She’s still spinning in an armchair before the bookshelf, her head lulling back; she faces ceiling. I would have barfed by now if I were in her place. She lifts her head and stops the chair.“No way, we're locked in here for an hour. We have to solve the murder mystery!”
Andrea crosses her arms. “I’m sure they can unlock the door in an emergency… plus, it’s not a murder mystery, we’re finding where the ummm…”
“EXPLOSIVES are!” Mairead pipes up.
“Yeah,” Andrea says hushed.
I need to sit. I perch on the edge of the desk and start fanning myself with the laminate sheet.
Mairead swivels her head toward me. “What’s wrong?”
I’m dizzy and I can hear the whooshing sound as my heartrate starts to pick up. Everything in the room moves at a snail's pace. Why did I drink so much?
Andrea’s sagging mouth and downcast eyes tell me, I look pitiful.
I point to my bag I dropped near the door; she immediately goes over and brings it up to me. I shuffle through items looking for the one thing that I’ve learned can help with these episodes,sour candy. I rip open a bag of sour Skittles and start popping two at a time into my mouth.
Andrea quietly watches me, likely unsure how this could possibly be the remedy.
“Damn, I wish I had thought to bring snacks.” Mairead pouts.
Once I feel like the walls aren't closing in and the rushing sound subsides, I speak. “Sour candies can help with panic attacks. Someone taught me that recently.”
They exchange glances then look back at me.
Mairead still seems just as confused as before.
“There was an accident when I was young.”
Andrea rubs her temples, knowing how hard it is to share this story; however, Mairead is unaware of my struggles.
“A gas line exploded next to my house when I was around five. I was in the hospital for a while; fortunate to be alive, butnot everything healed. They said I have noise-induced hearing loss from the blast. I've been wearing hearing aids since.”
Mairead taps her chin, still sitting in the paisley print chair. Leaning forward, she grabs the armrests of her seat, her face a mask of concentration. “Explosives are the worst!” She declares, enunciating each syllable. “I’m more of a knife girl myself.”
Andrea and I make eye contact with the same perplexing expression. Did she really just say that, and are we actually stuck in a room with her for the next hour?
While the candy works its magic, I tell myself this little outing is for a reason. Pushing down my past, I focus on the present. What I need to gain and how Mairead might have insight.
“Your aid thingies are so cute! Do they come in different colors?” Mairead stands and begins flipping through pages of a book she pulled from the shelf.
“Umm, thank you? I suppose they come in different styles, depending on your needs.”
She pushes the book back onto the shelf and begins checking underneath tables and chairs, for what I’m not sure.
Andrea sticks out her tongue, tilts her head to the side, then swirls her finger next to her ear, as to indicateshe’scrazy;while Mairead is poised under an end table.
She pops up suddenly. “Okay, we have less than an hour! Let’s figure out who killed Mr. Callaway!”
Andrea’s palm hits her forehead so loudly; it echoes through the room.
“Let’s find clues,” I announce, trying to run interference before Andrea voices what her face already says.
We spend the next thirty minutes checking every possible nook and cranny of the mock office set. We’ve found a skeleton key, a letter from Mr. Callaway to a “Mr. Simmons,” and a cipher to decode some kind of message. Checking the handout again, Inotice that we’re locked in one of the most challenging rooms in the establishment. Five lightbulbs across the top, indicating it’s the hardest.
Great… I can’t even figure out where to write the one and zeros on my W-2 form, but I’m supposed to figure out some theoretical plot before the city is blown up? Andrea and I study the letter we found, paired with the cipher, but came up short.
Mairead on the other hand hasn’t given up looking for secrets and finds a hidden compartment within the office desk, which we previously missed. She holds up a black and white photo, displaying a bunch of gentlemen in business suits. “I am having such a good time!” She proclaims, but in the blink of an eye, her lighthearted tone turns cold. “I never expected that finding my mother’sactualmurderer would be such fun,” she says plainly.
