Murder at the Winery

The Barossa sun is blazing hot. My forehead is covered in a blanket of sweat and so is the body at my feet. It’s the winemaker—he’s dead.

Red and blue lights flash rapidly in the distance, quickly getting closer. There’s no need to speed.

A couple of burly, uniformed cops race over with their chests puffed up and brows knotted, ready to roar. I ash my badge and they stop mid-gait. It’s my scene, not yours.

That goes against the grain. They tape off the area more sluggish than usual. Sloppy.

A picnic rug is embedded between the vines, bordered by grapes and cushioned by dirt. Two wine glasses are planted on the ground. One’s empty, one’s full.


Inside is littered with people. Some in tears, some hysterical, some completely blank. Don’t leave my sight. The locker room is metallic and cold. A glacial hole-in-the-wall.

I need access to it all. They don’t have a choice. They oblige.

Spare keys, uncashed cheques, corked bottles and a suspicious photo—who defaced the dead?

I line everyone up. Single file. They wait on me to call their name. I take my time. Their hearts are pumping. How much can they take? This is just the start.

The numbers dwindle, the clock ticks.

Tick, tick, tick.

Darting eyes, fidgeting hands, practised words. It’s you.

I accuse.

The guilt is heavy. The confession pours. It gushes. It spouts. It ows.

Careless in every sense.

A clanging bell begins to ring. It rings and rings. It doesn’t stop.

The door creeps open and the sergeant marches in. On a mission—it’s important.

Silently, she hands me a piece of paper. It’s heavy duty and sharp. It’s offcial.

A thrilling and triumphant escape from Murder at the Winery with an escape time of 57 minutes 12 seconds.

This adventure was courtesy of The Escape Hunt Experience Adelaide. Find out more at

Words by Emmylou Macdonald

Image by Nicole Scriva

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