“It’s not so out of place at this sort of hotel,” said Detective Lopez.
Carter stiffened. “Whatsort 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.”
33
Sierra
It looked to Sierra, as the studio’s lobby sofas were quickly occupied, that everyone was at this meeting. Not just the contestants but Fitzy, Vera, Elijah, Lisa, the stylists, the lighting operators, the set crew, the interns, the director, the receptionist, even the shuttle driver.
Everyone except the Game Master.
“Seriously?Nowwhat?” said Nadia. “It’s supposed to be our day off. I’ve got passes for the Getty Center this afternoon.”
Vera was videoing the crowd when Ranielle marched over and snatched her phone away.
“Hey!”
“No recordings.”
Vera took a bewildered step back.
“What’s this about, Ranielle?” said Fitzy. He was sitting on the arm of one of the white leather sofas, and it took Sierra a moment to realize what looked different about him today. Without the crisp linen shirt, the carefully tousled hair, or the makeup creating the illusion of flawless skin, he looked . . . normal.
Only once everyone was settled and quiet did Ranielle pace to the front of the crowd, her fingers in front of her red-lacquered lips.
“Before I explain, I want to remind you about the nondisclosure agreements you’ve signed. What I’m about to tell you is to remain confidential until further notice. Anyone found discussing this information outside of this studio, and with anyone not currently in this room, will be immediately terminated from their position here onThe Escape Gameand facing a very severe lawsuit.”
She paused, letting this threat sink in.
Then— “Where’s Louis?”
The question came from Gabriela, her brow knitted as she scanned the crowd, and it spurred a flurry of confusion as everyone looked around, confirming that the Game Master was indeed missing.
