The honeymoon was over, and given the way it had turned out, I was okay with that. I mean, the lake house was terrific, and having access to the boat had made it all the better. But considering my life trajectory, I probably shouldn’t have expected the peace of a ghost-free vacation, anyway. But no one had died for once, and that was a plus I could live with.

Besides, we’d needed the chance to decompress after the chaos surrounding the wedding and then the aftermath. Fifty cents said Drew would be looking through real estate sites for lakefront property within twenty-four hours. Fingers crossed, there would be something. I hadn’t realized how much I enjoyed time on the water. But that was a problem for another day.

By the time we’d unpacked and sorted through the mail my mother had left on the hall table, I was more than ready to collapse on the couch with a glass of wine, a hot slice of Bertino’s finest, and—since one of those pieces of mail contained the DVD—a front-row seat to the wedding I’d barely had time to enjoy the first time around.

“Ready?” Drew asked, remote in hand, the box containing a loaded pizza resting on the coffee table between us like an offering to the gods of greasy comfort food. He’d already cued up the menu screen.

“Hit it,” I said, tucking my legs under me and stealing a pepperoni slice off the top before the video even started.

The opening chords of something vaguely classical swelled as the screen lit up with an intro showing our names and the date before panning to an exterior shot of Wentworth House, the porch dressed in floral finery. Just as the camera landed on my arrival, in the classic car I’d gifted to my father, the doorbell rang.

“Wonder who that is,” Drew said, grinning as he punched the pause button.

Two fast knocks followed the bell, telling me exactly who stood outside my front door, which swung open before I could reply.

Jacy.

She burst into the house like she was trying to outrun her personal demons. Winded, red-cheeked, and carrying the energy of someone who’d mainlined espresso, she made a beeline for me. Honey-colored hair swung free around her shoulders, a clear sign she’d been in a hurry to leave the house without pulling it back into its usual tail.

“Are you—” Was all I managed to get out after I got my breath back when she hugged me so hard almost dropped the slice I’d just pulled from the box.

“I’m sorry, I know, we were planning to come over tomorrow and hear all about the honeymoon, but I couldn’t wait that long.” She hugged Drew next. “I want to hear everything, and I mean everything, but first—”

She went quiet when she caught sight of the TV screen, which had frozen on an image of me walking ahead of my father as he ushered me into the house.

“Ohhh,” she breathed, seeing the paused wedding footage. “Look at him. He’s beaming and trying not to cry.” Her eyes went glossy. “Gets me right in the feels. It was such a beautiful day. You know…mostly.”

She flopped onto the couch, grabbed a slice of pizza like it was her emotional support snack—which I happened to know it wasn’t—and took a bite.

“I have to tell you what happened while you were gone. Unless your mom already did.” Jacy sounded as if she might be disappointed if that were the case.

“Unless it has to do with the snafu at the annual book sale at the library, I think you’re safe.”

“Good.” Jacy took her first full breath. “Then do I ever have a story for you.”

“The adult version of ‘what I did on my summer vacation’? I can’t wait to hear it. Let me get you a drink first.” Drew went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of iced tea, which Jacy gratefully accepted and sipped to wash down another bite of pizza.

“It all started the day after you left.”

And just like that, I wasn’t the main character in my own story anymore. Jacy was.

⁂

Okay. So. You know how sometimes you just know something’s going to go sideways, but you do it anyway because you think maybe this time will be different?

That’s how we ended up at the escape room.

Well, sort of. Let me back up.

It actually started with those local business owner meetings—you know, the ones you never come to because you “don’t technically own a business,” which is just a fancy way of saying you’re too smart to get roped into three-hour discussions about sandwich board placement and bulk discounts if we all chip together and buy from the big box store in Bangor.

Anyway, that’s where I met Kari. Kari Palmiscno. You remember her? New in town, married to this super chill guy named Michael. Michael will be taking over as manager at the bank next month, and Kari’s working there, too. But the best thing is they’re both heavy into amateur theater in their spare time, and absolutely determined to bring The Strand back from the dead. Which, if you ask me, is both a noble and slightly cursed pursuit. Everyone knows the place is haunted.

Still, they’re planning to restore the building—get the projector running again, eventually host live productions, add a gaming annex in the back, and maybe even put together a summer program for kids who want to act. The whole nine yards. But of course, restoring the seats would cost a fortune, and their finances were already stretched thin just buying the building.

Then they got hit with the news they’d have to update the projection equipment because everything’s digital these days. And so, they came up with the idea to turn the backstage area into a temporary escape room to raise extra money. I thought it was genius.

Theater people know drama, right? And they’re gamers besides, so they figured they could blend everything they love into building a good story. And who knows props and puzzles better than someone who’s had to rig a trapdoor with fishing line and duct tape between the first and second act of a play?

They named the escape room The Final Curtain, which felt appropriately dramatic. When Kari asked if we’d beta-test it before it opened to the public, I practically jumped in her pocket and dragged Neena and Patrea along for the fun.

I mean, it was supposed to be a girls’ night. A little bonding. A little puzzle-solving. Maybe a fake ghost or two if we were lucky. With you off in honeymoonland, the real kind wasn’t in the cards, but you know how it is.

What we didn’t expect was to find a real, live dead guy. But I’ll get to that.

We were just about to head into the third room when it happened. Kari and Michael had set the whole thing up like a haunted theater mystery—think doomed production, cursed scripts, moody lighting. Honestly, it was kind of brilliant. She said the next version might even have a fog machine if Michael could figure out how to run one without tripping the fire alarm or making anyone sick.

We were having a blast. Patrea was taking notes as if she were preparing to audit the room, while Neena was muttering about lighting choices and the proper paint technique to give the props more flair, and I was mainly just giggling and dancing around like a gremlin in a glitter closet.

Then we heard it.

This dragging sound, and then a thump. Followed by silence.

Neena froze. Patrea’s eyes narrowed. And me? I immediately assumed it was part of the game.

I mean, c’mon. It’s called The Final Curtain. Of course, someone’s going to fake their death dramatically. I figured it had to be a requirement or something. We got through that room and then had to navigate a spooky passage before we reached the next one. And then…

The door clicked open, and we stepped into what was supposed to be the old dressing room scene. That’s when we saw him.

At first, I thought he was a prop. Some kind of incredibly lifelike mannequin sprawled on the floor behind a dressing table.

It wasn’t.

It was Brett Haskins.

And he was very, very dead.

“Jacy, stop.”

Everly’s voice cut through my word sprint like a brake screeching right before the worst happens.

I blinked. She was still holding her wine glass—untouched since I started talking.

“Start over,” she said. “From the beginning. With breathing this time.”

“Who’s Brett Haskins?” Drew interrupted

I opened my mouth to protest because I was right there, about to describe the blood and the footlight and the letter opener, but the look Everly gave me channeled her mother. You didn’t mess with that look. You just didn’t.

So I nodded, took a breath, and started again.