . yeah,” Carter said weakly, glancing at Ranielle. “I asked if I could interview him. For my channel.”
“We’ve seen the texts.” The detective made a show of flipping through a notebook from his breast pocket. “You’d requested an interview with him previously?”
“Sort of ? It was a spontaneous thing, but Ranielle interrupted, so we never got a chance.”
Ranielle’s gaze was livid.
“What were you planning to ask him about, during this interview last night?” asked Detective Lopez.
Carter fell quiet, and Beck could imagine the fight happening inside her head. A deeply ingrained programming to tell the truth, at odds with, well, the truth.
What was she supposed to say? That Alicia had admitted to having an affair with Louis? That they’d gone to get a confession? That they’d since realized it was his wife who’d killed her?
Beck glanced at Ranielle. Actually, it was sort of tempting to spill it all . . .
But it was Sierra who ultimately answered the detective’s question. “We wanted to know about the murder clues being planted in the escape rooms. Since he was the Game Master, we figured he knew something.”
This seemed to come as a surprise to the detective and the lawyer. Ranielle, on the other hand, tightened her lips into a thin line.
“Clues . . . ?” Detective Lopez said.
“Yeah. Clues.” Sierra lifted her pierced eyebrow. “About a lie in the evidence. It’s almost like someone didn’t trust the police to be able to do their jobs.”
Beck nudged her warningly with his elbow.
She nudged him back, way harder than necessary.
“They’re on the Domain,” Carter said. “The things that have been coming up in the show. Supposedly, someone has been planning to reveal the identity of Alicia’s murderer in the finale.
But only if the people on the Domain figure out a lie in the clues.
” She paused, then added in a barely audible whisper, “There were news articles written about it.”
Ranielle breathed in through her nose but didn’t comment.
Detective Lopez turned to her. “What do you know of this?”
“I know it’s been a real pain in the ass,” she said. “But Louis assured me he wasn’t the one planting them.”
Beck gawked at her. How could she sit there acting like she didn’t have the blood of two people on her hands? It was despicable.
He couldn’t help himself. “You don’t seem all that concerned that he’s dead.”
Ranielle flicked her fingers at the comment. “Please. I was done with him long ago.”
“Mrs. Russell,” her lawyer said sharply.
“What? The man was a narcissist.”
Detective Lopez pulled a stack of photographs out of a folder. Security camera snapshots. “I’d like for each of you to look at these photos,” he said, handing the stack to Carter, “and tell me if you recognize anyone.”
Beck and Adi peered over Carter’s shoulder as she flipped through the pictures, inspecting each one.
Beck had the thought that surveillance photos could make an awesome clue in a crime scene–themed escape room.
Maybe that could be his next project when he got back home.
He’d certainly have plenty of fodder for it.
Carter paused on a photo of a tall woman with platinum-blond hair, an enormous fur coat—in this weather?—and large sunglasses. The hair was almost certainly a wig, and the woman was strutting down the hallway without revealing a scrap of skin—she even had gloves on.
Beck checked Ranielle for her reaction. She was wearing an excellent poker face. It could be her in this photo.
Beck was practically vibrating with the need to tell the police everything they’d figured out, but he couldn’t with Ranielle and her fancy lawyer in the room with them.
Detective Lopez seemed like a smart guy. Surely he would figure it out. Surely he saw through Ranielle.
“No,” Carter finally said. “I don’t recognize anyone.”
“Me neither,” said Adi. Beck shook his head and passed the pictures over to Sierra, but she just tossed them onto the coffee table.
“The night clerk didn’t find it suspicious when someone walked through looking like that?” Beck said, pointing to the photo of the blond woman.
“It’s not so out of place at this sort of hotel,” said Detective Lopez.
Carter stiffened. “What sort of hotel?”
“This hotel caters to a particular type of clientele. Largely celebrities looking for . . . discretion.”
Again, Beck glanced at Ranielle. Her expression remained carefully neutral.
“Should we call our parents?” Carter asked.
Ranielle’s eyebrows lifted. “What for?”
“To . . . take us home?”
“There’s no need for that. We’ll provide a counselor for any trauma you may have experienced discovering the body of my husband, blah blah blah—”
Her lawyer coughed.
Ranielle cut short and finished with “You can have as many sessions as you like between shoots.”
“Between shoots?” Adi said. “You’re going on with the show?”
“Of course we’re going on with the show.
Hitflix has contracted us for the whole season, the games have already been designed, and the final two rooms are mostly constructed.
We’ll be down a host, but the editors can do a nice little in memoriam for the semifinal.
We’re calling a meeting with the cast and crew later today.
Until then, I don’t want a word of this spoken to anyone.
Understand me?” She seemed to take their silence as a yes, and turned to the detective. “Are we finished here?”
“Not quite.”
Detective Lopez spent another fifteen minutes asking them the same questions as the ones from the night before, recording notes in his book. Finally, he thanked them for their time and stood to leave. The lawyer walked him to the door of the villa, but Ranielle lingered.
“It is very unfortunate you had to see what you did last night,” she said.
“But the show must go on, and I need you ready to perform at your best come Monday morning. I recommend staying out of public view and off social media. Nothing has changed. You’re still playing for one million dollars, and I expect you to act like it. ”