“I didn’t kill my sister,” Sierra said. “But someone here did, and I’m going to find out who.”
Beck examined her hunched shoulders. Her black eyeliner, dry and cracked in the corners.
She could have been lying. But in that moment, Beck believed her. Sierra Angelos hadn’t killed her sister.
But if she hadn’t . . . who had?
“Someone already knows,” said Adi, nodding toward Carter’s phone, still displaying the RIP ALICIA post. “If we make it to the finale, we can find out, too.”
“Only if someone figures out the lie in the clues,” Carter said. “The poster said they’d only leave the evidenceifwe solve the mystery.” She tugged idly on one of her curls. “It must be one heck of a lie for the police to have completely dismissed this person’s claims. The poster seems really sure they know who did it.”
“Maybe they’ll reveal more clues in the next rooms,” Beck said.
Adi grabbed a spoon from the cutlery drawer and tried a bite of the raw cookie dough. He chewed thoughtfully before nodding in approval. “How about this,” he said to Sierra. “You tell us what your deal is, and I’ll get you some milk.”
20
Sierra
Sierra had worried her teammates weren’t cutthroat enough toreach the finale. But somehow, they kept surprising her. Carter with her math. Beck’s broad proficiencies. Adi recognizing the columnar transposition cipher before any Solve Specialist.
Now Adi knelt by the dining hall door with a small metal tube containing lock-picking tools. When there was a click, Sierra had to admit she was impressed.
Adi held the door open into the darkness. “Shall we?”
“You have to teach me how to do that,” Beck said, using the welcome pack flashlight to guide his way.
“What’s that?” Carter whispered.
Sierra followed her stare toward the driveway. “What?”
“I thought I saw something . . .” Carter trailed off, eyes darting around the shadows. Then she shook her head. “The wind, probably.”
Sierra couldn’t see anything but swaying palm trees. It was a blustery night, a welcome reprieve from the day’s heat.
She and Carter stepped inside. Adi led them beyond the swinging door at the back of the hall into the kitchen.
“Ice creeeam,” Beck sang, grabbing the key from the hook and unlocking the padlock to the walk-in freezer.
“I thought we were getting milk,” Carter said.
“It’s a two-for-one sale. I hope they have caramel swirl. It tastes like my favorite song.”
“You keep saying stuff like that,” Carter said. “What are you talking about?”
“I taste sounds,” Beck said, like it was a totally normal thing to say. He had to drag out boxes of meat that were stacked on the freezer floor to get in.
“The FDA’s dream,” Adi drawled, nudging a box of raw chicken away with his shoe.
When Beck was done, he gave a dramatic gasp. “Ice cream mother lode! Look—they’ve got Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey, and Cherry Garcia, and oh my giddy aunt—is that Phish Food?”
“I’ll be a part of this,” Adi said, lunging inside.
“I’m sorry,” said Sierra. “Youtaste sounds?”
Beck looked up from the two pints of ice cream in his hands. “It’s a type of synesthesia. Different sounds make me taste different flavors, and sometimes textures.” He pointed an ice cream carton at Sierra. “Your voice is like blue Kool-Aid and sherbet. That’s how I knew it was you in the snag round before we saw you.”
The three of them stared at him for a long moment. Finally, Carter whispered, “That’s really cool. So, um, do you see any strawberry?”
