Hubert yanked the briefcase from my hand. Not wanting to argue with him, I went to examine the coasters while Aunt Janet inspected the handkerchief. “Three coasters have numbers—eight, four, and two—but I can’t tell what order they should be in,” I said.
Hubert spun the briefcase dial and entered the three numbers. No luck. He tried them again in a different order. The briefcase sprang open, revealing a stiletto letter opener and more dust.
As Hubert sneezed again, Delphine laughed. “A letter opener as a clue? That’s a first.”
“No, dear,” Aunt Janet said, picking up the opener. “But maybe a means to an end.” She examined it in the light before setting it and the handkerchief back down. “I think,” she said, “it’s a magnet. To open the door.”
Hubert sniffled and snatched the handkerchief to dab his nose.
“Gross,” Felicia said. “I can imagine where that thing’s been.”
Hubert lifted his chin and stared at her contemptuously before using the handkerchief to lift the letter opener. “Of course! This is something a servant would use to open the family’s mail, and servants were often the culprits in Christie novels. Young women, especially. They were greedy and never smart enough to cover their tracks.” He smirked at Delphine as he dangled the handkerchief-wrapped opener.
“You think you’re so smart, Hubert.” Delphine snatched the opener, dropping the handkerchief in the process. “You got to open the last door. My turn.”
She held the letter opener next to the metal plate and pulled. The door swung open, revealing a drawing room with thick curtains. Threadbare wing chairs faced each other across a fireplace with a large clock above it. On the mantel stood a miniature sculpture of Rodin’s the Thinker. We’d studied it in art history. Next to the sculpture were four parrots, each in a different color, probably a reference to that series of mysteries with birds in the titles. Then again, those weren’t Agatha Christie mysteries. Four parrots in a row had to be a clue, something about the order of the colors. I just didn’t know yet what it meant.
Between the two wingback chairs sat a small table, with a tattered copy of Christie’s Hickory Dickory Dock and two pieces of folded paper. A door with a combination lock taunted us from the far corner, under a television screen.
I glanced at the screen. “Only eleven minutes left.”
Aunt Janet hurried to the table to look at the book.
“I will examine the clues.” Hubert strode to the table, elbowed himself in beside Aunt Janet, and unfolded the papers.
“Hubert, you need to learn some manners.” She pushed him away.
It was nice to see someone else as annoyed at Hubert as I was.
Hubert discarded one piece of paper and held up the other. “Voila! A train schedule. The numbers probably reveal the exit code.” The armchair grunted as he plopped into it and began poring over the timetable.
Aunt Janet studied the tattered book. I inspected the parrots, but without anything to match them to, it was no use. The paper Hubert had discarded drifted to the floor near my shoe. I picked it up. It was a wedding invitation for the Styles daughter. That hinted at a motive, since a common Christie theme was the rich family patriarch barring a child’s unsuitable marriage. But escape rooms weren’t about motives, they were about numbers. I almost tossed the invitation away until I noticed the list at the bottom.
I said to Aunt Janet, “The RSVP options are color-coded.” We peered at the list of options:
To accept, check here (red box)
In case of regrets, check here (yellow box)
Maybe, maybe not, check here (blue box)
Expect an answer later, check here (green box)
The colored parrots on the mantel were in the exact same order. But what did that tell us? As Aunt Janet took the invitation from my hand, I glanced at Hubert. He was still in the armchair, peering at the timetable. By now, I’d expected Delphine to interrupt him.
I looked around. Delphine sat slumped against the far wall. I raced over and crouched next to her. Her skin looked pasty white and her eyelids were sliding shut. What was wrong with her? What had happened?
“Delphine!” I yelled as she toppled over.
I thrust my hands out to stop her head from hitting the floor. Her head felt heavy in my palms. This wasn’t the cheery, smiling Delphine I knew. Her eyes were half-closed. She was really sick!
I leaned her against the wall as Aunt Janet yelled up at the TV screen, “Call nine-one-one! Something’s wrong. She needs a doctor!”
Aunt Janet raced to the door and tapped in four numbers. The door sprung open, and Earbud Girl ran in, hoisting her phone. “They’re on their way,” she said.
Fortunately, the paramedics and police didn’t take long to get there. The paramedics whisked a barely conscious Delphine to the hospital. We all wanted to go to the hospital with her, but after Aunt Janet told the EMTs that Delphine had no allergies or medical conditions and hadn’t been sick, one of the officers eyed us suspiciously and made us stay put.
Just like in the Christie novels, all the players were assembled in a drawing room, and soon a wiry detective strolled in. He stared at each of us in turn, before focusing on Aunt Janet. “How are all of you connected? And how did you come to be here today?”
Aunt Janet lifted her chin. She looked younger somehow. “I’m Janet Nethercott. My mother, Sylvia, is in the hospital. They asked us to leave while they perform a procedure to keep her comfortable, but she’s…she’s dying of cancer.” A lump in her throat bobbed. “My niece, Delphine, as you know, was just taken to the hospital. As to the rest of us”—Janet nodded at each person in turn—“Hubert and David are my nephews. Delphine’s cousins. And Felicia and Cody are friends of Delphine. We came here to pass the time until we can see my mother again.” The lump bobbed again. “She doesn’t have much time left.”
“I’m sorry,” the detective said automatically. “I understand Delphine took ill suddenly, in this room, correct?”
“Correct,” Aunt Janet said.
“And I’m told she has no reason to have collapsed. She hasn’t been sick? She has no heart condition? Anything like that?”
“No.”
“Could she be on drugs?”
Aunt Janet shook her head. “No.” She looked toward Felicia. “Right?”
“Right,” she said.
“And you’re all here today on a break from the hospital, playing this game, while your mother is dying?” the detective said. “Do I have that right?”
It sounded harsh the way he said it, but it was the truth.
“That was my idea,” I said. “I just wanted to take our minds off…everything…while we waited to see her again.”
The detective asked Aunt Janet, “Is your mother a rich woman?”
“Very, I’m afraid,” Aunt Janet said.
“Why does that make you afraid?” The detective tilted his head, inviting her to elaborate.
Aunt Janet let out a long, whistling sigh. “Because it presents a motive for murder. My mother will be gone soon, and Delphine is one of her heirs.”
“Is that what you think happened? Did someone try to kill her?” the detective asked.
Aunt Janet gazed hard at Hubert.
Murder? Was she accusing Hubert of hurting Delphine?
“Don’t look