Chapter 47 Adi #2
They inspected the skeletons, counted the garlic bulbs—
“Seven-nine-five,” said Carter, inputting the code.
The coffin swung open so fast Carter jumped back. Sierra looked away.
Maybe, for a second, Adi also imagined finding a body inside.
But all it held was an old book and a sharp wooden stake. Carter plucked the stake from the velvet cushion while Adi picked up the book. The pages had been made to look old, with inked portions of maps inside. “An atlas.”
Carter leaned over his shoulder, and he was overly aware of the heat radiating from her body. “Page numbers? A code?”
“It probably has to do with the other map,” Sierra said.
Beck suddenly called out, “I found something else on this skeleton!” He dug around the neck bones. “I missed it before because it was under the garlic.” He triumphantly pulled out a crucifix necklace.
The moment he did, the skeleton’s jaw dropped open and a voice boomed around them. “Come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not; we fight him all the same.”
“I recognize that quote,” said Adi. “It’s from Dracula. Actually . . . I think Van Helsing says it.”
Sierra grinned. “Nice touch. Any clues on the crucifix?”
Beck didn’t answer. Gripping the necklace in one hand, he stared thoughtfully at the skeleton, running his tongue over his front teeth.
“Beck?” said Sierra.
He reached for the skeleton’s jaw, closed it, then let it drop open again. The words repeated. “Come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils . . .”
When it finished, he squeezed his eyes shut, closed the jaw, then let it play again. His mouth was puckered, like he was biting into something sour.
Adi traded confused looks with Carter and Sierra.
Shrugging, Sierra took the crucifix from Beck’s hand. He released it without complaint.
“Doesn’t have a symbol or anything,” said Sierra, studying the wood.
“Wait . . . a symbol!” Adi grabbed the locked pouch from his jacket pocket. “There’s a crucifix symbol on this. It must open it somehow.”
Sierra fiddled with the crucifix and it pulled away from the chain, revealing the end whittled into a key. Adi brought her the pouch and they unlocked it.
“Holy water in labeled bottles.” Adi tipped the vials into his palm.
“And a white rock or crystal or something.” It was a strange object, something that sparked an alert in his brain, but the loopy script on the bottles caught his attention first. River Jordan (I).
Our Lady of Lourdes (II). Pool of Siloam (III). “Holy sites. Where’s that map?”
“I’ve got it!” Beck yelled suddenly. He turned to face them, beaming. “It’s the same voice that recorded the message in the alien room video. She used an auto-tuner then, so it was more muddled, but the flavors are the same. Mostly tart, a little fruity.” He paused. “Cranberries.”
Adi frowned. “You said she.”
“Yes, I did. The Real Game Master.” He paused, practically trembling. “It’s Vera!”
“Vera?” Sierra laughed. “No way.”
“And exactly why,” came a sardonic voice, “does that surprise you?”
In the set’s doorway, a figure loomed, illuminated by the lights of the corridor. The team leaped back. Adi was sure he wasn’t the only one picturing axe murderers in that moment—until he saw who it was.
“Speak of the devil,” Carter said.
“Took you long enough.” Vera crossed her arms. She was in a halter top, showing off her full tattoo, an inked chameleon curled around her shoulder. “I guess you deserve a Scooby Snack. Now, what the hell are you doing in here?”
“What do you think?” said Sierra, storming toward her. “The show is canceled. This room is going to be destroyed tomorrow. We’re here to find your last clue. But how about you save us the trouble and tell us who murdered my sister?”
“Save you the trouble?” Vera barked. “Why? Because you’ve made my life so easy? Go to hell, Sierra. I don’t owe you anything.”
“But you’re the Real Game Master,” said Beck. “You’re dying to tell people the truth.”
“Yes, I am!” Vera slammed a hand against one of the stone walls. “But no one ever listens to me. You and the other contestants roll your eyes and make comments behind my back, but you have no idea. You have no idea how integral I am—to everything!”
“That’s not true,” said Carter. “You’re the bridge between the show and the fans. The Domain owes you so much. All the interviews and behind-the-scenes footage and—”
“Screw social media. I’m not some publicity lackey.
No one gets it. You Clue Masters think you’re so smart, but even with Louis dead, no one gets it.
” She pressed a fist to her chest. “I’m behind everything.
Creating the rooms, planning the puzzles, designing the special effects.
It’s me. I’m the goddamn Game Master. But does Ranielle ever give me the credit I deserve?
Hell no. That would ‘mess with the show’s image. ’ ”
“You’re kidding,” said Carter. “I’ve been following Louis for years. Read every article, every news story . . .”
“Oh yeah?” said Vera with a bitter laugh. “And how well did you know him, reading all those fluff pages? Did they mention his penchant for teenage girls?”
Carter drew back, her expression shuttering in a way that made Adi clench his fist.
“So you’re the real Game Master,” said Sierra. “And no one knows?”
“Since season two,” said Vera, a touch of pride in her voice.
“Right.” Carter shut her eyes. “The puzzles in season one were pretty terrible. The show only gained traction because the hosts were so endearing.”
Vera scowled. “Louis wasn’t the genius everyone thought. He was better as the showman. The face. While I hid in the shadows because I’m not beautiful enough or thin enough for television.”
“I mean,” started Adi, “your personality is also a little—”
Vera shot him a look.
“—fantastic,” he quickly amended. “Totally made for TV. Can’t imagine why they didn’t want you.”
“That isn’t right,” said Beck. “You deserve credit—for designing the game but also for catching the killer. The real killer. No one believed you, did they?”
“I found it. Evidence he was here that night.” Angry tears misted in Vera’s eyes.
“I told the police, but the timing was wrong. They said he had an alibi. They said I was mistaken. Mistaken!” Desperation tangled in her voice—a growing need to be heard.
“I didn’t know what it was at first. But I put it in my pocket when I was doing final checks on the room, no idea that Alicia was lying dead in the coffin.
It was only days later that I realized—but it had already been through the wash .
. . and then I couldn’t fucking find it—” She caught herself as her voice lifted into a shriek.
After a slow exhalation, she said, “And months later, by the time it finally resurfaced, you know what the police told me? That it wasn’t proof.
They kept going on about that damn alibi.
So I thought, I know who’ll help. The people who have always admired my work, even if they didn’t realize it was mine. ”
“The Clue Masters,” breathed Beck.
“All I had to do was create a fake account and throw the clues onto the forums. Eventually, someone would have to figure out how he managed to trick everyone. How he’d gotten away with it.
” Her expression turned angry again. “But you didn’t keep up your end of the deal, did you?
You want your murderer? Then figure out the damn lie! ”
“The time of death is wrong,” Sierra shouted back at her.
Vera stepped back, startled. “The time of death?”
“The killer used the freezer in our complex,” Adi said. “That’s why Alicia was wet—it was melting frost. The real time of death was before one a.m. Maybe as early as ten. We think the murderer came back early the next morning to pick up her body and stage it here in the coffin.”
Vera snapped her fingers. “I knew there was something off about the report! I thought maybe he’d paid some corrupt coroner or something . . .”
“Who? ” said Carter. “Who is it?
Vera looked like she wanted to laugh. “You really haven’t figured it out yet?”
Adi growled in his throat. Vera was enjoying this way too much.
But Sierra, who seemed less perturbed by Vera’s secrecy, said, “I thought you hated my sister.”
“Oh, I did. She manipulated people, flirted to get whatever she wanted. Even Ranielle fawned over her. ‘Make her look good, Vera! We need the fans to love her!’ She couldn’t have her precious new host making a fool of herself.”
A flood of ice swept through Adi’s body. “New host?”
Vera snorted. “Hitflix wanted to make her the host for the next season. That’s how her team was doing so well—Ranielle was giving her cheats.” Her tone turned sardonic. “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it, pretty boy?”
Adi spun to Sierra. “I saw Ranielle’s notes on my audition video! She’d written ‘the next Alicia.’ I thought it was some sick serial killer thing, but what she meant was she’d offered Alicia the hosting gig and was planning to offer it to me, too.”
“That’s why Alicia said she’d give me her share of the prize money if she won,” Sierra whispered. “She was moving on to bigger and better things.”
“But wasn’t she blackmailing Ranielle about her affair with Louis?” Carter said.
Sierra shook her head. “I see what happened now. She planned to blackmail the Russells and knew it was dangerous, so she left that note for me in the painting. But when she confronted them, Ranielle told her she had something better than a one-off payment. She was going to give her a high-profile job in Hollywood. That’s why Alicia’s behavior changed from being scared to downright arrogant. ”
Adi’s mind was working overtime. “And the killer didn’t want her to take the job. He’d have too much to lose if she did.” He looked down at the small white rock still in his hand.
Not a crystal. A shark tooth.
The relic—the evidence—left behind.
He curled his fingers around the pendant. “Did he know?”
“He wasn’t supposed to,” Vera said. “But I guess he found out. That’s what I believe the message on Alicia’s coffin was supposed to mean. We get what we deserve. It was aimed at Ranielle, because he thought he’d lost his job and wanted to take the show down with him. The guy’s unhinged.”
He’d killed Louis, assuming Louis had been planting the clues. He’d realized the “relic” from the poem was his missing shark tooth—Adi had even caught him searching the Game Master’s dressing room . . .
“Fitzy,” Carter said in alarm, the name little more than a disbelieving gasp.
“It was Fitzy,” Adi whispered, clenching his fist tighter around the shark tooth. He felt the urgent need to apologize—for what, he wasn’t sure.
But Carter was staring beyond him, at the set door. And as he turned, he already half knew what he was going to see.
James “Fitzy” Fitzgerald, the show’s beloved Australian nincompoop, was standing there.
And he was holding a gun.