Riley Dare: Slightly Witchy Sleuth

Chapter One

Everyone at Scarlettsboro Middle School knows three things about me:

1. I live above the local escape room with my aunt.
2. I’m one of Scarlettsboro’s Queens of Mystery. Need a mystery book recommendation? I got you. Need a hint on how to beat a game or solve a puzzle? I can solve anything.
3. And my aunt says I was born into a mystery. I came screaming into the world right along with the police sirens as the most famous crime in our town’s history was being committed.

Also, I’ve never met my parents, but I’m pretty sure they’re secret agents. Or secret witches. Maybe secret agent witches? Aunt Hayley swears she’ll tell me their story one day. That’s a whole other thing, though.

I, Riley Dare, am the ultimate master of escape rooms in Scarlettsboro. Possibly in the world, actually, but there are eight billion people in the world, so I figure I have to allow some wiggle room. I help my Aunt Hayley design the rooms, play-test them ruthlessly, and work most weekends as either an escape room concierge or a gaming instructor in the gaming hall downstairs. And, of course, I use my tiny flicker of magic to put on the essential finishing touches.

This weekend is different, though.

This is the weekend we make history.

(Local history, but still. Pretty awesome.)

I stand in the middle of our escape room, turning in a slow circle to examine every tiny detail. It’s 4:45 p.m. on Friday, which means the room opens for the first run of the week in fifteen minutes. But it’s not just any Friday. Today is the debut run of our newest room design, the Solstice Heist, based on the crime that was committed the night I was born. After weeks of in‑depth research, we’ve meticulously recreated every detail we could cram into a fifteen‑by‑fifteen-foot room: The precious gems that were stolen from the descendants of Scarlettsboro’s founders, including a flawless ruby pillar worth millions, one of the world’s largest sapphires, and a rare black opal mirror. The bonfire that was the center of the party happening on the grounds that night. Decorations that suit Monthaven, the town founders’ old manor house. I only wish we’d been able to tour the house for firsthand inspiration. Unfortunately, the family hasn’t let anyone near the place since the theft, but their mysteriousness has only added to the hype. The whole town is in a frenzy over our escape room, and we’re booked for a month solid. People keep stopping me at school, even teachers, to ask for details about the room or hints to solve the puzzles.

Hah, like I’d spoil our greatest room design yet. We have only the one escape room at our shop, so every time we change it over to a new theme, it’s a big deal. I’ve been running straight home every day and getting my homework done at record speed so I can help Aunt Hayley finalize the last few details. An extra prop here to better obscure a clue, a little tweak there to make a puzzle more obvious, and the tiniest threads of magic when Aunt Hayley isn’t looking—because, let’s be real, that’s all the magic I’ve got—for a final sheen of spooky vibes. She doesn’t know how I make the room so eerie every time, but she feels it and loves it, so she always relies on me to give the room a final check at the beginning of each day. I’ll need to top‑up the magic between each run, but the subtly moving shadows that obscure certain clues take the atmosphere from great to fantastic. An escape room has layers, and each has to be perfectly prepared.

I catch my reflection in one of the glass cases and grin. Hopefully, our first customers are prepared to have their minds blown.

“Agent!” my aunt shouts from the lobby. “Come out here, please!”

I straighten the collar of my purple button-down shirt, then check myself in the reflection to make sure my bow tie is straight. Aunt Hayley says being an escape room concierge means you’re part of the experience people pay for. I want to look sharp. Another tiny thread of magic to make my hazel eyes seem to shift colors with each glance (+1 to spooky vibes), a quick tousle of my pixie-length brown hair, and I’m set.

Showtime.

After one last glance around the room, I lift my chin, carefully shut the door behind me, and stride confidently down the hall. The hallway is dim, and the walls are papered with a dark, busy pattern, all the better to distance people from the outside world and fully immerse them in ours. With each step, I slip further into character, rehearsing the script for the room’s introduction in my mind. When I arrive in the lobby, though, I stop and blink.

There’s a giant camera pointing in my face.

“Um, excuse you,” Aunt Hayley says, stepping between me and the camera. Though she’s short, she has this amazing silvery long hair that practically has its own zip code. It completely obscures the view of the lens.

“What? You said we had permission,” a pretty blond woman with a microphone says, stepping around the cameraman as if he were furniture.

“I said you had my permission,” Aunt Hayley corrects, moving aside. “You haven’t asked Riley yet.”

The cameraman and the reporter stare at each other for a long moment, then the woman turns to me and puts on a sun-bright fake smile.

“Riley,” she says. “I’m Hannah Jones with NBC28 news. Would you mind if we filmed you for a story we’re doing on the new escape room?”

I paste on a matching super-fake smile so she’ll know I see through her act. I’m grateful my aunt always makes sure I get to have my own say in things, because most other adults are too busy talking down to me and obsessing about how so swamped they are to stop and think of me as a real person. Normally it gets to me, but in this case, there’s truly only one answer.

Be on the news? Monday at school is gonna be wild.

“Of course not,” I say, putting on my most polished, professional voice. The words are barely out of my mouth before the little green light on the camera winks on. “But it’s time for us to welcome our very first guests into the Solstice Heist escape room, so you’ll have to film that. Excuse me.”

Tamping down my smugness, I move straight past the reporter, hyperaware of the camera at my back. A small group of customers mills around in front of our Wall of Winners . . . And Everyone Else, which is papered with photos: groups posing with props, holding up a card with their finish time, either cheering their victory or making sad faces. I give them a tiny half bow and begin.

“Welcome. My name is Riley, and I’ll be your concierge for this evening’s dive into the mysteries of the past,” I say, enunciating the script clearly, as Aunt Hayley taught me. She’s a great acting coach. I look around, making eye contact, studying each of the six players who will be tackling the room together. There’s a couple on a date, clearly come straight from work, judging by their clothing; a man with a giant beard and a ball cap for the local team; a mother with her son, a kid named Aidan I kinda know from school; and . . .

I falter and momentarily forget the next part of the script when my eyes land on the final player.

No. Way.

It’s Richard Rillardson. Popular children’s mystery author, newly moved to Scarlettsboro, and local celebrity, dressed much fancier than everyone else in a smart brown suit over a rich blue shirt with some kind of black pattern on it. I haven’t read any of his books yet because the hold lists are so long at the library, but I requested every single one when he moved here a few weeks ago. My best friend Kayla completely lost it when she heard he was moving to town; she’s a superfan of his Shana Carter, Young Detective series and managed to read them at the library long before they got popular. I’ll admit, I’m skeptical. I’ve read every single Sherlock Holmes story that exists, plus most of the mysteries in the kids and young adult section at the library, and Aunt Hayley and I have watched what feels like every mystery show in existence. Is it really that good compared to all those? I’ll get to find out eventually, I guess. Our other best friend, Mateo, refuses to read anything that isn’t a huge fantasy novel he can use as inspiration for writing our D&D campaign. It’s a thing he and Kayla argue over at least once a week. I mostly stay out of it. Neither of them has read Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library, so their book opinions don’t count anyway.

No matter what Mateo or I think of him, though, Richard Rillardson is legit famous, and he’s right here in our shop, about to run an escape room we poured our hearts into.

Will the room be too easy for him? Will his mystery author skills give him an advantage? Of course, he’s only one person, and the room definitely requires a team. Will they all be able to work together?

Only one way to find out. I lift my chin, meet Mr. Rillardson’s eyes, and continue.

“A quick reminder about the rules of our game. You will have sixty minutes to solve the mystery and escape from the room. Though the door will not truly be locked, it will be monitored by video from the inside and outside at all times. You leave, you lose—except for bathroom breaks, of course, we’re not monsters. No phones or recording of any kind. If you need a clue, hold up the giant foam magnifying glass. Please, no moving the furniture, climbing, dismantling, smashing, juggling, or licking. Any questions?”

Aidan raises his hand. “Licking?”

I shake my head, my expression solemn. “Best not to ask.”

The couple clings together, grinning, practically bouncing with excitement. Aidan gives me a faint smile and nod, even as his mother glares at Mr. Rillardson. She must really hate his books or something. Mr. Rillardson and the guy with the beard give me nothing but blank polite stares. Right, then.

“Well, if you’re sure you’re ready to take on our most challenging mystery yet, then follow me, and let the game begin!”

I spin neatly on my heel, constantly aware of the camera filming my back as I lead the group down the hall. Once we reach the door, I turn back to the group (and the camera), placing one hand on the doorknob.

“Twelve years ago, in this very town, persons unknown committed a heinous act—the theft of several priceless gemstones originally owned by the founders of our town, housed at their family estate, brought to Scarlettsboro when they emigrated from Ireland. It was the perfect heist, and the culprit or culprits were never found. Until now. We have recreated the crime scene for you with all the clues you need to solve the greatest cold case in our town’s history.” I pause for effect, reveling in the tense silence, then smile conspiratorially. “Good luck.”

With that, I sweep the door open, and after a moment’s polite shuffling, the six players disappear inside.

I manage to keep it cool until the door clicks fully shut behind the group. The second it’s secure, I sprint to the surveillance room, all chill abandoned, pausing just long enough to shoot a thumbs‑up to the guy packing up the television camera. Aunt Hayley sits at the spy desk, as we call it, keeping one eye on the front desk through the door while watching the security feed from the room. Level Up’s two elderly mascot labradors, Loo and Dig, give little snuffles of greeting from their spot on the floor, then flop back on their sides, yellow-gold and chocolate-brown legs all tangled together.

“They just opened the first lock,” Aunt Hayley says, rolling her chair aside to make room for me. I leap into the nearest chair and send it sailing across the floor to her side, snatching a notebook off the countertop as I glide past.

“Right on schedule,” I say, flipping the notebook open to the first blank page. We’ve tested the room thoroughly with small groups of our friends, but tweaks are always needed after opening to the public. Brains are weird, and they work in so many different ways. Someone will inevitably see a perfectly clear connection between two things we didn’t intend to be related at all, or completely fail to see something we thought was painfully obvious. That’s half the fun—trying to stay one step ahead of how people think. Aunt Hayley leans in close, mouth twitching with suppressed laughter as the bearded man whirls around to seize a computer keyboard and hold it two inches from his face.

“Can you believe Richard Rillardson is here?” I ask, pointing at the screen with my pen. His bright, intelligent eyes are focused on a bookshelf next to our miniature recreation of the solstice bonfire, scanning every single title, probably looking for patterns. He’s close to a clue, and the anticipation is killing me. “I can’t believe someone famous is in our room.”

“You should ask him for an autograph when they’re all done,” Aunt Hayley says with a smile.

“Maybe he’ll give you some writing tips. Oh, they found the key card!”

The young couple applauds their own genius, holding the key card overhead like a trophy. Aidan subtly rolls his eyes and turns back to an electronic keypad lock, while his mom leans over his shoulder, obviously dictating instructions. I zoom the camera in to see if he’s just trying random combinations, or if he’s actually figured out the code already. Sure enough, he’s got it. 4‑1‑9‑7‑4.

Then the camera goes dark.

Huh?

I zoom back out, but nothing happens. Maybe the camera went dead? I switch my screen to one of the other cameras, then another, and another.

Nothing. All the cameras in the room are black. Every screen shows the same thing except the one monitoring the hallway outside the room, which looks completely normal. A nervous giggle and a dull thud come from the escape room camera feed. Sound, but no video.

“What’s happening?” I ask, a small note of fear creeping into my voice.

“I don’t know,” Aunt Hayley says, already out of her chair and heading for the door. The dogs sit up, suddenly alert, sensing the tension in the air, and I’m hit with a wave of cold tingles that takes my breath away.

Not nerves. Not fear.

Magic.

For just a second, my magic flares to life inside me like I’ve never felt it before, like a roaring flame inside my palms. And through my magic, I feel a presence, something strange and haunting I’ve never felt before.

When I glance at the camera, there’s a blurry flash—and a face. But not the face of one of the customers. It couldn’t be, with the cameras off.

It’s something else entirely.

Then, all at once, the cameras flicker back on.

Everyone in the room looks around, blinking at one another, and I realize—the cameras didn’t malfunction. The lights went off in the room!

Then, a high-pitched scream echoes down the hall from the direction of the escape room. On the screen, Aidan’s mom has one hand pressed to her mouth. All at once, the five players in the room race for the door, shoving one another aside.

Wait . . . five?

I count again, and again.

Where once there were six . . . now there are five.

Someone is missing. And whoever it was?

They left behind a bloody shoe.