Murder in Mystery Manor Page 4

  This was met with some gasps and at least a few obscenities from the guests. But Giles did not pause long enough to allow them to ask questions or really develop any kind of sustained reaction. If he stopped now, he might not ever regain control of the situation.

  “Please, it is dire that you allow me to finish,” he said. “One of you, our dear remaining nine guests, is actually our gracious host. And the murderer.” The guests looked around the room at one another with wide eyes, perhaps already speculating about the identity of the killer. “For the remainder of this game, it will be his or her job to murder you, and the survivors’ job to figure out how he or she committed the murder. To solve the case, so to speak. Fail to solve the crime, and you may be the next to die. This is a game of wit and cunning, and only the smartest and cleverest among you will survive.”

  “What are you talking about? You can’t do this, you psycho!” Frank shouted, taking a step toward Giles.

  “Please, sir, I assure you that I am as much a victim of these circumstances as all of you,” Giles said, holding his ground and not flinching at Frank’s aggressive advance. “I knew no more of these activities than you did the day I arrived to accept this position. It seems I, too, have been duped. But, alas, the situation is what it is. And for now, the structure I provide is the only thing keeping us all alive. I am as much your advocate as I am the administrator or referee of this sick game. Now, please listen to me: playing this game correctly is our only chance of survival, collectively.”

  There was something about Giles’s sincere yet calm and still professional plea that put the guests at ease. Or, at least, as at ease as was possible given that they had all just discovered they were now active members in some sick murder mystery game that wouldn’t be over until only one of them remained.

  “So, that said,” Giles continued, “our game must now go on. And, as I said before, there are rules. You each have a choice ahead of you, a decision that may or may not ultimately seal your fates. After each murder, you will be granted the opportunity to investigate one, and only one, of the following areas: the crime scene itself, the victim’s last known whereabouts, or the estate morgue, where you will find the body and whatever evidence it may hold. Regardless of which area you choose, you will be given only thirty minutes to investigate that area. Are there any questions so far?”

  There were likely hundreds of questions coursing through the guests’ heads, but they were either too shocked or too scared to ask them.

  “Very well,” Giles said. “Please, take the next five minutes to decide which area you wish to investigate. But choose carefully—your life depends on it. And also keep in mind to strategize among yourselves cautiously, as you may not know whom to trust. After all, may I remind you that the killer stands among us.”

  Giles turned and calmly exited the foyer, leaving the guests standing there, stunned, shocked, afraid.

  For a few minutes, nobody did anything but stare at the floor, or the walls, or each other. But then Frank, his years of serving as a public law enforcer kicking in, stepped forward and faced the group.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting the hell out of here,” he said.

  This was met with more than a few nods of agreement. But before the guests could react further, a large painting on the wall behind Frank started sliding down into a secret compartment. Behind it was a seventy-inch flat-screen TV. He turned and faced it with the rest of the guests as it suddenly turned on.

  They were all looking at security camera footage of the estate’s front gates. It had been shot sometime during the day, as the bright sun cast an ominous shadow of bars across the pale gravel drive. Then an indistinguishable voice, masked by some sort of device, could be heard coming from the TV.

  “Giles did not explain to you the best part of this game,” the voice said. “Participation is mandatory. Any attempt to deviate from the game or escape the estate will result in your immediate death. Please observe.”

  Just then a figure ran into the frame on the TV. It was a maid. She ran, panicked, toward the front gate. Then Giles could be seen at the far edge of the screen, running after her. But as the guests watched, they realized he was too late to stop her. The maid reached out and grabbed the iron gate and then went flying back through the air in a shower of bright sparks. Giles stepped aside on the path and looked down at her body. After a few moments, he fell slowly to his knees in what felt to the guests like an act of resigned defeat. It looked so out of character for Giles, even as limited as their interactions with him had been so far, that it had every bit the effect the killer had intended. The TV screen went black and the painting rose back up in front of it.

  “Well, there goes that idea,” Thomas said quietly.

  Frank just stood there with his head hanging down.

  “We’re wasting time, guys,” Parker said suddenly, taking charge like he used to do on the football field on Saturdays in college. “We need to figure out how to do this. We can only solve this murder if we work together.”

  He was a natural leader. It was that quality, along with superior physical ability, of course, that had almost propelled him into the NFL after college. Not that he didn’t still try after he wasn’t drafted. He made a few practice squads over the next few years, but never did find his way onto the field outside of the very end of two preseason games. But he’d never forget even those two quarters of preseason NFL football he’d gotten to play.

  “He’s right,” Guadalupe said, backing up Parker. As soon as she spoke, everyone turned toward her. It was perhaps the first time any of the guests had even heard the no-frills account executive speak at all to that point. “There’s a reason we each only get to investigate one area. The killer has clearly set this up so we’ll need to work together to solve the crime.”

  “How do you know that?” Darrel said, his tone practically pointing a finger at her. “And where were you all afternoon? Huh, planning all of this, maybe?”

  Other guests nodded their heads in agreement. Shortly thereafter the room practically exploded into a frenzy of shouts and accusations and cries of defense. The arguing went on for a good portion of their allotted five minutes.

  “Just calm down, everyone,” Frank shouted, his take-charge persona finally kicking back in. “Now is not the time for accusations. I agree with Parker and, uh, what’s her face over here.” He threw a thumb toward Guadalupe. “We need to work together. So let’s stop pussyfooting around and figure out who wants to investigate.”

  CHAPTER 7

  SHOT THROUGH THE HEART

  Frank and Thomas were led back into the dining room, the scene of the crime, by one of the maids.

  “A bell will chime when your time is up,” she said. Her voice shook; she was clearly as unnerved by all of this as the guests were. “When it is, you must all follow me immediately back out into the foyer.”

  “Thank you,” Frank said. “What’s your name?”

  The maid seemed almost startled by the question. As if she wasn’t used to being asked personal questions by the people she catered to. But then again, these weren’t the typical sorts of dignitaries and rich people she normally served.

  “Pam,” she said, almost cautiously.

  “Thank you, Pam,” Frank said, before turning to face the dining room.

  The unfortunately familiar smell of burning flesh was still faintly present in the large room, stinging the back of Frank’s throat. After more than thirty years as a county sheriff in rural Northern California, Frank had smelled and seen his fair share of horrific things, including the smell humans make when they burn.

  It was one of the reasons the rest of the guests had lobbied so hard for him to investigate the morgue. Many of them had felt that he’d be one of the few people able to stomach the grisly sight of the partially burned body of David Cho. But Frank had been adamant about going to the crime scene instead.

  He knew that the crime scene was the key. Crime scenes couldn’t lie. And they were
immediate. They were, in fact, the very places where grisly murders and unsavory acts of violence happened. Therefore, they told the most complete story about what exactly had taken place. If his thirty years of experience had taught him anything, it was to always trust the scene of the crime above all else. Especially other people.

  Thomas had quickly volunteered to visit the crime scene with Frank, partially because the thought of poking and prodding a charred body was too much to stomach. He was used to spending his days in a cubicle working on developing electrical systems, not staring at charred bodies. But mostly he chose the crime scene because he trusted Frank. The old codger felt authentic to him for some reason. And besides, they’d sort of bonded in an awkward way that afternoon in the trophy room, under the lifeless, but somehow intrusive, stares of the animals hanging on the walls.

  Of course, it was always possible that Frank was, in fact, the killer. But it didn’t seem very likely to Thomas. In his experience, cops and other law enforcement officers always seemed to have a certain quality about the way they talked and acted that gave them away. Frank had that. Thomas had no doubts that Frank really was a retired sheriff.

  Thomas and Frank walked around the dining room table, still set for a dinner that had not been served. The table was covered in soggy confetti. One water glass had spilled across the white tablecloth during the hysteria and confusion immediately following the murder.

  At the head of the table, where David Cho had been seated, the tablecloth was singed black and brown at the edge. Frank leaned over and touched the burned fabric.

  “What are we even looking for?” Thomas asked. “Clues?”

  As he spoke, he turned away from the patch of burned hardwood floor where David had fallen out of his chair and died. Not necessarily because the thought that someone had died on the very spot bothered him, but more so because the smell of it was nauseating.

  “We’re not looking for clues,” Frank said.

  “What? Well, then what are we looking for?” Thomas asked.

  “This isn’t a board game, Thomas. Looking for clues is a too simplistic way to go about this. We’re uncovering evidence. Evidence always exists. Sometimes it’s right in front of your face, and other times you have to dig for it a little bit. But it’s always there. It’s finding it and interpreting it correctly that matters most.”

  “Oh,” Thomas said.

  They each inspected various areas around the head of the table. Thomas poked at the hardwood floor with the toe of his shoes. Then he pretended to examine the place settings on either side of David Cho’s, but mostly he was just trying to keep from having a nervous breakdown as the reality of what was happening finally started setting in. Frank was busy inspecting David’s spot at the table closely.

  “Like this right here,” Frank said suddenly.

  “What did you find?” Thomas asked.

  He looked to where Frank was pointing on the chair David Cho had sat in. The chairs around the table were solid wood, hand carved with ornate flowers, curves, and intricate designs. Each chair was upholstered on the seat and back with plush padding covered by a layer of red velvet.

  David’s chair had a small hole in the red velvet padding halfway up, right where David’s chest would have been located had he still been sitting there. Frank poked his finger into the hole and then spread back the layers of frayed velvet and cotton padding.

  “Look, right there,” he said.

  Thomas leaned in close, inspecting the hole.

  “What…” Thomas started to say, but then he saw it.

  The back end of a round bullet was lodged into the wood. Spots of dried brown blood stained the white cotton padding around it.

  “I don’t get it,” Thomas said. “He was shot and then set on fire? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “We’re being deceived,” Frank said, “as a part of the game. That’s the point, to find out exactly how the killer committed the murder right in front of us all.”

  “So it’s more like a howdunnit, not so much a whodunnit?” Thomas asked.

  Frank did not answer him. Instead, he just kept inspecting the hole in the chair.

  “But how did he get shot right in front of us?” Thomas asked.

  Again, Frank didn’t even acknowledge his question. So Thomas began looking at the other items on the table. He dug through confetti and knives and forks. He picked up the remnants of the exploded party popper at the table setting next to David’s. Then he looked at the party popper lying on David’s salad plate.

  “Hey, check this out,” he said.

  Frank just looked at him blankly.

  “David’s party popper,” Thomas said. “It’s more singed and black than everyone else’s.”

  They compared all ten party poppers. Thomas was right. Of all ten, David’s clearly had significantly more charring around the edges. It had obviously been tampered with in some way to create a larger bang and more sparks than the others.

  Frank and Thomas looked at each other solemnly. But before they could say anything more, the estate bell chimed, echoing through the cavernous and mostly empty dining room. Their time was up.

  CHAPTER 8

  GRILLED

  The mansion’s morgue was in the basement. It looked more like a real morgue, or at least the ones Bryce had seen on TV, than he’d expected.

  There were fifteen small doors lining a brick wall. Doors to corpse-sized refrigerators, obviously. In the center of the room was a large metal table on wheels resting below a single, naked lightbulb suspended above it. A smaller metal table covered in various tools and instruments sat adjacent to the larger one.

  On top of the larger metal table rested a body covered by a single white sheet. No doubt the remains of David Cho lay underneath.

  “Remember, you have just thirty minutes,” Giles said from the doorway. “You may alter the body however you see fit to uncover details relevant to the crime. When the estate bell chimes, your time is up.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Bryce, Jacqueline, and Darrel looked at one another solemnly, then shifted their gazes in unison to the body on the table.

  Jacqueline was the first to act, likely for the same reason she’d seemed like a logical choice to investigate the morgue: her four decades of experience as a nurse. It’s not like she’d ever worked in a burn unit, though. She was used to dealing with sick babies and their mothers, not crispy dead bodies. But just the same, you can’t be a nurse for forty years and not get at least somewhat accustomed to the sight of blood and gore.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if the group had forced her to come here. They’d all decided in the foyer collectively that at least one person needed to investigate each area. Frank had stubbornly insisted on getting the crime scene, so when he asked for a volunteer to take the morgue, Jacqueline had stepped forward after a long, seemingly endless delay. She was the logical choice, anyway; she knew that. Which is precisely why she eventually had relented.

  After she volunteered, Darrel had agreed to come as well. He was a high school biology teacher, after all, so he’d figured that he might be the second-most qualified to examine a body and figure out what was wrong with it. And furthermore, he’d really enjoyed chatting with her in the mansion’s aquarium room earlier that afternoon.

  Bryce had surprised even himself by choosing to investigate the morgue. But, in the end, part of him thought it might be kind of cool to get to see a real dead body up close. Of course it sucked that David Cho had been barbecued like a small chicken, but at the same time, what was done was done. David Cho wasn’t coming back no matter what. At least, that’s what Bryce kept telling himself again and again as they all stood there and looked at the human-shaped lump under the white sheet.

  Jacqueline, needing a cigarette so badly her hands were shaking, grabbed the sheet covering Mr. Cho’s body and ripped it off in one quick motion, sending it floating to the concrete floor at their feet.

  “Gross!” Bryce said as he took a st
ep back without ever averting his gaze.

  David Cho was lying faceup on the metal table. A tiny reflection of the naked lightbulb suspended above him glimmered in his vacant eyes, as if in an attempt to give them artificial life. He was still fully dressed. At least where the fire had not burned his clothes away, that is.

  “So, like, what now?” Bryce asked.

  Jacqueline and Darrel looked at him the way they might if they were scolding a small child.

  “I’ve never exactly done an investigative autopsy before,” Jacqueline said. “Oh Lord, I need a cigarette.”

  “Tell me about it,” Darrel said as he eyed the charred body warily.

  Then Bryce surprised both of them.

  “You guys notice something weird about this?” he asked.

  They shook their heads, unsure what the young kid was referring to.

  “Well,” Bryce continued, “look, like, at the burns on his clothes and stuff. I mean, the dude burst into flames right in front of us, right? But he’s only burned on the top half of his body. His pants and lower shirt look totally normal. And aside from his neck, his face wasn’t even burned at all.”

  Darrel nodded slowly as his eyes widened.

  “I mean, what causes a guy to burst into flames but only in such a small area?” Bryce asked.

  “It’s a very good point,” Jacqueline agreed. “And look here, there’s no burn marks at all on the sides. Come on, let’s flip him over, just to make sure he didn’t burn anywhere on his back, either.”

  The three of them tentatively grabbed David Cho’s stiff corpse and rolled it until it was facedown on the table. Then all three of them stepped back in shock and gasped.

  “Holy crap, is that a bullet hole?” Bryce said.

  They gathered around the body and looked down at David Cho’s back. Right there in the center of his unburned, otherwise neatly pressed white dress shirt was a small hole with a smear of dried blood running from it down to the waistline of Cho’s pants. Jacqueline grabbed a pair of surgical scissors from the small table and cut the shirt open at the hole. She pulled it away.