The Book Supremacy, page 7
part #13 of Bibliophile Mystery Series
In theory?
“Good to know,” I murmured.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s a competitive sport, but it’s also used in training exercises all over the world. People come here to use our shooting range in the back. We have a couple of staff members who monitor the range at all times, plus we have closed-circuit cameras going twenty-four hours a day. We don’t want any accidents.”
“God forbid,” I murmured.
“And we don’t sell the guns here,” he continued. “You just rent them for a set amount of time. And before we’ll let you do anything with the guns, you pretty much have to sign your life away.”
“Sounds fascinating.”
“If you want to know more about it, you should ask Soldier. He’s our resident champion.”
That made sense, I thought. “I think I’ll pass for now.” I had to admit that I had occasionally enjoyed shooting at tin cans while I was growing up. But more recently, I’d seen a few too many guns aimed at me. I no longer had any interest in visiting a shooting range. But then I brightened. “But I’d love to see your escape rooms.”
His eyes lit up. “They’re our most popular attraction. I’ll give you a quick tour. Oh, but before I make any promises, I’d better check and see if any of them are unoccupied.”
“They looked like a lot of fun in the brochure,” I said as he led us toward the far end of the large store.
“They’re even better in person,” he said over his shoulder. “I was skeptical at first, but now I’m a true believer.”
As we moved through the shop, I got a chance to see many of the products up close and personal. The ballpoint pens that hid tiny tape recorders, those wristwatches that doubled as two-way radios. At one counter I tried on several pairs of the sunglasses, each of which contained a powerful hidden camera.
And there were even more versions of the popular teddy bear cam than I’d thought when we first walked in.
We finally reached the back counter, where two cashiers were stationed. On the surrounding walls and inside the glass counters on either side were colorful displays of photos of the various escape rooms. Hanging from the ceiling above the cashiers were two signs. One said, WILL CALL, and the other said, PURCHASE TICKETS.
Several people were already in line to purchase tickets so Owen rounded the counter to speak to the clerk on the other side. “Any rooms empty right now?”
The will call cashier gave a quick glance around the shop. “Mummy’s Curse is empty right now, but we’ve got a party going in there in ten minutes. Two of them just checked in and they’re browsing while they wait for the rest of their group.”
“We’ll be fast.” Owen waved at us to follow him to a set of double doors across from the ticket counter. “Let’s go check it out.”
Owen opened the doors and led us into a large, glamorous, yet slightly shabby hotel lobby. The vibe was old-world Hollywood, with overstuffed couches and chairs covered in faded red velvet and gold fringe, with plenty of gilded side tables on which to rest a beverage. A concession stand sold boxes of candy, munchies, and small bottles of water.
Directly in front of us was a hotel check-in counter manned by an odd-looking clerk who stood attentively, waiting to help the next customer. His face was made up to look deathly pale—at least, I thought it was makeup—and his eyes were dark and sunken. The tuxedo he wore was old-fashioned, dusty, and threadbare.
We had stepped into a different world. A fantastical, theatrical display that came across as gaudy, a bit sinister, a bit creepy, and pretty humorous.
“This is amazing,” I whispered to Derek.
“Hello, Igor,” Owen said pleasantly to the clerk.
“Hiya, boss.” Igor flashed us all a big grin—which was just plain weird, given the surroundings and his otherworldly appearance. He was missing several teeth. I almost laughed, but hesitated. I was pretty sure his teeth were blacked out with wax, but you just never knew.
Igor waved us toward a long, wide, carpeted hallway with four double doors on either side.
I glanced back to see him grinning and still waving.
Above each door in the hall was a small theater marquee announcing which escape room it was.
“Over here,” Owen said. He walked quickly down the hall to the Mummy’s Curse, took a set of keys from his pocket, and unlocked the door. “You won’t get the full effect of the game because we won’t actually be playing, but you’ll get a rough idea. Come on in.”
We walked inside. And entered the inner sanctum of an ancient Egyptian pyramid.
“Wow.” My voice echoed in the chamber. The room was dimly lit, but I could see the huge stone blocks that made up the walls. They were covered in symbols and animal drawings. Hieroglyphics, I presumed. The room was square on the floor but the walls leaned in, rising up until they formed a point at the top of the ceiling. Like the interior of a pyramid—or what I imagined it would look like. It was claustrophobic, on purpose I assumed. Even in the darkened room you could see the cobwebs hanging off the ceiling.
“Naturally,” Owen said, “all of our rooms revolve around a spy theme. So while this room appears to be your basic ancient pyramid, the theme and some of the riddles have to do with a World War II battle between the British Army, the Nazis, the Italians, and the Egyptians. We fudge on the details a bit, but it’s basically Spy vs. Spy vs. the Mummy. All very dramatic and swashbuckle-y.”
“It’s so clever.” I glanced around, did some quick math, estimated the room was about twenty by twenty feet square. Against one wall was a fancy armchair upholstered in velvet, its elaborate armrests in the shape of undulating brass snakes. There was a small writing desk in the corner with a rickety matching chair. The top drawer of the old desk was pulled out and I noticed a file folder was placed inside. Two big stone blocks were set down in the middle of the space to provide more seating for the groups that participated in the game. The room could easily accommodate six people, maybe more.
“How does the game work?” I asked.
“I don’t want to give too much away, but you’re given a series of puzzles and riddles and clues to find things around the room. You solve them all, and you break the Mummy’s Curse.”
“Or?”
Owen pressed his hands together. “Or you die.”
I laughed. “What if you can’t figure out the answer?”
He smiled and pointed to the wall. “Every group receives a two-way radio you can use if you get desperate. Igor will answer and give your group a hint. He doesn’t make it easy, though. You have to be truly anxious and at your wit’s end. He makes you work for it by forcing you to dance or sing or whatever strikes his fancy. His music requests are truly awful, for the most part.”
“Now that sounds funny,” I said, smiling. “Okay, so how do you go from one puzzle and riddle to the next?”
“Again, I don’t want to give too much away. But for instance, if you solve one puzzle, it leads you to a hidden spring that triggers a panel in the wall to slide open and reveal, say, a key. You have to solve another riddle to figure out where to put the key. Answering that riddle correctly reveals yet another clue, and so on. Finally, a very large panel slides open and that’s where you find the Mummy’s casket. Answering the final riddle correctly will cause the casket to open and . . .” He laughed. “No more hints.”
I walked over and ran my hand along the wall. “It feels like stone, but I assume it’s, what? Drywall? Plaster?”
“My lips are sealed.” But his eyes were twinkling.
“Okay, I won’t ask any more questions.” Instead, I stared at the hieroglyphics. “It’s amazing.”
“It’s out of this world, Owen,” Derek said, clearly impressed.
“I know.” Owen grinned. “And the other rooms are even better.”
“How does it work as a team-building exercise?” I asked.
“Brilliantly,” he said immediately. “The team members have to focus on communicating and collaborating. There’s no time for arguments because the clock is ticking.”
“I see.”
“The faster you can solve the riddles,” he continued, “the sooner you can break out. The puzzles are creative but logical and fun. And there’s a real feeling of accomplishment each time the group solves a riddle.” He chuckled. “I sound like an advertisement. But honestly, it’s good for morale.”
“Especially if everyone makes it out alive.”
“That helps. But while you’re in the room, you’re all completely immersed in the game and most people get into the spirit of it. By the end, they’re all laughing and making plans to do it all over again.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed as he glanced around the room once more. “You did mention that next weekend is your big anniversary celebration. What are the chances of renting several of your escape rooms for a few hours each?”
“Your chances are excellent,” Owen said.
“Thank you,” Derek said with a firm nod. “I want to bring some of my staff here next Saturday. There may be as many as twenty-two people, and I want them all to be scared out of their wits.”
Owen’s smile grew broader. “We can arrange that.”
“Good,” Derek said.
Owen walked us out of the Mummy’s Curse room and all the way up to the front door. On the way out, we made reservations for four escape rooms for next Saturday. We also arranged a time with Owen to bring him The Spy Who Loved Me. As we were saying our good-byes, he gave me a slow smile.
“You know, Brooklyn, we’re designing two more escape rooms.”
“So you’ll have ten altogether?”
“Yes. They are overwhelmingly popular.”
“I can see why. And here on the pier is the perfect location.”
“Indeed it is,” he said with a grin. “But it just occurred to me that you might be able to help us with the design and furnishings of one of the rooms. I would certainly pay you for your time.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, and gave Derek a quick look. “I don’t know anything about designing, especially when it comes to escape rooms.”
“But you know about books,” he said. “And one of the two new rooms is going to be the Scary Library.”
“A scary library?” I blinked, then grinned. “Oh, it rhymes.”
“Yes,” he said with a jovial laugh. “Doesn’t it sound like fun?”
“Um, yeah, actually. It does.”
“For now, I’m just planting a little bug in your ear,” he said. “Think about it. We would love to have the benefit of your experience.”
“I . . . Okay, I’ll think about it. I appreciate the offer and your confidence in me.”
He patted my arm. “We’ll talk more about it the next time you come in.”
Out on the pier at last, Derek and I both put on sunglasses. We had been inside the store for two hours, and during that time, the sun had burst through the cloud cover. It was turning into a beautiful day and it seemed like half of San Francisco had decided to enjoy it here on the pier. We managed to make our way through the tourist hordes until we reached the sidewalk where we continued to stroll along the Embarcadero until it ended at Taylor Street. The briny scents of shellfish and lobster bisque filled the air, causing my stomach to grumble. “I’m hungry.”
“Me, too,” Derek said. “Let’s head over to McCormick and Kuleto’s for lunch.”
“Sounds perfect.” The popular seafood restaurant in Ghirardelli Square was perched on the hill and offered a stunning view of the bay from almost every table, along with good seafood and excellent cocktails.
Turning on Taylor Street, we continued our leisurely stroll toward the restaurant. I could tell that Derek was still pondering his office problems, so I gave his arm a light squeeze. “I don’t know if the escape rooms will solve all your employee problems, but I do think they’ll have fun. And that’s a start, right?”
“Right.” But then he scowled. “Believe me, darling. If they don’t snap out of it, death by the Mummy’s Curse will be the very least of their worries.”
Chapter 4
After a late breakfast on Sunday, the doorbell rang. I was still cleaning up in the kitchen so I was close enough to reach for the video screen to see who was at the front door. Two guys from our local deli stood there holding three platters and several bags.
I stared at the screen as I pressed the com button. “Hello?”
The guys lifted their packages. “Deli delivery.”
“Great. Come on up,” I said, adding, “We’re on the sixth floor.”
I buzzed them into the building and kept my eye on the screen until they disappeared into the lobby and the door closed securely behind them. Only then did I step away from the security screen. Months ago, after several scary break-ins and the discovery of a dead body in our home, Derek and our friend Gabriel had completely redesigned the security system for our entire building. So now, even though I recognized the guys from the deli, I had trained myself to say hello and hear them talk rather than simply buzzing them into the building. And I always waited until I heard the door lock completely.
Knowing how slow our ancient freight elevator moved, I took my time finishing up in the kitchen and turning on the dishwasher. Then I went into Derek’s office to let him know that the deli guys were on their way up with food for his meeting.
“Thanks, love,” Derek said, pushing away from the desk. “I’ll get the door.”
“Okay. I’ll be in my workshop.” I had already helped him set up the dining room table for the meeting. The kitchen island would be used for the buffet lunch, and there were already platters and utensils set out, along with napkins and glassware. And we had brought in the large cooler from the rooftop patio and filled it with ice for beverages and water bottles.
Seeing that everything was ready for Derek’s meeting, I quickly tidied up the living room before wandering into my workshop. I had already decided how I planned to spend the rest of the morning while Derek met with his people.
I pulled the French-Chinese herb book from my desk drawer and set it on top of a smooth white cloth spread out on my worktable. My plan was to take the book apart, brush it down, and clean it completely. I was hopeful that cleaning wouldn’t include the need for bleaching in a few spots. Bleaching paper was always risky so I would have to check each spot closely to see whether or not the paper could withstand the harsh treatment. If not, I still had a few tricks up my sleeve, including a soft eraser and a loaf of white bread. But I would wait and see if the book would require my going there.
After cleaning, I would repair the torn pages, replace the endpapers, and then rebind it using sturdy waxed linen thread so it wouldn’t fall apart again. Not for another hundred years or so anyway.
And then I would wrap it up and give it to Inspector Janice Lee, even though it wasn’t actually meant for her. It was a gift for her Chinese mother, who, as luck would have it, had a strong interest in books and art and Chinese herbs.
For Inspector Lee, I’d brought back a tacky Eiffel Tower key chain. I was pretty sure it would make her laugh and I smiled at the thought. She wasn’t one for a quick laugh.
I recalled our last conversation before Derek and I had left for Paris, when she had asked me to bring her back “something interesting.”
“Maybe a snow globe?” I’d said.
Through gritted teeth Lee had said, “No snow globes. No shot glasses.”
“Key chain?”
“God, no.”
“Corkscrew?”
“Good grief.”
“That about covers the list of souvenirs I was planning to bring back.”
She had simply rolled her eyes.
Now I thought about the Eiffel Tower key chain I’d brought back and chuckled. Janice would love it.
But since she had saved my life on any number of occasions, including the day of my wedding, I really did owe her “something interesting.”
And this Chinese herb book was it. I knew she would be touched to know that I’d seen it in Paris and had thought of her mother. If someone did that for my mother, I would probably be in tears. I didn’t expect quite that reaction from the tough-minded detective inspector, but I knew she would be pleased.
Since I was going to take the book apart, I got out my digital camera to memorialize the process. The pictures would provide a photographic reminder of exactly how the book had looked originally as well as my step-by-step process from beginning to end.
Photographing my process was not only smart in an artistic sense, but also good business. If an owner wanted a book appraised, before and after photographs of the book would help establish its value. If the provenance of a book was ever in question, photographic evidence of the rebinding process would go a long way toward proving where the book had come from, who had owned it, and what changes it had gone through.
It occurred to me that I might bind the best photos together in their own little book and give them to Janice and her mom as well. I wasn’t sure if that would work as part of the gift, or if they would even care. Not everyone was a book geek like me. So if they weren’t interested, I would keep the little book for my own record. And I would certainly post a few shots on my website.
I grabbed a bag of chocolate caramel kisses for energy and pulled the high chair up to the worktable. Putting on a pair of white cloth gloves, I slipped on my new magnifying glasses and began to examine the book. This was the first time I was wearing the glasses, having gotten the idea the last time I had visited my dentist’s office. The hygienist had worn them and I’d realized that they would be perfect for the kind of work I did. It made so much more sense than just holding a magnifying glass up to my eyes, especially when I would be working for several hours on any particular project and needed both hands to do the job.
