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 |  Lord Snuff-n-such has come to a sticky end... Who dunnit? |
[Introduction]  WELCOME TO TALENT MANOR! There is a storm. The lights go out. The old back-up generator isn't working. Someone's taken the old dinghy from the Boathouse and has left us all stranded on the Island on the Talent Pond. Luckily there's shelter on the islands only residence, Talent Manor. Thank goodness Old Lord Snuff-n-such has hospitably agreed to take all the Fishing Party Guests in! Candles flicker into life and a scream echos around the old Hall as guests bustle into the Library to find the corpse of the elderly host. It isn't age that's done him in! It's... ...MURDER AT THE TALENT POND! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Who dunnit...? if a character is crossed thru, they have been chosen and you must pick again Well, let's see... ...The Heir, The Spare, The fading Hollywood Star, The Nouveau Rich, The Fat Industrialist, The Dame, The Bachelor, The Maid, The Butler, The Governess, The Doctor, The Lawyer, The Cook, The Stranger, The Pub-Landlord and Landlady, The Vicar, The Professor, The Head of the Local Boys School, The Matron, The Grand-Father with Shell Shock, The Blustering Major, The IT girl, The Old Spinster, The Suffragette... Meet the Murder Suspects
Now that the Biographies are done and dusted... here's where the story starts! Don't forget to check the book for the latest Clues and Instructions:
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| "Well, look, man! You have a lot of worried and frightened people on this Island - not to mention a pretty tight time-line; it makes sense for me to assist you." Detective Algernon Nelson Hackney had to agree, but looking into the little piggy-eyes of the eager Major didn't make him feel any less worried about this terrible state affairs. Hackney was, what the old police men called, a 'suspicious bastard', but even he found it hard to believe Major 'Teddy' Bomb-bluster could be guilty of anything, other than general 'excess'; and that was not a current criminal offense. The Major was 'old school tie', the kind of man who could kill "the hen-hemy" with great gusto, but consider a murder as something crude and rather lower-class. Nope; the man's leadership credentials would help calm the Ladies nerves and would be better aimed at the vicious, and unpredictable, female contingent of this motley crew, than aimed at him... for now, anyway. "Your offer to assist me is greatly appreciated, Major," he hoped he didn't sound sarcastic, "perhaps you could see that people are paired up - wouldn't want them walking around alone with a murderer on the loose, would we?" "Good heavens, Sir! I shouldn't use that word with Ladies present - do you want me to take statements?" "No; I'll see to that. I'll set up a Head Quarters in the Study and we can meet up there later and compare notes. You and I have some detective work to do; I suggest you start by mingling with the guests and finding out the gossip." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * A little spark had been ignited in Teddy's soul that very minute. Since his leg had brought him home from the tropics, he had been at rather a loose end. Each little scheme on 'civy street' had briefly spluttered to life, before being extinguished. It was a young mans world these days, and Teddy hadn't a clue how the Stock Exchange worked, or what the 'Leisure Industry' was. Although he didn't like to admit it, he had voiced his concerns about being 'past it' to his old friend Lord Snuff-n-such, only the other day. But now, the horrific ending of his friend could very well mean a new beginning to his prospects; if Teddy could assist in the apprehension of a dangerous criminal, he would be helping to avenge the Lords death, and sow the seeds of a career as a famous Private Dick. These thoughts bounced around inside him as he wondered down the corridor to the Drawing Room; time to assuage the fears of the women folk - Teddy Bomb-bluster would see their innocent souls came to no harm! He watched, with suspicion, the smiling and jovial face of Brandon Marlowe, the Pub Landlord heading for him from the direction of the Kitchens. "Hello, Major!" he boomed, suspiciously, "Can I get the wife to bring you a port and some of that Stilton Cheese we knows you love?" "Oh, I bet you'd like me to say yes, wouldn't you?" he puffed out his chest in cleverness. "Well, no thank you, sir; no thank you!" Leaving the smiling Landlord scratching his perfectly manicured, salt-and-pepper-goatee, the Major entered the Drawing Room, satisfied by his intuitive grasp of the inner working mind of a murder. It was only once The Governess, pointed it out, that he realised he had picked up a scrap of paper on the sole of his his shoe... a cinder with only one legible word; TREASURE... That would be one of those Red Herring thingies, he thought satisfactorily, and popped it in his handkerchief pocket. |
| Well that was rude. Brandon glanced around the room noticing several pairs of suspicious eyes were now perched on him. That major fellow certainly had a “major” burr up his behind for some reason! Watching him walk away, he saw him head straight for The Governess. Now there is a fine specimen of a woman if I ever saw one. I wouldn’t mind spending some time “interrogating” her myself. Brandon nodded in her direction as she looked right at him, lifting his glass to her in proper salute form. If my wife can take up with another man, I am certainly within my right to engage a little healthy friendship for myself. His thoughts were interrupted as he felt someone appear right next to him. He turned to find a rather strange fellow standing there looking in the same direction he had been. “She’s a hot one, isn’t she?” The Stranger said. “Well… I’m married and all but I would have to say I agree with you on that observation. “ “Hi, I’m John by the way.” “I’m Brandon,” he said grasping his outstretched hand. Hmmm… this guy is sure being awfully friendly. I know Rosie was supposed to be hooking up with her other ‘man’ here this weekend. Wonder if he is the one? I never noticed him before. Then again, I was always too busy watching her and Lord Snuff-n-such carry on… |
| Scarlett Du'Mones snorted to herself in disgust. Why a glimpse of a breast or the idea of seeing a thigh worked them up like that was beyond her imagination. But that wasn't why she was disgusted. A servant? How low could a man bring himself? Of all the females in the world they would of course lust after a governess. Trollop! She is probably sleeping with all of them at night and teaching the kiddies during the day. Hmmm, maybe she should ask for over time? She expected it of the young men. They were led about by their third leg easily enough. But she was a bit surprised by the older gentlemen. They should know better by now. Maybe it was true? Men never grew up. Scarlett sighed to herself. Everything was falling apart. She had come to the Manor with a set agenda and damn it if the old fool, Lord Snuff-n-such, didn't up and get himself killed. Fool! How many times had she warned him that his carrying on would land him in hot water? Now she was stuck here, unable to leave because someone had taken him to task. Now she had to congregate with this group of cretins and pretend to be pleasant. Honestly, it was more than a lady should have to deal with. The men were all dogs, chasing after whoever had the largest tits. The women were all lesbians and flakes. She didn't mind the lesbians so much, in fact she could sympathize with them whole heartedly. Many the times she had been tempted to toss the male race by the wayside. It was the flakes that irritated her so much. Like that 'It Girl.' She was crying and looking so pasty that it was a surprise that she was still standing. Crying! For an old man she had never met before? She is probably feeling guilty because he tried to kiss her and she told him to go rot! The old fool, he never could keep his hands to himself. Why when we were together... No, I refuse to dwell on the past. Lord knows he wasn't that good anyway! Sighing to herself, Scarlett wandered off to find something to drink. Something strong. |
| The Regina White stood there silently weeping. Even in distress she looks hot. Her black hair is tangled in her fingers as she wipes tears from her cheeks. Why she weeps only I know. What does this old pompous ass want? It is easy to tell that the Major is just trying to act important. he is such a has been, someone needs to send him out to pasture. "Why good even Major! How are you? What is the hold up, how come we can't go to some bedrooms and crash for the night, let the authorities take care of this thing tomorrow?" *puffing up chest* "Mr. Williamson, there has been a grave incident here this evening. *lowering voice* We must keep a weathered eye out tonight. A murderer lurks among us. Arne't you afraid?" "What are you accusing me of killing that old man. Why he had so much money anyone of a hundred people would want him dead." "I am not accusing you sir. Now lower your voice, we do not want to alarm the ladies. In fact for everyone's safety it has been decided that everyone shall be paired up so no one is alone." "Well that is fine by me. Don't put me with that busybody Rosie. I will guard Ms. White. Besides I have some things to discuss with her." "I was charged with arranging the pairs. I will say who goes with who. You sir will be incharge of the maid, Babette, she is more fitting your personality." With that he sharply turned and walked away from Edward. Damn that old man. I know who Regina is, I know who her parents are. I know her secrets. it should be I that is with her, tonight and forever. She will be mine one day. Strolling across the room towards his mate for the evening Edward is confronted by Rosie Cheecks. "What do you want bitch?" "Well hello to you to. What are you doing here?" "I was going to ask you the same thing. I didn't know they let adulterous wenchs in here." "You watch it, you may have been my husband at one time..." "At one time, in case you don't recall we are still married." "Exactly! And if that ain't the pot calling the kettle black you arrogant ass. You have been with every women within a three town radius. All while under the guise of a wealthy bachelor." "That will be enough out of you." With that he stormed off to Babette and left Rosie standing there alone. |
| Carolyn Elizabeth Baxter stood patiently sipping the rest of her Sherry taking in the action about the room. These nervous nellies are going to drive me mad she thought, but with a skilled resolve never let the emotion pass across her face. She was here to fish and network with the old Lord's friends, maybe connect with a few of the more wealthier ones and get some new benefactors for the school. Maybe even get to know a few of the more handsome eligible men, it had been a while since she'd been taken care of, in a sexual sense. But the way they all acted now she wondered if she could find a man that would be descreet enough to meet her criteria for a lover. Every year she came and dealt with the old man's odd ways. Every year she got in one of those tiny boats, bundled to her eyebrows against the cold, and never landed the biggest fish, it was always old Such-n-snuff. "How did he do it?" she whispered quietly to herself. She ran all the options through her head. A well hidden stocked pool in one of the lakes many coves? A pre-caught fish? A special luer? For the man to catch the best fish every year was, well, she smired ironically to herself, fishy. "Time to start sniffing out the stink," she mumbled to herself taking another elegant sip from her Sherry cordial glass and setting it on the Queen Anne table beside her. "I'll start with the old coots tackle box." |
| Miss Maragaret Marlowe watched the Maid, Babette, flirting with that arrogant Mr. Williamson and pursed her lips in disapproval. Stupid girl. I can't believe she's impressed by the likes of him. Of course, with that outfit she's wearing, she's asking for the wrong sort of male attention. "Excuse me, Miss Marlowe, may I have a word with you?" It was that annoying Major, Lord Snuff's old school friend. Margaret had been forced to be civil to the old windbag when her employer was alive, but she didn't have the patience for him now. "What is it?" she asked. "Well, it occurred to me that, with the exception of myself, you probably knew Lord Snuff-n-Such longer than anyone here and I was wondering if you might know of any--" "Major, I did not engage in gossip about my employer when he was alive and I certainly will not now that he is dead." She left the Major standing open mouthed and strode over to the Maid who was giggling and whispering with Mr. Williamson. "Mr. Williamson, I need to borrow Babette for a minute. Excuse us please." "Mam'zelle, what ees wrong?" Babette asked as the governess led her to the corner by the fireplace. "Please drop that silly accent," Margaret hissed. "It drives me crazy." "Oh, come on mother, the men think it's sexy," Babette replied. "Don't call me that!" Margaret whispered, looking around at the other guests. "We can't let anyone find out yet." "What's the matter, Mom, I can't imagine why you'd be ashamed that old Snuffy got you pregnant and you gave your illegitimate daughter up for adoption." "Will you keep your voice down. You know why I couldn't keep you. Lord Snuff-n-Such's wife was alive then and she would have seen to it that both of us were out on the street without a penny. Your father promised me that if I gave you up and kept quiet we would both be well taken care of. He saw to it that you were adopted by a good family. How can you be sure that Ms Kallysta won't recognize you? She did raise you, after all." "Dont worry, I ran away from that old bat when I was twelve. I don't look anything like I did then and she hasn't a clue. If you don't mind, I want to get back to that cute Mr. Williamson before he gets away. See ya later." Margaret watched her daughter go, hoping the worry on her face wasn't evident to the rest of the people in the room. She had thought giving her daughter up was the right thing at the time, but now she wasn't so sure. She had heard rumors about another mistress and illegitimate child. Were they among the people here tonight? Whoever they were, she would make sure they did not take anything that was rightfully hers and her daughter's. She had been patient and obedient too long to let that happen. |
| Emily May Watson sat quietly, peeking over the rim of her coffee cup as she sipped, emptying it of its contents. She placed the cup back on the saucer, and gently set it on the table nearest her. She stood and walked across the room to the window, trying to be nonchalant in doing so, so as to avoid drawing attention to herself. She rather enjoyed good conversation, but given the circumstances, she preferred to be left with her thoughts. With Lord Snuff-n-such dead, she did not have to worry quite so much about her reputation, or the damage she would have potentially caused all her sister Suffragettes. She could not believe the bastard had tricked her so easily. She had done what she needed to do. She given in to him and sacrificed herself to protect her precious Movement, sacrificed herself for all women, to prevent him from corrupting the Cause. She believed she had saved them from political ruin… until she learned of the photographs he’d taken of their “meeting”. He had set her up. He somehow knew she would agree to his indecent proposal, and he was going to use it against her and women everywhere. “Good evening, Mrs. Watson.” She jumped slightly, and turned to see the Major standing next to her. “Good evening, Major. You startled me. I didn’t hear you come up,” she said, flashing a polite smile at him. “Are you alright, Mrs. Watson? It‘s odd to see you all alone as much as you enjoy the company of others,” he asked, seeming genuinely concerned. “Oh, Major, yes, I’m… I suppose I’m as alright as any of us can be considering there has just been a terrible crime committed in this very house, among these very people. It is a bit frightening to think that we are trapped inside here with a person capable of doing such a horrible thing. I guess, I don’t quite know how to feel or how to react,” she answered, hoping this would satisfy the Major’s need for conversation enough that he would leave her be. “Yes, I suppose you are right, Mrs. Watson, in feeling unsafe. But please be assured that you and the other fine ladies present will have ample protection. Not to worry.” With that he smiled and walked away. Emily turned back to the window. The storm appeared to be worsening. “I must find those photographs,” she thought. |
| Grandfather Herbert sat musing in a corner armchair, gently twisting his whiskey shot. Scattered throughout the room, the few others who noticed him dismissed him as dotty, as indeed he often appeared to be and sometimes was. Yet underneath his eccentric, even possibly insane exterior burnt a rage that would have put Krakatoa's eruptions to shame. Grandfather had suffered deeply during the Great War; though an officer he had not been immune from mustard-gas onslaughts nor the horrors of battle and gory death to which all the soldiers had been witness and participant. When he returned from the War, his mental faculties had so diminished that he could no longer maintain his business interests, and due to his lack of capacity and the manipulations of his daughter's new husband, Lord Snuff-n-such, Grandfather Herbert soon found himself dispossessed of both fortune and home estate, at his heartless son-in-law's mercy. Years of torment followed, with Grandfather sinking deeper into mental disorder, deeper into the Glenfiddich, deeper into rage and resentment against Lord Snuff-n-such's sly suggestions (out of the hearing of Grandfather's daughter) that the Old Stallion ought to be put out to pasture forever--or possibly just sent to the dog food factory. After marrying Old Herbert's wealthy daughter and worming his way into the old man's estates, running through the fortune and selling the great house, Lord Snuff-n-Such had no use for Grandfather Herbert. Not a sentimental note thrummed in his soul (if indeed he had one) and kept the Old Fool around only for the sheer pleasure of sadistically tormenting the old man with threats of demise or permanent convalescence in a very subdued, very secret, rest home. Well, the last laugh had been on Lord Snuff-n-such, Grandfather Herbert snorted into this Scotch. The last laugh was his, and he intended to be certain of that. His dastardly son-in-law was beyond the grave now, and Grandfather Herbert's remaining years in safety were assured. An evil smile twisted his craggy, decrepit features that astonished the one or two who even noticed him hunched in the corner. |
| Alistair Harriman moved about the common room with measured steps, checking on Lord Snuff-n-such’s guests, assuring them their quarters were prepared. How many hundreds of gatherings had he overseen through the decades? How many dozens of indiscretions had he witnessed and kept to himself? Countless numbers. If he was correct, he would witness a few more in the near future. He watched the guests as they gathered and separated, speaking in hushed tones – except for Major Bomb-bluster; the migratory patterns of the well-to-do. A slight smile quirked his lips, deepening the creases around his mouth, as he mused. The smile faded as he recollected his current circumstances. He would miss his employer. A good man, Lord Snuff-n-such. His eyes rested on one of the Lord’s Monets, one with which he had spent hours of companiable silence over the years, his gaze this time directed inward as he reminisced. The glass of sherry he had just shifted to protect the fine wooden étagère hovered just over the linen runner, his hand frozen in mid-movement. After a few minutes, the maid approached and gently tapped his shoulder. “Monsieur Alistair?” Her brow creased. “Are you all right?” Startled, Alistair twitched. “Ah, Babette. I fear I’ve wandered off again into Monet’s garden.” He gestured toward the painting, and she nodded her understanding. “The hour is late, no? I will assist the guests, if you prefer to turn in for the night.” Alistair smiled, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and patted her hand. “Soon, perhaps. I have duties yet, my dear girl.” He nodded toward one of the guests, who slanted his eyes in their direction. “Mr. Williamson might object to your taking on extra work this evening, too.” Babette blushed, and squeezed Alistair’s shoulder before continuing on, and he watched her go, his old heart saddened by their sudden pending unemployment. Lord Snuff-n-such had been good to them, to Alistair in particular. He hated to consider his options, now. |
Why I, the great Mason Perry am being treated like a person of interest. I am a renowned lawyer after all. What else am I to think when I am asked to join Detective Algernon Nelson Hackney , in the study with a few other snobs. I sure could use a fresh cup of coffee! It just sucks that I cannot even get a minute to refill it. That Hackney, his peering eyes--studying my every move, started shoving papers in my face and asking me all these questions. I can't see a damned thing without my cheaters, anyway. I was doing just fine until that Stuffy old Lord Snuff-n-such started getting suspicious. Imagine him demanding me to show up at this smelly fishing party. He needed to go over some changes in his will-Oh, big friggin' deal. That cannot be all that he wanted. I mean, I could have done that anytime. No, he must have found out about those funds I have been siphoning over the years. I was sure I was careful. I really shouldn't worry prematurely. I noticed he invited that number crunching accountant. I just don't trust folks who play with numbers day and night. Geez, get a girl or something! Dang, it had to be that paper the stuffy lord shoved in front of my face. It stated it was a transvestite hand purse sale. I knew that guy was strange. At least that's what I thought it said. That is until the new accountant asked me about the transfer land parcel sale. Dang dyslexia, whatever-- I was able to skim a pretty penny off that deal. These blokes have no idea that I can outsmart them at every turn. My little financial booty is safe. I have done well covering my tracks. After all, I had to supplement my income somehow. These rich noblemen think they can pay you less because you have the privilege of working for them. Oh, I hate the smell of fish. I am so sick of looking morose, nodding and shaking my head around this pretentious group. The guy's dead, get over it. They all act so superior, especially that doctor-- Mr. no personality, that's for sure. I wish that he would stop looking at my hands. Okay, I've got a little nervous energy twitch--big deal! I'm cool, I can pull this off. After all it's that new accountant's word against mine--the dear friend of the family, good ol' boy, lawyer. Hey, even if he does find a discrepancy, I can always blame it on my dyslexia--.Ha-Ha, Ha! |
| "Allison, what are you doing in here all alone?" Lady Clarice asked me, causing me to nearly drop my glass of sherry on the parlor's carpet. "Sorry," I finally replied, "I told the Major and the Detective Hackney I was coming in here for a moment and that I would be right back." "Well it's not good to be anywhere alone right now--I'd expect this kind of reckless behavior from some of them out there, but not you." "I could ask you the same question--do they know you're in here?" "You're trying to change the subject. That doesn't work with me. I want to help and my gut says you had no motive to murder this man--what does your intuition say about me?" She was silent for a moment and was tapping her foot on the hardwood floors in the hallway. I sighed. "I came back in here because I thought I think I saw something important and wanted to make sure it wasn't my nerves playing tricks on me." "What did you see?" "Remember when we were all in here, and I excused myself for a moment because the heated conversation you and Scarlett Du'mones were having?" "Don't remind me--but no, I don't remember you stepping out. I was distracted." "When I left the parlor I went to the bathroom across the hall. When I opened the door, the maid was already in there and ran past me. I think she was crying." "Crying? What time was this?" "Between 8:15 and 8:30." "That doesn't make any sense. The maid didn't even discover Lord Stuff-n-Such's body until 8:45." "That's not all. As I was coming back I was standing in the hallway right where you are--and I thought I saw a shadow of someone leaving the library." "Based on what everyone's said, no one was supposed to be in the library before the maid discovered Lord Snuff-n-such's body. Was it a man or woman's shadow?" "I don't know. I wasn't thinking about it at the time...I think it was a man's, but I honestly didn't get a good enough look. I was hoping coming back here would help." I set my glass on the parlor's fireplace mantle and stared into the fire. "It's too bad I had too much of this stuff in me, or I'd have a lot clearer head about the whole thing." "You don't normally drink do you?" "Not really, but when everyone else is drinking sherry like it's water what am I supposed to do?" "How about be yourself--you don't have to impress them to hold your own." "You're probably right, but I wish it was as easy as you make it sound." As I looked up, she was gone. I didn't even hear her shoes on the floor. |
| Rosie glared at her so-called husband's back as he furiously strode away from her. How dare Edmund blast me for being an adulteress after what all he did to me? Rosie fumed. Convincing me to elope with him when I was only nineteen, just to get me in the sack! Then running off in the middle of the night, stranding me at that cheap inn with no money and an irate landlord demanding I pay the bill? I couldn't even find him to demand a divorce, as he didn't tell me his real name! And then he turns up here, once more. Acting all carefree and pretending he doesn't know me. Making eyes at that Regina White, right in front of God and everybody! I know what he's after. I heard Lord Snuff-n-such on the telephone; didn't hear everything but he definitely said "illegitimate daughter" and something about his will. Somehow ole greedy Edmund had found out Regina is the illegitmate daughter and he was trying to get his hands on Lord Snuff-n-such's pounds. Loathsome villain! Well, he won't get a farthing of it now, Rosie laughed inwardly. He must be so angry at being thwarted. He got his, that's for sure. At the end of these reflections, Rosie turned her head and saw her "husband" Brandon still ogling the governess. Rosie sashayed across the room, slightly hampered by her three petticoats, to stand by Brandon. She hissed in his ear, "Stop staring, you lecherous fool! You're embarassing me." Brandon turned towards her. "I'm embarassing you? he asked. "That's rich! Tell me, darling wife, which one is he?" Brandon swept his arm to take in the occupants of the room. "Which one is who?" "Why, which one is the man you came here to meet, naturally." "Shut up, you fool. You don't know what you're talking about. I'm tired of your accusations." Rosie muttered. "As tired as Lord Snuff-n-such was of you?" Brandon queried, lifting an eyebrow. Rosie compressed her lips and stalked off towards the other side of the room. Will this horrible night never end? |
| Greta Von Snotsenson curled her lip. Damn all these people, so full of themselves. Who the hell do they think they are anyway? I have a good mind to just kick them all out right now, the detectives included! It is my house after all! She twirled the ring of pearls around her neck. Oh sure, old Snuffy thought he’d be rid of me, slipping beneath every skirt that happened to cross his path, right in front of my eyes no less. And denying it all like the bafoon he was, but I knew what was going on during our marriage. After all, he never laid so much as a loving hand on me, the bastard! Then he annulled our marriage as if it never existed. Who did he think he was? He left me no choice but to gather all the information I could about that whole nasty business with the war, as well as his crooked business dealings. After all, a woman needs her ammunition to get ahead in this world. Then, lo and behold, the ‘burglary’ happened and all of my hard evidence suddenly disappeared. What burglar steals paperwork? Did he really think I was that stupid? I know he burned it all in the yard. Saw the ashes there myself! The very idea that he'd have someone else tell me that he wanted me out by the end of this blasted fishing trip was ludicrous, but no surprise really. A coward until the end, he was. Ha! Who’s laughing now? “Where are all the servants?“ Greta asked. “This wine tastes like it came from the toilet.” “I’ll get more for you, maam,” Babette replied. She scurried out of the room. “Trollop,” Greta sneered. “I’ll be firing her first thing after all this business is over.” “What’s that you say?” Herbert boomed across the room. “I wasn’t talking to you, you drunken fool!” |
| Inspecting the colorful trays of hors d'oeuvres, Jean Cleese stole a sidelong glance at the governess, Miss Marlowe. Margaret. His ocean-blue eyes took on a reflective shine as they traveled the length of her shapely legs, followed the curvaceous contours of her feminine glory, and came to rest on her perfect lips. He let out the breath he'd been holding, realized where he was, and shook his head at the waiter. "You won't be touching my art with dog's paws, you filthy buffoon. Take them off." The younger man stared back, perplexed and unmoving. "Mon Dieu. Idiot." Jean Cleese grasped the waiter's gloved hands, and roughly pulled off each of the offensively dirty serving gloves. "I suppose you wipe your ass with these." He slapped them at the chest of the startled young man, who took them and backed away a pace. "If you have any instincts of self-preservation, you will find another pair of serving gloves. A clean pair." With the young waiter out of his way, Jean Cleese returned his attention to the governess while absent-mindedly moving small foods around with his fingers. He found her extraordinary, a woman of such diverse talents and understated character, like a well-made souffle, both beautiful to the eye and delicate to the touch. He felt a thrill of shiver pass through him at the thought of her being as responsive to his own skillful hands as would a souffle. He knew a woman of her caliber deserved, needed, craved a gentle touch and the complete attention only he, Jean Cleese, was capable of offering. He, alone, could make her pulse quicken, her temperature rise, her lips part in anticipation. His nostrils flared at the thought, imagining himself her very own personal chef, cooking up exotic delicacies of passionate entwinings from beneath the pastry-thin sheets. How often had he kneaded his bread dough and felt her beneath his palms, resilient, full, warm...? How often had his beautiful thoughts been interrupted by the burly shouts of that horrible English brute of a pig's ass? It made him want to spit, just the reminder of the man. His hand trembled slightly, his eyes --loosing focus-- saw something less pleasing to the eye than even pâté. The day he stormed from the kitchen, knife in hand... Her hair was dishevelled, her dress torn at the shoulder. The fat Brit towered over her, his fist raised. Jean Cleese's jaw clenched and unclenched at the memory, his throat felt suddenly dry. He grabbed a glass of water from the nearby buffet table, took a long drought, and turned his back on the attendees, on his delicate butterfly of a governess. He knew the look on his face was one a lady should never suffer to see. That day...Jean's mind tortured him...the names he called her, that pink-faced walking horse-balls of an English Lord, the harm he inflicted on her delicate, frosted white skin. His hand shook. If only I'd done it that day. He closed his eyes and savored the imagined plunge after plunge, his passionate mental-attack fueled by arousal. He imagined butchering the fat pig, skewering him and serving him to the festive servants. A lopsided smile formed, and his breathing came more smoothly. "Jean Cleese!" The glass in his hand broke under his grip. He swung around, ready to meet the barker with an all-out confrontation. "Will you be standing there staring at the kitchen doors all evening then?" A sigh escaped him, his gaze immediately softened. Mon Dieu. Blood dripped in droplets to the marble floor. The governess looked down, frowned. "It won't be right to let the guests see that. Clean it up." She met his watery eyes with an icy blast of disapproval before leaning in close, whispering in his ear. "And make yourself busy, little man, before I have to hurt you." He quivered. There was a distinct, recognizable and immediate pulling in his loins. His full lips parted, his brows dropped to give him a puppy-dog look. He nodded. She was several paces away when he whispered in her wake, "Yes, Mistress." He watched her stride off, then straightened to his full height, chin remembering to jut itself naturally out and up. He snapped at a nearby waiter. "You. Boy. Clean this up." He paused only a heartbeat to look over his shoulder at her magnificence just once more before entering his kitchen. He was suddenly in need of making bread dough. |
| Brother Thomas never thought himself a hypocrite. But considering the irony of it all, and the failure to suppress the satisfaction he felt in pretending to deliver Last Rights to his half-brother, he could be nothing else. Then again, giving Last Rights to a man like Snuff-n-such was in and of itself, hypocrisy. Throughout the years, the Vicar observed first hand, the disgraceful antics of the Lord of the Manor. But it was the young ones—the innocent ones—Snuff-n-such shamed and defiled that bothered him the most. He could almost understand his vial treatment of full-grown women such as the governess, Miss Marlowe. After all, what was one more illegitimate child to a man like him? But when Snuff-n-such set his sites on Allison Michaels—orphan turned millionaire—it was more than he could bear. He had hoped for reconciliation—a burying of the hatchet if you will—during this visit with his half-brother. But when he arrived to find his own illegitimate child, Allison, the focus of the Lord’s advances, he realized the full depth of his brother’s sinister nature. For Snuff-n-such knew who Allison’s father was. And it was for that reason alone he pursued her. The Vicar was loathed not to intervene, to protect his own flesh and blood, and Snuff-n-such took pleasure in the personal hell he’d created for himself. For the Lord knew of the many daughters Brother Thomas had fathered in the village. And that knowledge guaranteed the Vicar’s silence. He had only to speak with the Bishop to disgrace his righteous brother. But, with Snuff-n-such gone, so goes the threat. Assuming, of course, no one else knew. Especially Allison. Her mother had kept the secret and did not tell her who her real father was before she died. However, the Lord knew that as well. The question in the Vicar’s mind … did anyone else know? “Brother Thomas,” the Major said, interrupting the Vicar’s thoughts. “I expect you’re taking this especially hard, losing your brother and all that sort of thing.” “Yes … yes. It was a shock, Major.” “It was fortunate,” the Major continued, “you were here … a man of the cloth, to administer Last Rights.” “Yes, it was fortunate, indeed. A man of his … character … should meet the Lord and claim all he deserves.” The Major waved Babette over as she passed by with a platter of his favorite hors d'oeuvres. She glided across the floor and waited dutifully while the Major piled the tasty treats four high in the palm of his left hand. He didn’t require a napkin. Focusing on his potentially new career of homicide detective, he pressed the seemingly bereaved brother, for he knew murder among siblings was not unheard of. Especially where a fortune is concerned. “I wonder, Brother Thomas,” he said with a mouth full of heart-shaped caviar canapé, “if you were close to your brother.’ “Close? I wouldn’t say, ‘close.’ We saw each other just once a year … during this fishing trip. We were just half-brothers, as I am sure you’re aware. It is common knowledge.” “Yes … Ummm! That’s delicious!” he said, wiping his fingers on his ample backside. “Yes … but I understand he summoned you ahead of time. Is there a reason for that?” “Sadly, I do not know. We never got around to why.” The Major looked suspiciously at the Vicar. “Pity. That might have gone far to eliminate you as a suspect. But I expect it will turn up during my investigation. Good day, sir.” Brother Thomas looked on as the Major waddled away. If you don’t live to see the morning, you won’t receive Last Rights either. “You pompous ass!” “Boy! You can say that again,” Babette chimed in. Brother Thomas had forgotten she was there. He turned to her. “My child … what happened to your accent?” Babette blushed, coughed, and said: “Ze accent? She ees here, no?” The Vicar smiled, admiring her long legs and voluptuous breasts, and wondered how she looked naked. “Yes, I see. Perhaps you should run along now, child.” Like most women, Babette knew when a man lusted for her. She returned the look in kind, and playfully turned away with a seductive smile. “Oui, Père.” Smiling to himself, he watched Babette continue on her way and admired her nearly perfect bottom. He made a mental note to call down for some warm milk after everyone else had turned in for the night. |
| The stranger drained the last of his ale and placed the pint glass on the table. Still eyeing the landlord’s wife he asked, “What do I have to do to get something a bit stronger around here Brandon?” Man I am going to need it if I have to spend much time with these hoity-toity upper crust people, I wasn’t cut out for this mingling stuff. “Ah, not worry old chap, I’ll have Rosie, the hot one in the black thigh-high stiletto-heeled boots we were just gazing upon fetch you whatever you like, and I do mean whatever you like. Rosie, Rosie, fetch our lonely friend here whatever he likes please,” Brandon leered at his wife. “Listen Brandon, I am not old, well okay maybe I am sort of approaching old or something, but I am not old, yet. Got that good thanks, also, I am not a chap, my hide might be a bit chapped being stuck here with this obviously friendly crowd. What have I gotten myself into? I just need to get the True Crown of England and get the hell out of here. Uh-oh, what happened to the answers and map? “Oooh”, Rosie the landlady said as she sashayed over and sidled up to the stranger. “And what can I do for you stranger? Would you like to duck behind the bar for a moment with me? From what I hear you’ve got a thing for boots, I can take care of that thing for you?” She gave the stranger a look that left no doubt in his mind that she could indeed take care of his thing. “Ahhh, well, you see, it’s like this, umm, geeze ma’am I would be happy with a double scotch, neat, 12 year single malt if you have any? Please” Damn-it how can I concentrate on the treasure if she is going to be rubbing up against me like that, and right in front of her husband? Man I am out of my league here. Rosie brought the stranger his scotch and stepped into his personal space, his very personal space. In a very low, very throaty voice she said’ “You know John; I can scratch that i…” Quickly backing away and knocking over a chair in the process the stranger feebly muttered, “Uh, thanks for the scotch ma’am, but I need to go find the True Crown of England.” Suddenly the stranger stopped, “Hey, you two haven’t by chance stumbled upon my notes and map have you? They are on an 8-1/2 by 11 sheet of yellow graph paper? Well I guess technically they’re the answers and a map, see I thought the it was in my pocket, but well I seem to have misplaced it….no? Hmnn, well I guess it will turn up somewhere. If you happen to find it would you let me know please?” With that the stranger turned and fled, leaving the rather odd couple to their particular behaviors. Holy smokes! I need away from these two, talk about half-a-bubble off. Think I’ll head over towards that babe that runs the local boy’s school. The stranger strode across the room towards Carolyn Baxter. As he approached her he retrieved the Popeye© Pez dispenser from his pocket. When he reached her he asked, “I understand you are the head mistress at the local boy’s school miss.” The stranger flipped Popeye’s© head back, “Pez miss? They call me Stranger, John the Stranger.” Woo hoo, she’s a hot tamale all right. They’re cherry miss, you can have a cherry Pez if you like.” Ms. Baxter was a bit taken aback, of course it wasn’t like she’d never had a cherry before, she was the headmistress of the boy’s school after all. “Well, yes, thank you Mr. Stranger I would love to take your cherry. I m Carolyn Elizabeth Baxter, and I AM, as you are aware the headmistress of a nearby school for wayward boy’s.” Carolyn looked down her nose at the stranger. “But for you I might don my plastic punishment suit and we could… Ah, but I digress, I have not seen you on one of these ‘fishing’ weekends before. What is your purpose here, Mr. Stranger? Beyond the obvious offering of your…cherry shall we say.” Holy crap, I may be in over my head with this one, plastic punishment suit? “Well Ms. Baxter, as much as I like to fish, the real reason I am here is to search for the True Crown of England. You see I stumbled across a manuscript with clues to the treasure of England and they’ve led me to this island, but well, I seem to misplaced my map and notes. You haven’t seen them have you? They’re written on a sheet of 8-1/2 by 11 yellow graph paper.” Plastic punishment suit? “Say Ms. Baxter, do you wear stiletto-heeled boots with your plastic punishment suit?” |
| Regina White's tears slowed. The deep blue of her eyes peeked out from between her fingers. She felt the eyes on her. As usual, she glowed, bringing the attention back to herself. She peered out from behind her now ttangled hair, seeing Mr. Williamson watching her. He had a knowing look on his face. She watched, her interest piqued, as the major went up to him and started talking. The disgusted look on Mr. Williamson's face made her smile a bit. She fixed her hair a bit before making her way over to him. Before she reached him he strode off to talk to the maid. Hm. She walked over to the major, who had just finished talking with another guest. "Hello, Major." She said, the last of her tears drying, her voice almost normal. "Why hello, Mrs. White." He said, seemingly distracted. (Ok. Really short. My muse is sad like I am right now.) |
The Doctor: No matter how much people owe a doctor, for saving them from sliding down the slippery slope of ill-health, once they are better they pretend they can't 'see' him. They can sidle up to him and whisper their ailments even at dinner time, but socailly, he's invisible. Neville permitted none of his disgust to show on his face. There's that Mason Perry for instance, tries to conceal the tremors of his hands by putting his hands in his pocket and strutting around with that air of pseudo-importance. I’m not too sure coffee is his only addiction. Neville’s hand hung over the side of his arm-chair giving old Bruno a negligent head tickle as he continued to ruminate. “Ha, doctor. I see Bruno has migrated to you in search of a little comfort. The poor old boy must be missing his master.” The Major attempted to cover his uneasiness with a snort of sympathy. It was wearying trying to find reasons to converse with all the people. Maybe Det. Hackney would be better at this. No, I have got to do it for Snuffy’s sake. Neville managed the difficult feat of looking down upon the Major from his sitting position as he his mouth twisted to reply” I don’t remember Lord Snuff-n-such ever giving Bruno more than an admonitory command to go away. It was Melinda, I mean Lady Snuff-n-such, who took care of him.” Neville found it difficult to think about Melinda without past memories washing over him. He wished the pompous old fool with his posturing and his old-school puppyish infatuation with old Snuffy would just go away. “Doctor, I wondered if you’d have a look at Ms. White, she looked rather under the weather to me a little while ago. Any excuse in a crisis. “Sure Major, “ said Neville with alacrity and he unfolded his thin frame out of the overstuffed sofa. He gave Bruno a farewell pat and made off with languid strides in the direction of the French windows, hoping to be able to sneak into the garden for a tryst with memory. Just as he parted the long drapes to escape into the open he glimpsed Mrs. Watson slipping into the house from the side entrance. Now I wonder where she’s been, and why? He made his way to the lee of a large oak tree and leaned against it, closing his eyes. He clasped his arms around himself and rocked on his heels in a silent keening. Oh Melinda, why did you do it? He had grown up next door to Melinda; only she stayed in the Manor and he in the lodge, which was given to his father, the estate gardener. He had loved Melinda from the time he was ten and she had fished him out of the pond. He had stared at his golden-haired saviour who shook her plump dimpled fist in his face, who trilled a warning not to go in the deep without knowing more than a cursory dog-paddle. He had gazed fascinated into those green-gold eyes and had become her willing slave forevermore. Melinda had taken full advantage of this and they had sneaked off for many illicit raids on the orchards or vegetable patch, mid-night skiff rides on the pond...and he had quite thought she loved him just as ardently. When he was eighteen however, her engagement had been announced to some young Viscount. She was abroad on a trip to the French Riviera at that time and it was quite the buzz of the village. I never saw her again. Not until Lord Snuff-n-such called me to attend his wife. He had inherited the old Earl’s title and estate by then. Oh, my love, how you had changed. Thin, anxious, talking too loud and too fast. Pasty pale cheeks mocked those delicate blooms I remembered of yore. I had to stand by and watch you insulted and ignored. I had to pretend we never knew each other to appease that contemptuous adulterer who still demanded fidelity from you. You never knew, or chose not to know of his other children; but I was not spared even that, the old ** insisted I attend those women personally. I always wondered if you just gave up the desire to live? Could you not instead have run away with me? I will never forgive the old man for making you suffer like that. God rot his soul in the depths of the most fiery hole in Hell. Squinting a little to prevent his eyes from tearing up, Neville shook his head and made his way back into the room. Might as well find that chit and have look at her, or the major, old bloodhound that he is, will be baying for my blood. Hullo, isn’t that the butler in peering in at the door? What does he want? |
| Claven leaned back in the chair with his hands behind his head and stretched out. He laughed bitterly to himself as he looked around at the people he was spending his weekend with while he absently rubbed his left ear. Only Dear Old Dad would have surrounded himself with this bunch of loons. I’d be hard pressed to find a more untrustworthy, debased group if I looked along the wharf at daybreak and picked up the longshoremen who were already drunk. Obviously his taste in women hasn’t changed much. Wonder how many of the ones here he’s bagged. All of them beautiful, slutty and vapid. Except maybe that maid; slutty, yes, but vapid, I don’t think. She wasn’t here before, but there’s something not right about her that I can’t put my finger on. Ah well, she’s nice to look at. He smiled and nodded to Babette. She winked at him coyly. “Be a love and find me another scotch, please.” Claven said to Babette, offering her his empty glass as he spied his new target, Mr R.O. McMurtry. He rose smoothly, and headed toward the portly man making his way into the study, now ignoring the maid, who had narrowed her eyes at him. “I would be ‘appy to get you anything, monsieur.” she said and stalked off, thinking, Who the Hell does he think he is, ordering me off to get him a bloody drink. The nerve! “Ah, R.O.! Now that we’re all stuck here it gives me a bit of a chance to discuss that matter we were talking about before.” “Oh? What matter was that?” McMurtry asked, blustering a bit. “Ah, I’m sure you remember. I know you’ve yet to see the returns on your investment in “Veritashares”, but you know I’ll make it good. I do so want you to be happy with your investments with me. I wanted to know if you’ve thought on the matter of those certain government documents we discussed on the dock? Not yet? You are aware that they will be the key to recouping your investment a hundredfold instead of the measly ten percent that you have already earned. You might just say your livelihood depends on those documents making their way quietly to me.” or perhaps your life, you blithering fool “You’ll let me know directly, yes? Then we can see about getting you paid for the “Veritashares” deal. I will be so very pleased when you come through with that vital information.” Claven said, staring the man down for a moment before breaking away and nonchalantly moving toward the window. He turned to see his brother return to the study. There he is, lord and master of Talent Manor now, eh? He is nothing if not a show-off and lout. There must be some way I can turn this around in my favor. He can’t keep winning forever. He’ll slip up, and I’ll be there to reap the rewards. I vow he will be repaid for “Hansel” one day. I’ll bet he’s all choked up inside mourning for Daddy! Claven laughed aloud. The Major standing nearby heard his outburst of laughter and approached him. He said, “Ah, young Claven, something amusing, is it?” “Good evening, Major, just an errant thought, I’m afraid. Nothing of note, really. Did you want something?” Claven said, affecting a look of great boredom. “You weren’t very close to your father, were you?” “No, Major, I wasn’t, and have not suffered from it, quite on the contrary, so you might as well pursue your little clues to his murder elsewhere. I had no reason to off the old man, as detestable as he was.” “But you came for the fishing trip.” “Of course. My parent may have been a waste of flesh, but he was quite useful in drumming up business for me. He kept such interesting company. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe the maid has found me some scotch. Bravo!” |
| The Maid: It's been quite an eventful evening... I can hardly hold myself together. Women, full of themselves, lusting over each of these despicable men who are nothing but conniving, money-hungry, arrogant leeches… It just turns my stomach to watch it…. Okay, there are a couple that aren’t so bad, and pretty damn good-looking, or at least those who I've grown to love over the years, but still… Anyway, after everyone had arrived at the Manor for this ridiculous fishing event, I went to my room. I was sitting there sobbing after finding this crumpled up piece of paper that almost seemed to have been forcefully slipped under my door. At first I wasn’t sure what to make of the first page, it was a map or something like that, but the other paper… Well, it contained dastardly information… and the worst of it was that I found out who Ireally was. The Lord Snuff–N-Such was my father! After the early years where I was unceasingly thankful that he had taken me into his home and offered me a job, he started to make passes at me. They were annoying-yes, but I figured that was just "his way". He seemed to flirt with everyone! But the more I read that paper, the more disgusted I became. He did a hell of a lot more than just flirting, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say a bigger piece of paper was probably needed. I regained my composure and decided I would go to the library to confront him. When I asked him if it was true, “This letter… it says that you are my father… Is it true? Is it really true? And did you know?” He responded with a most boisterous laugh that filled the air with an arrogant toss of his head. She knew by his expression that he indeed knew all along, yet still attempted to seduce her and have his way with her for all those years… Just the thought of it sickened her. She ran out of the library leaving him to his revolting laughter, and fled to the bathroom down the hall. Just before she reached the powder room, Brother Thomas stopped her to ask if she was okay. She knew she looked a mess and could not contain herself to hide it from him. Besides, she had grown fond of him over the years, but didn’t want to bore him with the deceit that had been played upon her-and of course, wondered if he had already known the truth. She looked into his warm eyes and wanted him to hold her. She trusted him and didn't believe in her heart that he knew, but she rushed into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She’d only been able to mutter a couple words – and all he could really make out was something like, “it’s all been a lie… the Lord… library…” Brother Thomas walked quickly down the hall towards the library to find out for himself what was going on. Once she dried her tears and tidied herself up, she left the bathroom and went searching for Mr. Alistair, who was like a father to her. He had retired to his room after being “lost in Monet’s garden” earlier and she hated to bother him, but she needed to know if he had known the truth about who she was - and she needed to know NOW. She needed to have this conversation regardless of how bad the timing was. She realized that Mr. Alistair was devastated about the loss of Lord Snuff-N-Such and was concerned about his job, but if she was going to put on a happy face to deal with these guests and the pick-up lines from people like Mr. Stranger or worse yet, the doctor or Mr. Williamson, she had to clear her head as much as possible… and be able to put on the act of a lifetime… Her future depended on it. |
| “As I stood there watching all of this high society debauchery taking place I noticed the Stranger was nowhere to be seen. This was my chance to get back to the poker table. While standing here in the middle of this room full of hypocrites it dawned on me, I had the answer to the last code in my hands and didn’t know it. I make no bones about it; I am here for one thing and one thing only, The True Crown of England. Those who think The True Crown of England is merely a crown are blithering idiots one and all. The True Crown of England is a vast array of noble, and abbey treasures that were taken from the Monasteries when Henry the VIII abolished them. They have been hoarded safely away from anywhere, until now that is. There was only one way anyone could ever find those treasures and that was to crack those bloody codes.” The Professor picked up the last hand he had been holding, shuffled the cards from place to place a couple of times, and then; quickly wrote down some numbers or something on a scratch pad he kept in his pocket. He had done it at last, and no one else knew. Now he could get on with the business of finding that treasure, but then another thought came to his mind. That damned American, the Stranger; he seems to be everywhere I am. He must be after the treasure also. Just as the professor was standing back up he noticed a yellow piece of graph paper lying on the floor on the other side of the table. He quickly picked the paper up off of the floor and gave it a quick scan. “That half baked American is bloody smart. He has the code with the exception of the last three numbers. How am I ever going to get rid of him? I have to if I have any chance of getting that treasure and keeping it to myself.” The professor thought for a moment, and then quickly erased some of the numbers on the paper only to replace them with the wrong numbers. “He’ll be lost for sure now. Maybe I can finally get away from him and get on with finding my treasure” |
| Teddy was a little out of his depth. Of course, it wouldn't do to let it show. Quite frankly he felt out-dated, and in some way laughed at. All these people were either rude, crude, criminals or animals - and they were the ones "above stairs". One of them was also a murderer. A flash of lightning forked through the sky. There would be no rescue to the mainland tonight; the thought seemed to deflate the Major even more. He was comforted by the presence of Detective Hackney, who had joined him in the study with an even more harried look than Teddy. The Major gave him a brief account of his dealings with the suspects and the two men watched the mood of the weather darken as the rain chased itself down the window pane. "I have a bad feeling, Major. I really don't think we've seen the end of all this drama yet. It's a hot-bed of intrigue and misery out there." He gestured toward the door, then re-read his notes. "You really think the murderer will strike again?" "Think? Good Lord, Major! I hope I'm wrong, but I'd put money on it. Oh, no one is safe and no one is above suspicion." Suddenly galvanised by renewed purpose the Major rose from his seat and leaned over the desk commandeered by the policeman. "Just tell me what you need me to do, Sir. These people may not be my cup of tea but I'll be damned before I roll over and let a murderer run amok!" "Quite so, Major - quite so. Continue to gather information, and let me know the minute you find any clues." With a curt nod of his head the Major resisted the urge to salute, turned on his heel and went out into the den of wolves... |
| Brandon stood watching the crowd go about its business, mingling, smoozing each other. It was demeaning if anyone cared to ask him. Sure seemed like everyone had an ulterior motive. There was a time when you could trust people you met, the whole innocent until proven guilty scenario. Not anymore, no one was above suspicion. Well, that is except for The Maid. He turned slightly watching The Stranger as he ogled The Head of the Local Boys School He quickly lost interest though and began looking around for his one true love. He spotted her over talking to The Butler His gaze was uninterrupted as he watched her elegant, fluid movements. She was simply breathtaking. Just then, his dreamlike state was broken by The Landlady. “What are you looking at? Oh… her. You are living in a fantasy world Brandon. You should really wake up and join us in reality. That slut doesn’t want you. She is playing a game with you.” The evil slap of her words stung Brandon far deeper than she even realized. In his trademark sarcastic tone, he spoke as he looked her straight in her eyes. “The reality my dear, is that you have no right talking to me about playing games when you know full well we are not legally husband and wife. I’m tired of carrying on this charade! How about I announce here to everyone that your ex never really divorced you? Hmmm… how would you like that?!” The Landlady stood slack-jawed, utterly stunned at his statement and the harshness of his steely glare. He leaned up even closer to her face and with a sharp whisper spit at her “And furthermore, she and I love each other, I’ll have you know! And since we are not legally tied to one another, perhaps I’ll just be on my way!” Brandon stormed off toward The Maid looking seriously as if he might just have something important to say… |
| Scarlett Du'Mones chuckled to herself as she watch Brandon and his bitter wife whisper curses at each other. It was amusing, but really, she just wanted to leave this gathering of idiots and go to bed. While she would never admit it, or let anyone suspect, she was worn out. She walked over to the large picture window and watched the storm moving in across the lake. It was the perfect ending to a dreadful day. Turning her eyes away from the outside gloom, she began to watch her fellow suspects in the windows reflection. Good God! It's like watching a bad movie, no plot and the actors are all hacks! Damn the old bastard for getting himself killed, it was so like him to create problems like this. He probably grappled with the wrong girl and her father found out, or her husband. Her eyes narrowed as she watched she Brandon Marlowe. He and his wife were obviously having problems. Had Rosie been creeping into the old coots bed? Her eyes moved away from the fighting couple and focused on Reginia White. She still looked wane and frail. She really must be an over emotional piece of baggage. Baggage that she needed in her corner. Oh well, no time like the present. Scarlett walked over to Reginia and whispered in her ear that she needed a word. Reluctantly she let Scarlett pull her to the window where she had been standing. "Darling, I just had to come rescue you. You look far too pale, it wouldn't do to have you faint in front of all these people. Who knows what they might think if that happened? Is she fainting from guilt? Is the stress of killing finally gotten to her?" "But, but..." Regina stumbled over her words, clearly shocked. "I would never do something like that! Is that what they are saying? Thinking?" "Well, I don't like to tell tales out of school, but I have heard a few comments that gave me pause. If I were you I would just stick close to me. I harbor no such thought. I don't believe for a minute that you could harm anyone... no matter what other may be saying." Scarlett slipped her arm around the silly girls shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. Reginia looked up at her with trust and gratefulness. Her eyes wet with unshed tears of relief. It was a good start. |
| Head of the Local Boys School - Caroline Elizabeth Baxter Caroline had made it to basement of the old mansion. It was dank and musty with dust covered cobwebs and water seeping through the walls that made her wonder if finding the old man’s secret to fishing was such a big deal. She had tried to be discreet in the endeavor but the rustle of clothing not far behind her indicated otherwise. With a killer on the loose she realised suddenly that it may not have been such a good idea to head out alone. Quickly, she extinguished her candle and turned a corner, hiding herself in the darkness waiting for her stalker to appear. A bright flash of lightening through one of the windows revealed the silhouette of a finely dressed man with a regal profile, one she knew all too well. She instantly breathed a sigh of relief, “George.” Snuff-n-Such’s son had been a star pupil at her school. Bright and intuitive he was always ahead of the game and they spent much time together outside of the school discussing literature and philosophy. No matter where she was he found her, and what surprised her was that she didn’t mind. During those years he’d grown into a dashing young man, and as a woman and not his teacher, she certainly noticed. His penchant for mischief made him a regular in her office and it wasn’t until his senior year she figured out why. During one of the many spanking he was receiving she was sure she heard a quiet moan of ecstasy, it took her by surprise at first, she though she were hearing things, when it happened again she was sure of it. And so it began. Nearly everyday he would create some sort of ruckus in class and be sent to her office to receive his “punishment”. She smirked silently to herself remembering the time he freed the entire frog population from the biology lab, or started the food fight in the cafeteria, it had been years since that had happened and the janitor still complained about finding some dried remnant of the mutiny. And even now in this dank, moldy, dark basement she could still see a small thread of that mischievous little boy in his smirk. A year after his graduation she took him as a lover, as her other seemed to disappear. I wasn’t until another year had passed that George confided that he’d paid him a large sum of money to leave and never come back. She knew then she had a hold on his heart and quite possibly his common sense. Although she did care for the young man, she saw a lucrative opportunity coming her way. It was no secret that he despised his father, and as Heir to the Snuff-n-Such throne, he would inherit all the money too. That was why she’d accepted one of this profuse marriage proposals. He had what she needed. However, it would never happen while his father was still living. No, he would arrange a marriage and she would loose her little puppy and more importantly all that money. “What are you doing down here?” George questioned, “This is no place for you to be wandering around with a killer on the loose,” his voice was laced with cynicism as he grabbed her around the waist pulling her close to catch her scent and taste her neck. “George, please,” she protested without much conviction. His years of promiscuity had paid off for her. He was very deft in the art of making her crumble in his arms, who ever had had him before, was definitely a good teacher. “My father is dead.” “I know,” she replied a pleased smirk curving her lips. His hand was slowly inching up her thigh under her skirt, the other reaching for the pins she used to confine her hair to the tight bun she wore. She pressed their bodies together to halt his progress; there would be time enough for that in a bit, right now, she needed answers. “My father’s dead,” he said again and she felt his smile against her neck and had to restrain herself from letting out a girlish giggle. “Speaking of your father,” she said grabbing the back of his hair and meeting his eye. He growled carnally at her forwardness and grinned. “Did you kill him?” A flash of wickedness appeared in his eyes. “Does if matter I killed him or one of the other lunatics in this house did? What matters is he’s dead, and he can’t stop our wedding now. So,” he flashed a seductive grin at her, “does it matter?” “I do need to know,” she stated as he freed the last pin that held her hair back. “Because if you did it, you have indeed been a naughty boy,” she teased. He chuckled, “Naughty boys deserve to be punished. And I so enjoy you brand of punishment.” And with that she had him where she wanted him, his mind in lustful mush, and hers on his bulging wallet. |
| "Babette, everyone in this room thinks you did it," Margaret whispered. 'You're going to have to be careful or you'll wind up facing a murder charge." Babette gave her mother an icy stare. "If I had done it, he would have died a far more painful death." She turned her back on Margaret and went to stand next to Brandon Marlowe. Margaret looked around the room and sighed. Maybe she was worried for nothing. Babette did have a motive for killing the old man, but so did everyone else in the house. "Margaret, are you feeling all right?" Alistair interrupted Margaret's thoughts. "You look a bit pale." "No, I'm fine," Margaret answered, thinking that the butler didn't look so well himself. The poor old man seemed to have aged ten years in the last few hours. "I wonder what's going to happen to the old house now," Alistair said. I wouldn't care if it burned to the ground, Margaret thought. Except, then we'd all be left with nothing. Aloud she said, "I know what will happen if I have anything to say about it. I've already contacted a lawyer. He's going to petition the court to have the house closed up as soon as we all get off the island. When all this nasty business is sorted out, the house will be sold and the proceeds will be divided evenly among all the heirs. It's the only way I can see for everyone to be treated fairly." 'Yes, I suppose it is," Alistair said sadly. Margaret watched the little dramas unfolding around the room and suddenly felt she might faint. She had always thought herself a strong woman, but the events of the lst few hours had shaken her soul to its core. "Excuse me," she said to Alistair "I need to get some air." She stepped into the hall and collided with the Major. "Miss Marlowe, you shouldn't be going off alone," he chided. "The murderer is still among us." Margaret sighed. "Are you so sure that I'm not the murderer, Major?" The Major laughed. "I don't think you could have killed him any more than I could." Just then, Rosie Marlowe stormed past them muttering something about "men" and "pigs". "Hadn't you better go after her, Major?" Margaret asked. "You wouldn't want her to be alone with the murderer on the loose." "Good Lord, you're right," he said, and started after the landlady. Margaret used this opportunity to sneak off to the kitchen and make herself a cup of tea. Not wanting to attract company, she left the kitchen light off, and sat by the table in the dim light from the hallway. Once this miserable affair is over, she thought, I'll move to some little cottage in the country and begin writing my novel. I'm not that old or unattractive yet. There still might be a chance for me to meet a man who knows what love and commitment truly mean." Margaret's thoughts were interrupted by a noise from a shadowy corner of the kitchen. she looked up to see a hand holding a wooden rolling pin above her head. The rolling pin came down and there was a flash of blinding pain. Margaret fell out of her chair and landed on her back on the kitchen floor. The last words she heard in this world were a familiar voice saying, "I'm sorry it had to come to this. Nothing personal, you understand." |
| Emily heard a gentle clearing of someone's throat behind her. "Excuse me, Mrs. Watson. May I have a word with you?" She turned to address the source of the question, and was a bit surprised to see that it was Grandfather Herbert spaeking to her. "Of course you may, Sir," she respectfully replied. "Uh, Mrs. Watson, perhaps it would be more appropriate if we spoke somewhere a bit more private as the subject matter is quite delicate... and a bit embarrassing." She flashed an inquisitive and puzzled look at the Grandfather, and suspiciously and reluctantly complied with his request. Why on Earth would he want to speak to her alone? Perhaps he was the murderer? But, no, of course not. This poor, gentle, although mildly insane, soul couldn't possibly be a criminal of that degree. Nevertheless, she agreed to go no further than right outside the door in the hallway, where she could easily get back in to the room with other people if necessary. "What is it you wish to speak to me about, Sir? I must admit, you have me quite intrigued." "Mrs. Watson, I.... I'm not quite sure how to say this. I do hope you take no offense." "Sir, what is it? Please, be blunt," she pleaded. "Well, alright then. I was searching for the Lord's will, and, quite fortunately, I found it. I must be sure to get it to the detective straight away. However, I also found something else I believe you will personally find rather interesting." "Yes...?" Emily was beginning to get irritated and impatient. "Perhaps, I'd be better off to show you." Grandfather Herbert reached into his coat pocket and removed the will. As he unfolded the papers, Emily caught a glimpse of what he was speaking of and understood immediately his pressing for discretion. She gasped, blushing with shame, and tried to grab the photos from the Grandfather. His reflexes were quicker than she would've expected, or liked, and he pulled the photos away just before she could get them, and tucked them back inside his coat. "Please, Sir, I implore you! Let me have those photographs." "Mrs. Watson, I would gladly surrender them to you, if circumstances were different. However, I feel I must turn these over, along with the will, to the detective. I'm sure you understand. He is in the library now, I believe. You are more than welcome, Ma'am, to accompany me there. If the detective finds them of no use or precedence, I'm sure he will give them to you to do with them what you like." Emily agreed, realizing she really had no choice but to comply. Grandfather was not an easy man to sway. As they walked in silence, her head bowed in shame, she attempted to devise a plan to get the photos from him before they reached the library. Her heart pounded all the way there, and as they walked through the door to the library, she was disappointed that she had failed to get them, not being able to think of how to do it. They walked up to the detective, who was standing by the fireplace. She purosely stood very close to Grandfather Herbert. She saw an opportuniy, and was going to take it. As the Grandfather removed the will, and pulled the photos from inside it, she quite dramatically threw herself against him, in a rather pathetic attempt at faking a stumble, and knocked the photographs out of his hand and into the fire. "Mrs. Watson! Are you quite alright? asked the detective with concern as he carefully helped her to her feet. "Oh, yes... indeed I am," she answered, while looking Grandfather Herbert straight in the eyes. He looked back at her tearful, pleading stare. He felt sorry for her. He thought to himself, "I don't think those photos are really relevant here. It would give her motive to have murdered Lord Snuff-n-Such, but I hardly believe such a small woman with such purpose and passion would risk losing everything over a few photographs, no matter how provocative, and immoral, they may be." After everyone was back on their feet, the detective picked up the will. Fortunately, it had landed just outside the fire. "Ah! Great work, Sir! You have found the will. Excellent." He looked into the fire. "What is that there that we have lost, Sir?" Grandfather Herbert looked once more at Emily. She was still looking at him with begging eyes. "Oh, it's... nothing, Detective. Just some old photographs from a fishing trip, I believe. Nothing of any importance." He flashed a brief, understanding smile at Emily. She smiled back, and let out a sigh of relief. She would make a point of thanking him when they left the detective. She would also ask him why he chose to keep her secret. More importantly, she realized she must now remain on his good side. He was her ally now, and she wanted to keep it that way. She had to ensure he kept the photographs a secret, even if the evidence was destroyed. |
Grandfather Herbert had exhausted himself from the long drawn-out search for Lord Snuff-n-Such's will. He had expected the randy old goat to have disinherited everybody and everything; the Lord's sadistic wit was matched only by his constant desire to sow wild oats. He'd discovered on reading it though that all was not lost after all. A true case of "may the best man win"-err, Grandfatherthought in correction-"the best woman win." Yes indeedy, the primary heir was the Dame-a lady whom he respected and honoured for her dedication and family loyalty. Musing, he pondered that the Snuff-n-Such family name and legacy would have been so much more benefited had the Dame been born the male heir in place of the actual Lord; she understood family values and reputation! Not so the old goat, whose sensual pleasures and spendthrift habits left nerves and sense of security among family and friends in a constant uproar. Enough-the Will had been vetted by the Lawyer and turned over for safekeeping to the Detective. Then too, he had made the Suffragette aware of the disturbing photos, and in the comedy of errors between the two of them at the fireplace, that evidence had been eradicated permanently. Grandfather acknowledged to himself that he had indeed made a full evening's work of it. Time for a Glenfiddich straight up and a nap in his Bath chair. |
| Alistair understood how the world worked, and his place in it. Butlers often were invisible to those who had the most to guard. Their employers trusted them essentially through negligence. Alistair tread carefully along this boundary, honoring the unspoken tradition and serving his masters well for many decades. And what has this gained me? Perhaps it is time I took matters into my own hands, did my part to secure my future. He pressed his fingertips to his temples. Well, what there is of it remaining. Babette, though, dear girl. I should do what I can to help her land on her feet. I never have been very good at politics, but I will give it the old Harriman effort. He sighed, and opened the door to the pantry adjoining the kitchen. He flipped on the light, lifted a clipboard from a hook next to the door, and began taking stock of the foodstuffs. As he moved around the small room, his eyes scanned dry and canned goods until they passed over a rolling pin on the shelf. He paused, pencil poised over his checklist, and returned his gaze to the wooden pin. Hm. Now, that is interesting. He didn’t remember moving it from the kitchen, but he supposed it was possible. His memory wasn’t what it used to be. He picked it up and left the pantry, shuffling to the nearby phone to place his weekly order, and then smiled at himself as he remembered the line was dead. He tucked the pin under his arm, shaking his head, moving off to find the cook to arrange tomorrow’s menu. |
| Why did that fossil, dim witted Grandfather have to find that will now? He practically drooled while he was reading it. Why should he get to read it anyway? After all, I am the Lawyer, here! I would have worn the cheaters for such an important document reading. I don't think these people trust me. Thankfully, I dropped a little brandy in this coffee. It should help control the tremors in my hand. Well, well, it appears the plot thickens. With all these so called heirs to the great inheritance standing here and breathing heavy, it appears the old Lord Such-a-Stiff had odd plans for the bequeathing of his estate. Why can't the old coot read faster! Hmm, I wonder why that common Landlady, Rosie Marlowe was named as heir to the will? What could she possibly have over that dead Lord's head? It cannot just be those dazzling blue eyes and those four-inch heeled boots she likes wearing to strut her stuff. No, there is surely something more going on here. What I find more disturbing than that, is his naming The Dame, Clarice, as another heir to his fortune. She's old Lord Sucks-n-Stuffs' former sister-in-law. Well... hello, Clarice. I never understood why that dame stayed around the manor after her sister died. She is a bit of a spook if you ask me. I find her very mysterious, albeit quite sexy for an older broad. I think she must have had something very incriminating hanging over the Lord's head; which reminds me, I haven't seen her around lately. Finally, the last bequest in this will from hell! And the prize goes to...the Crown! Ha-ha-ha, the Lord, who has attained room temperature, had the last laugh I suppose. The mooring rights to the Island will revert to the Crown. This is going to cause some nasty business problems for some. No wonder the Lord summoned me to help him change the will. As it stands, it appears to be a strange and unnatural bequeathing of fortune. However, I do enjoy the infighting; it takes attention away from my little misdeeds with the funds. I need some more of this coffee; brandy spiked of course. This night has become feakin' complicated. It was all planned out at the start of the day. I knew the Lord started to suspect me of skimming money; I just wanted to have a little time with him to smooth things over a bit. I could have explained every discrepancy to his satisfaction. All I needed to do was liberate the boat from the dock and let it float away. Whilst we were stuck on this godforsaken island, I would have plied the old coot with fine scotch, and would have told him a convincing story about the missing funds. I know some of the Lord's secrets. He is quite the unethical businessman. He would have seen things my way for certain. At least that was my plan before the bloody, cheap suit, accountant showed up. Damn him for arriving early! Finally, I have moment to myself to think about that time spent at the dock. I remembered something that I just blew off at the time. Right after I released the boat and turned to head back to the mansion, I saw aThe Stranger lurking by the lake with that dusty, academ-iac Professor. They were pointing to something on maps, as if they were comparing notes or something. Subsequently, they placed a few marker flags in selected spots by the lake. I wonder what the hell that was all about? Damn, my coffee is getting cold! |
| Hackney, the Major, and I had just entered a small study three doors over from the library, which was now locked in hopes of preserving physical evidence...not that there would have been any left after a dozen people trambled through it when the will was found. Everyone else was now in the living area, discussing and/or venting of over this new development. "So, did going back to the parlor help your memory?" Hackney asked. "All I can remember is seeing the shadow of someone going into the library--I think a man--and shutting the door. It could have easily just been Lord Snuff-n-Such himself going back into the room after stepping out a moment. Like I said, I only caught a glimpse." "I understand," Hackney replied, "That's really all the questions we have for now. I'm not too thrilled that you mentioned this incident to Lady Clarice, not to mention anyone else who could have overheard you. That wasn't a good thing to do." "I know, but I didn't tell her everything. There's something else I think only the two of you should know." "What's that?" the Major asked. "I think it may relate to this new will and the younger son--Claven. At dinner we were seated next to each other and talked for awhile. I could tell he had a lot of bitterness toward his father--" "Along with nearly everyone else in the room," the Major interrupted with a huff. "Go on," Hackney added, giving the Major a slight elbow to his ribcage indicating for him to quit interrupting me. "Anyway," I continued, "After I declined his offers for him to help me invest in some very lucrative deals he'd found, he turned his attention to his grandfather and pushed his wheelchair up to the table." "I can see how him being so nice could be seen as suspicious behavior," Hackney replied. "It's not just that. He had some sort of parchment with a red seal tucked into his sleeve and then slid it into the back of the wheelchair. The grandfather had no way of noticing it or even reaching it while seated." Hackney took out the will and showed it to me. It had a red wax seal and had been unrolled. "That looks really similar, but I know Snuff-n-Such used the same paper and seal on a lot of documents. It may have been this will or something else. Either way, Claven was definitely acting in such a way he didn't want what he was doing seen. I wouldn't have even noticed except for the fact my auction houses have to deal with shoplifters a lot, and I've learned how to spot when someone's trying to hide something." "That's very interesting." Hackney replied, trying to process what was going on, "Oh, one more thing. You're mentioned nowhere in Snuff-n-Such's will. Any idea why he invited you here for all of this?" "Well, I've at least eliminated the possibility that I'm another one of his secret daughters--my parents were unfortunately both killed in a boating accident when I was 12." "I'm sorry." "So am I," I sighed, "I guess he wanted me to look over some of his estate and auction off a few things. He's done it before, and I don't think he had any intention of dying this time. We just never had a chance to discuss business. Either that or he was trying to help me not make the same mistakes with money and family as he'd had...it's sad, but I'm kind of glad I don't have heirs to fight over my money. I hope when that time comes I'll do a better job of it." "Thank you, Ms. Michaels. That's it for now." "You're welcome. I guess I'll go join everyone else and try not to eat, drink, or touch anything for the next few hours." "That's a good plan. Don't forget breathe!" the Major added as I walked back down the hall. |
| After ditching the senile Major who attempted to follow her, Rosie hid out in a closet near the library until she heard the occupants walking away. She then quickly picked the lock with one of her hairpins and slid inside. She sauntered towards the large leather chair behind the old Lord's massive desk and gleefully plopped herself down. While she sat there, Rosie maliciously imagined the look on Brandon's face when he discovered that she was the heir to Lord Snuff-n-Such. Oh, he'll be really sorry then! she thought. He'll come crawling back, of course, but he won't get one shilling from me! Rosie cast her eyes all around the library. Soon, it'll all be mine. Mine, mine, mine! I'm going to sell this decrepit mansion, and go soak up the sun in Florida for the rest of my life.. As her eyes moved around the library, something out of place troubled her unconscious mind. Something was wrong. Something that should be there in the library wasn't there. Rosie focused her mind on the problem, inspecting the room millimeter by millimeter. After a few minutes, her eyes narrowed on the mantel. That's it! she thought. One of the gold candlesticks is missing from the mantel! I wonder what happened to it. Just then, she heard a slight sound coming from her left. Damn, I thought the library was empty! Rosie turned her head towards the sound. "Oh, it's you," she said to the person. "What are you doing here? Are they looking for me?" It took Rosie a few seconds to comprehend what she was seeing. By then, it was too late to react. The candlestick came crashing down, and Rosie's light was snuffed out before her head hit the library desk. |
| Jean Cleese spent the better part of the day in his kitchen baking more loaves of bread than an army could consume. Stringing the loaves together with the twine used to hold stuffed fish, he worked feverishly through the night. No rescue would come, he knew. Not for the hacks, not for the self-important money'd snobs, and not for himself. He built himself a simple raft of french bread gone way, way too dry. He was sure he could make it at least half-way across the channel before the bread took in too much water. He no longer cared what happened after that point. He desperately needed to get as much distance between himself and the idiots as possible. Bon jour. Adiu. |
| The Vicar Brother Thomas lay on his bed, his fingers laced and tucked neatly behind his neck, and thought about the arrival of his warm milk. Babette should be along any time now. He didn’t know why this particular fact jumped into his head; he wasn’t very good at trivia, but he remembered Parrish records indicated that Williamson, The Bachelor, really was. The marriage between him and Rosie, The Landlady, was never recognized or sanctioned by the Church. Fact is, Rosie is legally married to the old dead Lord. Talk about irony. Williamson wants to marry Allison, The Nouveau Rich for her money, but thinks he can’t because he’s under the false impression he’s still married to Rosie, but he’s not. Quite a little twist, he thought, since the Will just named Rosie to inherit everything from that stinking half-brother of mine. “Ah ... such is life. At least the dirty little secret The Lord was holding over my head will never be divulged. It was bad enough he knew about the women and my illegitimate daughters, but do just one alter boy and you never live it down.” The knock came at the door seconds before it opened and The Vicar’s attention returned to his warm milk. “Ah ... Babette, my child. Come. Sit next to me on the bed.” |
| The Stranger Holy crap, this place is a hothouse of seething emotion and degradation, this room is emptying faster than my Popeye© Pez dispenser. Most of these upper-crust, inbred, flesh eating zombies have the intelligence of fern. Not a single one of them can see past the £’s they are grubbing after. Caroline is the only one that recognized me. Who would have thought? I wonder if it’s my grey hair? That idiot, George, the heir paid me all that money to leave so he could have at Caroline, his “Headmistress”, you would think he would have at least thought I look familiar. But, on the other hand if he was busy boffing Caroline then he may not have had much energy left for remembering money or faces. Man, she could boff with the best of ‘em, wear a poor guy out she could. She must eat lot’s of lettuce because she sure goes at it with the frequency of a rabbit. I can understand her not wanting anyone to know that we used to go at it like..., well that we had an arrangement, so to speak. She could have said please though. Of course that plastic punishment suit thing is a bit off if you ask me, but hey, whatever floats her boat these days. “Ah Professor, I noticed you found my notes and changed a few numbers, good thinking, we wouldn’t want our efforts to fall into the wrong greedy hands now would we?” The Professor eyed the stranger warily, “Uh, yeah well you know us academics, always correcting things, occupational hazard don’t you know. I did notice you had the last word incorrect, it’s ’house’ old chap, not ‘horse’. You aren’t much of a speller are you old man? It took me quite awhile to crack your code, but I finally managed it. I think” “Okay, what the hell is it with all you guys here calling me old something or other? I’ll tell, ya that is really starting to frost my kiester, so to speak.” House? Holy smokes that makes sense, house, of course. “House huh, could be, that fits with the rest of it,” as the stranger absentmindedly pulled out his Popeye© Pez dispenser and ate one. “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to be rude, care for a Pez? They’re cherry?” “No thank you stranger, I am not much into Pez. So ah,…” “Well good actually, I have been going through my Pez candies rather quickly tonight, that Headmistress, Caroline, is into the Pez, or the cherries ,or something. Nasty habit you know.” “She does uh? I didn’t know that. Usually I just pay her my money, she puts on her plastic punishment suit, gags me and gets out the paddle,” suddenly, a horrified expression crossed the Professor’s face. “Did I say that out loud?” “Yup, I am afraid you did ‘old chap’. Should I tell him that the heir followed her down to the dungeon, er basement? “Um, does she wear stiletto heeled boots with that plastic punishment suit of hers?” House, I wonder, it's possible, the Crown Jewels could be the base of the Such-n-stuff fortune. Left for safekeeping and forgotten? Or perhaps, more likely, they’re here illicitly, but if his ancestors were anything like him and his offspring, they wouldn’t be capable of keeping a secret. The fortune would have been lost in pubs and houses of ill repute long ago. Could be, perhaps the old fart himself didn’t even know? This addition has been added on behalf of the beautiful janieruthryals The Old Spinster sat stiffly in her chair taking in all the action around her as if she were watching a boring play. I do wish these people would get out of my house! She took a sip of her wine with a gloved pinky extended. The Major walked into the room and eyed her carefully. “Miss Snotzenson, I was wondering if I could have quick word with you.” “I don’t know whatever for. You already know the outcome of the will.” “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, maam.” She glared at him with a pompous air. “Obviously, with The Dame inheriting ownership of Talent Manor, everything is stay as it is. Which means, I‘m staying put, as I always intended to.” He looked at her quizzically. “Are you drunk, maam?” Greta slammed her glass down on the table. “Of course I’m drunk, you fool! How can anyone stay sober at a time like this, with all you imbeciles prancing around?!” “Maam, there is the question as to your involvement__” "Listen, you idiot. Obviously, I didn’t inherit anything from Snuffy’s will. So why would I want to kill him? He was worth more alive to me than dead. But I‘m still glad he‘s gone,” she said, waving a wrist. "He can rot in hell for all I care." The Major nodded carefully and exited the room, leaving the Old Spinster wallowing in her diamonds and furs, pickling everything that lay beneath it in wine. A lonely tear fell from the Old Spinsters eye, and she wiped it away before anyone could see it. |
| The feeling of someones breath on her ear caused Regina to turn a bit. "I need a word, please" came the words from Scarlett's mouth. Allowing herself to be pulled to the windows, she wondered exactly what was wanted. '[i]hopefully they haven't found out yet. they can't have!' she thought. Scarlett's voice brought her mind back to what her companion was saying. ",,,,,You look far too pale, it wouldn't do to have you faint in front of all these people....." She stopped paying attention to the other woman's voice. Her mind went into shock. 'She knows!' ran through her head. Then the other's final words reached her. 'no, she doesn't! yes!' Regina replied and they continued to talk for a little bit. Only half of her was there, the other half was wondering how to keep hiding the fact. Her figure was taking damage because of it. Though it had enhanced some of her. Not by much though. She took leave of Scarlett and looked around the room. Sure that no one would miss her. she slipped out of the room and the crowd. She just walked for a few minutes until she came to the beach behind the manor. She sat in the sand and stared out into the blackness. Thoughts of her pregnancy filled her thoughts. Maybe mother is an example. Is family more important? Especially since i won't get a damn thing from this. Family? I don't even really know what that is. Let alone how to take care of or be a part of one.............. The sound of soft footfalls reached her. they faded and then stopped. she froze. 'please don't come over here.... |
| Claven--The Spare: Claven watched his fellow rats moving about the mansion. Laughing to himself bitterly he thought. They all are after something. I suppose I am too. He saw Carolyn, the stupid bitch of a headmistress go through the basement door and watched his idiot of a brother follow her. He had disliked her when he was a student at the school. When he was in his third year, he had found out what she liked to do in her office. He had snuck around and seen her with George once, just before George graduated. He had thought his brother was getting what he deserved... punishment for misdeeds, but oh how wrong he was. He had thrown up in the bushes after he had seen them, and as the window was open, heard them. Well, one good thing, she was probably too damn old to be having George's children. He didn't think even George knew about the "kiddie" clause that may have some bearing on his future financial security. Claven had often thought his brother was one of those men who didn't really like girls. What with his cats and bleeding animal shelter horsepoo. Then again, Carolyn wasn't much of a girl, and she'd never marry George anyway. Claven downed the rest of his scotch and sent a fervent prayer to any gods that might be listening to make his brother sterile and gay. Maybe then he would have a chance at the inheritance. Then again, there were other ways to ensure his own, wealthy, survival... He grimaced toward the basement door and then went looking for more alcohol and maybe another go at one of the other guests who actually had money. Perhaps that Allison... she seemed a bit flighty, but she wasn't hard to look at... |
| While walking out and about the manor grounds I happened upon a set of blue prints. They befuddled me somewhat because what they showed couldn't possibly be. I walked the exterior of the house to make sure, you know; counting steps tp measure feet and such. i went inside of the out building to satisfy my curiosity and I found the same thing that I did outside. There was no possible way this building could be built according to the plans. The blue prints show a building that is much larger in size than the actual building is. Hmmm, what could it possibly be that I 'm missing. It's as if someone totally ignored the blue prints, or did they? I'll never tell. After all, the dimensions of the missing area in the blue prints could hold a vast number of...let's just leave it at that shall we? Good day. |
| As I walked through the aisles of this manor, I noticed that my status as to inherit the ownership of the manor is somewhat challenged or being discussed. well, I roamed around, observing each person here...making eye contacts, waving hands, exchanging mystic smiles... I sat on my chair on the far north side of this manor. I breathed deeply with my beautiful hat on, and with a juice on my table. How I wish I could inherit this in the soonest possible time...I thought to myself. |
| "Death and decadence... what a waste!" Teddy mumbled and grumbled, ensuring everyone filed into the Drawing Room, and he was stood nearest the brandy. Detective Hackney came in last, locked the door behind him and stood next to the Major by the fireplace. "I've got my notes, no doubt you are all familiar now with the sad deaths of two of our members... thankfully, both wrote me letters before they died, letting me know their thoughts and I have them here to read at an opportune moment. "Now, I think you should know I am armed, and I will use force if necessary. Who would like to start this ball rolling then?" |
| Teddy looked around the room waiting for one of the group to speak up. Of course they all just looked around. No one wanted to be the first to accuse - that would make them look guilty. So in an effort to move it along - he read the first letter. To whom it may concern: I feel as though my time is limited here. I believe I'm being watched. You should be careful as I think it's only a matter of time before he strikes again. He's getting desperate. It shows in his eccentric behavior and his obsession with cherry Pez. Yes, I'm speaking of The Stranger I think he has become obsessed with looking for this Treasure and being on this island has only made it worse. Please take any necessary precautions to protect the contents of the safe. I fear many people already know how to unlock the safe... (Boat House) and would kill to get at it's contents. Please protect the innocent... I fear it's too late for me... Take care and be safe... The Landlady |
| Well, I, star of stage and screen, have no doubts about who killed Lord-Snuff-n-Such or anyone else that happens to be laying around in a state of decomposition. It had to have been the Cook. Yes, I know that he is a wonderful cook and seems so grateful when given a compliment, but is he really grateful or just acting? I, being an award winning actress can tell you I believe him to be an accomplished actor. I know for a fact that he was in danger of losing his job. I know that being in the kitchen all the time, he has heard all of the gossip about treasure and codes for the safe. I'll even go so far as to suppose that he knows full well that house is the last part of the code. But no my dear friends, that isn't what really makes him suspect. What makes him without a doubt the doer of vast and nefarious deeds is this -- He is French! And we all know that the French are not to be trusted. |
| Dear Detective Hackney, I'm writing this letter because I believe I know the identity of the killer. I know this sounds like a worn out cliche in a bad mystery novel, but THE BUTLER DID IT. Alistair may seem to be a harmless old man, but after all these years he has come to think of this house as his own, and would do anything to protect his position. He was outraged when he heard of Lord Snuff's plans to put all the staff on notice and close up the house. He was also justifiably angry when he heard of the Lord's horrible treatment of my daughter, Babette. I believe he killed Lord Snuff so the estate would revert to the Dame, who will leave everything as it has always been. He served the dinner and would have had an opportunity to add the poison to the food. I beg you to keep close watch on him because I believe he will kill again. I may be his next target, because Alistair knows I have petitioned the court to have the house sold and the proceeds split between the heirs. The Landlady is also in grave danger, because she has been telling everyone of her plans to sell the place and move to Florida. I would also urge you to keep a close eye on the Professor and the Stranger. Although I don't believe they are murderers, they are definitely up to no good. I've heard them whispering about solving some code. The word they kept repeating was "outhouse". Please don't mention my suspicions to anyone else, since I don't really trust anyone on this island. I'll be in the kitchen if you have any questions. Sincerely, Margaret Marlowe The Governess |
| "Major, I have an accusation to make, as I'm sure we all do. However, I was hoping you would allow me to perhaps speak my conjectures to you privately, or even write them on a slip of paper. I fear the repercussions of my statements could be grave if mentioned aloud." The Major allowed her this small favor, motioning her to the opposite side of the room. He gestured to Detective Hackney to follow, as he would obviously need to hear what the Suffragette said as well. It also soothed Mrs. Watson that the Major would not have to repeat her ideas, preventing the other guests from having another opportunity to hear her speak her mind. "Go ahead, Mrs. Watson," said the Detective,"Tell us what you think." "Well...." She took a deep breath and whispered,"I fear it may be the Bachelor. What a greedy cad, that man! You see how he forgot all about the IT Girl when he discovered the Dame was the true heir? It was obvious what was going on between him and the IT Girl until then. Now he is all over the Dame! If he can appeal to the Dame the way he did the IT Girl, he'll have sex and money... obviously the only two things that are really important to him. And we know now that he knew all along that there was a chance the IT Girl could've been the Lord's heir. I could be wrong, hence the privacy I requested for this. I do not wish to make a fool of myself or make unnecessary enemies should I be wrong. I do not wish to offend anyone, but my gut says he murdered Lord Snuff-N-Such. As for the password for the safe, I cannot be sure, but I would tend to agree with our dearly departed Landlady and venture to say it is the word "boathouse." "Very well, Madam. We'll take that into consideration. Please do take your seat. Who's next?" asked the Major. |
| Grandfather Herbert sat as usual quietly invisible in his leather wing chair in the corner of the billiard room. A close observer, if anyone cared to notice, would have seen him gently twirling the Glenfiddich shot glass he held in one hand, a pensive expression crossing his weathered, homely features. Grandfather's thoughts were far from Talent Manor at the moment; he was lost in the mists of antiquity, slimed in mud in a Flanders trench while mortars boomed and nerve gas snaked invisibly overhead. Suddenly in the midst of his misery he recognised a face looming before him in the trench, a face which had no business to be there! Puzzled, he reached forward with a hand, unwittingly spilling the Scotch to the billiard room carpet, and touched flesh! I mmediately his senses returned and he realised he was in the present, and this exact person loomed over him, a furious expression glowering down at him, Lord Snuff-n-Such's ancient Egyptian statue from the Library held in the figure's left hand. Grandfather had only a moment to think; then he lost consciousness. |
| Alistair cleared his throat and approached Detective Hackney in the crowded parlor. “Sir, may I have a word?” He spoke just above a whisper and gestured toward the foyer. “In private, if I may?” “Mr. Harriman, I’m sure everyone here is prepared to hear whatever you might have to say. Spit it out, man.” “Ahem. Yes, yes. Well, you see,” he acknowledged the women in the room with a nod. “I regret discussing such a distressing subject among the women, sir. I’m sure you understand.” A few of the women nearby perked their ears at that, shaking their heads, leaning toward each other to speculate about the butler’s agenda . “Mr. Harriman, this weekend has been difficult enough. If you have something to share to help illuminate who the murderer is, shouldn’t you do so?” Detective Hackney raised his eyebrows, “Immediately?” “Yes, yes. Right away, sir.” Alistair took a moment to gather his thoughts. “You understand, I hesitate out of respect for the deceased, sir. I loathe speaking ill of those unable to defend themselves.” “Good Lord, man. I could have eaten a sandwich, already. Say your piece before I move on.” Alistair adjusted his tie, smoothing his jacket. He glanced around the room, eyes lighting on each guest, each a suspect. “I believe, sir, that Madame Governess – God rest her soul – was our culprit.” Detective Hackney almost lost his cigar. “Are you mad, sir?” he choked. “If the Governess murdered Sir Snuff-N-Such, who the blast murdered her?” Alistair couldn’t make himself answer that question. He shook his head. “I can only tell you why I believe she was driven to commit her crime, sir. She wanted the best for her daughter, you see. She believed Sir Snuff-N-Such had neglected his . . . obligation. When she discovered he had bestowed less upon their child not because of illegitimacy, but for some lack of regard, well, she snapped.” Alistair cleared his throat once again. “Sir.” The detective sighed. “Yes, Mr. Harriman?” “I also wish to pass on to you another bit of information which may need further investigation.” “Oh, I can hardly refrain from salivating, sir.” Alistair frowned, looking directly in the detective’s eyes. “I overheard a couple of guests talking, sir. They seemed quite interested in the boathouse, sir. When they noticed me nearby, they quieted and dispersed as if I’d interrupted them.” “Hm. You don’t say?” Detective Hackney made a note on his pad and scanned the room. “Let’s keep this to ourselves, shall we? Thank you, sir.” “Yes, yes, of course. Good afternoon, sir.” Alistair watched the guests with shuttered eyes as he continued his work. |
| Mason Perry, The Lawyer: I think you all have been dipping into the scotch and sherry too much. You all had reason to off Lord Such a Stiff, Sucks at Stuff oSuch and Stuff, whatever the bleep you want to call that dead, starting to get rich, and I don't mean coin wise, jerk. Nevertheless, I, the great Mason Perr know who the killer is. Pay attention while I write this out on the whiteboard over there. AHEMM! That's better, silence is good. 1)WHO did it? The Butler did it of course! 2)WHy, You ask? I'll tell you why! The Motive :To remain employed, and have a home and "family".The old coot is getting on in years, sfterall. Who the hell wants the fossil? He killed the lord because the lord was going to close up the manor and let him go. After he spent all those years as a loyal servent, he just got enraged and took matters into his own hands. Quire simply, who could blame him? I know there are those who think many suspects here could have done it. I am shocked to fins out that I, the loyal family lawyer was even considered a suspect! However, I understand that so many ignorant people have a guttural distaste for lawyers. Imagine that! I will continue with my theory. The Governess and The Landlady, were also killed because both of them would have the property sold and divided. The butler counted on being around after the will was cleared up. He knew the others that he had been so loyal to, would keep him on. The butler wasthe only person who had nothing to lose because of his age and lack of family other than those at the manor. Prison would at least be a place to live and be fed. Thus, he really didn't care if he was arrested. Hence, he had nothing to lose.The crown might even be lenient with the old coot. A good lawyer could blame it on senile dementia or some other mental distress defense. Hell, I'll even represent the old buck...for a good price, too.  3)WHAT is that secret clue that secret clue, which unlocks the SAFE? I say it is "house." It is all about the house afterall. What happens next with it, who gets it, who sells it and who does or doesn't gives a damn! This is my story and I'm sticking to it. If you are smart detective Hackney, you would stick with it too.  Thank you for your time. Now, where's my bleepin' coffee?!! |
| Allison slipped a note to Detective Hackney: "Whether he's the direct murder or not, I feel that The Heir, Claven is involved with the motive of revenge and spite for his father. A possibly forged will slipped into his grandpa's wheelchair would likely throw everyone off from him. The house itself is really the key in all of this." MaryLou  left a note to say "The Dame did it!" |
| Detective Hackney approached the Old Spinster, who sat dozing in the conservatory, where she'd been sitting all night barking at the servants for more refreshments and wine. Her ample nose was buried into the fur stoll wrapped tightly around her neck, and its fur moved as if ruffled by a strong gust of wind. He touched her shoulder apprehensively, as he figured for a nasty awakening. She opened her eyes and looked boredly at him. "Oh hell... What on earth do you want?" "Yes Ms. Snotzenson... Well, it seems everyone here has an idea of who the killer or even killers could be, and I thought since you were so close to the Lord himself__" "Close??? Ha!" she snorted, and sat up straight in her chair. "And you call yourself a detective... Listen, everyone who knows anything about these sort of matters knows that the killer is always someone you least expect." "That right?" Detective Hackney mused. "Yes. So I'll tell you who I think the killer is." Hackney rubbed his chin, "Go on then." "You." "I beg your pardon?" "You, Detective Hackney. Afterall, this is your first big case, is it not? And a man such as yourself would go to great lengths to gain the attention of the public with something like this," she slurred. "A lot stranger things have happened." "Madam, you're drunk." "Oh shut up. You're wasting my time. I don't care who killed Snuffy nor any of the other imbeciles traipsing around my house. Now kindly move your business elsewhere so I can have my privacy." As Detective Hackney left the conservatory, the Old Spinster lowered her head and began snoring loudly. |
| “So it’s accusations you are looking for huh?” I quaffed the last of my ale and decisively placed the pint glass on the antique table, defiantly with no coaster to protect the ancient wooded surface. That’ll set the butler and landlady off, ‘yikes rings on my table.’ I must agree that Scarlett Du’mones has a valid point, the French are not to be trusted, wine-swilling-cheese-eating-surrender-monkeys that they are, it may well have been the cook, but it wasn’t. “Well it turns out I do have an idea about the villain.” I took out my trusty Popeye Cherry Pez™ dispenser and popped a Pez. No cherries left in this busy lot. An air of tangible fear pervaded the crusty group collected. “It was the Dame responsible for the old goat kicking the proverbial bucket. The Dame was determined to drag the good name of ‘Stuff-n-sex out of the muck that it had been mired in since the Lord took control of the family fortune. His dalliances with women of character and intelligence similar to his own had forced the Dame to whack him, and the others, more than she had the taste for, but she has the mettle to carry a plan through to its conclusion.” I paused as the room of nut-cases absorbed the words, the more cowardly visibly relaxing. “The Dame doesn’t have the mobility or strength for this you might say, but she persuaded the loyal Butler to assist her in this onerous but necessary task to restore the family name, his motive? Simple loyalty to the Dame, and job security and comfort in his aging years were enough to convince him of necessity of the task.” I fished out my trusty Popeye Cherry Pez™ dispenser, damn, out of Pez. Now what am I going to do? I need another one, quickly. I am not addicted or anything I could give up whenever I want to, I just don’t want to. “Manor House will open the safe, it is also where the treasure will be found, in the false front of the Manor House” I nervously rubbed my trusty Popeye Pez™ dispenser, my hands beginning to tremble. “Anyone have a spare Pez™?” I anxiously asked. “It doesn’t have to be cherry.” |
| Neville – The Doctor There’s that butler again thought Neville with a grimace. He was rather intimidated by the abundance of staff at any ‘lordly’ residence and their air of supercilious I am better than you because I wash the Lord’s dishes whislst you merely wash you own always gave him the feeling of trespassing. Butlers with their pseudo-snobbery were the worst of the lot. The man looks positively anemic, I wonder if he’s frightened or pulled down by the tension and work? He butler loomed into his field of vision and intoned a silken “The detective would like to see you immediately sir, in the small study.” One lifted eyebrow waggled gently, implying to Neville’s already wounded propriety that it could be for nothing good. Neville knew it was nothing good, he had chosen to keep quiet because he knew nobody would believe him. Detective hackney had looked at him very particularly when everybody else made their accusations; but other than a couple of wheezy coughs and a pregnant pause before he closed the little conference, he had at that time made no mention of the obvious failure. He placed reluctant foot after another as he made his way into the study. His air of languid indifference had quite deserted him. Detective Hackney turned from the ornamental vase which he was viewing on the mantelpiece, a rather handsome blue and gold lacquer item with ornate Chinese drawings upon it. He gestured Neville to his seat and gave him a look of grave reproof. “Doctor, after you were so helpful with your tip about the possible cause of death, I did not expect you to be so unforthcoming. You were right, by the way, he did die of a substance commonly found in household cleaning products. It is related to weed-killer and is used to prevent fungal outgrowth in disused water pipes. In a safe concentration harmless, concentrated it is deadly. Now, whom did you have in mind when you mentioned the agent? What made you think of it?” Neville stammered “N-no, I found the slight bluish discoloration at the mouth rather suggestive that’s all. I knew Lord Snuff-n-Such had no heart ailment. I h-had come across such a case in some medical literature and it j-just leapt to the mind” “Come, come doctor. You will be guilty of obstructing the path of justice this way you know.” The questioning and denial went on dancing from point to pint but Neville remained steadfast in the face of bluster and coercion alike. He wiped his forehead in reflex relief as he was finally allowed to go. How could I voice my suspicions, nay uncertainty? It would be either fool-hardy or sacrilege to suggest to anyone that the killer was either obviously unrelated and motivless Babette or that great lady Great Von Snotensen. But I talked of the dangers of household cleaners ot all of them by turn and only those two pretended they knew of nothing harmful. Others babbled innocently of tales of chlorine release or detergent gastric upsets, lurid tales of things that happened to someone’s friend’s uncle’s servant. Sure none knew of this deadly little killer but they all knew of the common accidents. |
| Ah, what a tangled web. The Dame and the Spinster had become close over the years. They were even possibly closer than people suspected. As the Dame watched her sister being cheated on and subjected to the depravity of Snuff-and-Such, she became more bitter about Snuffy and his squandering of HER family's money and good name. When her sister died, she turned to the Spinster, who had been Snuffy's wife briefly, for solace. As years passed, they included the Butler in their friendship and trust, as he was a good man and was a bit enamored of them both. The Spinster is the killer. She killed Snuffy because he was about to close the manor, thus removing her from her happy home and her love triangle with the Dame and Butler. The Governess was nearly as bad, she wanted to close the manor as well, and she would find some way to get the inheritance for her daughter, also leaving the Spinster homeless. Pure jealousy for the so-called marriage to Snuffy, along with knowing it was Alastair's wish that Babette marry the landlord, were among her reasons to kill the Landlady, and she was also heir before the Dame. Love of the Dame and Butler, and her secure home were her primary motives. The secret to the treasure is "Full House" as Snuffy never met a deck he couldn't stack. |
| Clean at last, everything is clean at last. No; I'm not talking about this palatial estate and all of the fine items that grace its halls. I'm talking about all of the messes that Old Lord what's his name has created. With him dead and soon to be buried all of his messes are clean. God only knows how many affairs the Lord of the estate had, or how many illegitimate children were born from those affairs. But all is well at the manor at last. That's why he did it you know? The Butler I mean. He had watched Old Lord Snuff-n-such, I finally got his name right after all this time, what do you know? As I was saying, the butler had seen every affair, every broken heart, every illegitimate child that was born, and heard every lie, every bribe, and every time the Old Lord bragged about his triumphs in the board...em, bed room. He had thought about doing this years ago but couldn't bring himself to do the deed for fear of his punishment. Now he was in his latter years of life. What was to fear? If they did figure it out, he wouldn't have to worry about spending too many years in jail at his age. Why, now that Old Lord Snuff-n-such had hurt so many prominent people, they might even give him an award instead of locking him up. Yes, it had to be the butler. He used just enough arsenic in that glass of wine that he carried to the Lord of the estate just before he was to make his grand appearance. The butler knew this was his last chance to make everything right. No-one else would be hurt by Old Lord Snuff-n-such. His final chapter has now been played out, his final triumph has been laid to rest with him. Now the butler could at least finish his years of life, however few or long they may be in peace of mind. Who knows, he may even get to live the rest of his life out in the mansion pending how long it takes to get all of the legal hullabaloo taken care of. |
The BUTLER did it!  doesn't he always?  Alistair's motive was that he did not want to move on from Talent Manor. Well done to all who got it right, you will receive a Detective Merit Badge: Lauriemariepea will also receive a Detective Merit Badge for fooling most of the Pond  The secret clue which opened the safe was Boat House and the following detectives will receive a rather handsome reward :All of you who played out the last round will receive a Campfire Merit Badge for all your continued hard work and dedication to this 5 month long campfire You rock!  Brooklyn  Kaya Arakun the Twisted Raccoon  hllykat Lauriemariepea Sssssh! I'm not really here.  Patricia Gilliam  MaryLou janieruthryals hbar Just an Ordinary Boo! IdaLin Rob G. ~Led by the Master~ The Private Clues and Instructions are all now available for your keen eye, should you wish to see what everyone was originally sent:
Write on, take care, and be careful... on the moor, in the dark, in the night Thank you to everyone who took part, please feel free to use the following lovely Signature made by Kaya by typing the following image code into your signature blocks {image:1353263}** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Until next time, sleep tight, and don't have nightmares. Remember, butlers buttle every day without killing a single person The End! |
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