Chapter 9 #2
It seemed as though their original murder-mystery victim had a case of food poisoning and was currently trapped at home in their bathroom.
Everyone else was already assigned a character.
Judging by Clem’s heavy sighs and flustered mutterings, Carson got the feeling that the entire evening was in jeopardy.
He did what any kindhearted person would’ve done. He offered to get stabbed.
After all, he did kind of owe them. While he only used the balm once since receiving it, he already noticed a slight lessening in his frequency of thigh spasms. Although maybe the crutches were playing a part in that as well.
Dammit. As loathe as he was to admit to it, taking some of the weight off his leg was probably not the worst thing in the world.
Nor was the fact that Maya and Clem promised to set him up with the same food the rest of the murder-mystery guests were having. If the smells coming from the kitchen were any indication, it was shaping up to be a good evening.
After he was found dead, of course.
The buzz of his cell phone alerted him to a text. It’s time.
Phew. Carson tucked his phone away and threw his hands over his face as if trying to stave off an attacker.
Moments later, he heard the door open. Followed by a scream.
Then one of the most dramatically uttered lines he’d ever heard.
“He’s been murdered!” Followed by a gasp.
“Which means one of us is the murderer!”
Carson wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but that voice sounded like Clem.
Amidst a smattering of claps and oohs and ahhhs, Carson also heard people questioning his identity, if they could touch him, and when the food would be served. Crap. He hadn’t fully thought through what playing the victim really meant.
“The room will remain open for five minutes,” Possibly Clem said. “After which it be locked.”
Thank God.
“Why?” someone else asked.
“To preserve the crime scene.”
“But couldn’t someone plant evidence in here during that five minutes?” a man asked.
“It’s a murder mystery, Gerald,” a different woman said. “The only thing anyone’s gonna plant is my foot up your keister if you don’t stop being such a nincompoop.”
“You’re the one who wanted to come,” Gerald muttered.
“Anyway,” Possibly Clem said. “As your host for the evening, I can neither confirm nor deny the presence of clues in this room. I can only confirm that there is a body in the game room, and someone did it with a knife!”
Carson heard additional murmurings as people spread throughout the room. Despite his desire to see who was in the room and how close they were to him, he kept his eyes closed. Did his best to lie still. Keep his face covered. And not freak out when he felt someone’s hot breath on his face.
Dude seriously needed a breath mint.
“I don’t think this guy’s really dead. I can see him breathing.”
“Of course it’s not a real dead body, Mason. You think Clem keeps a stash of dead bodies out back?”
“If anyone kept a stash of dead bodies, it’d be Etta May,” someone else said.
“True dat.”
Carson felt someone gently prodding the area near the knife.
“Hey!” Possibly Clem yelled. “No poking the corpse!”
“I’m not poking the corpse,” said whoever was, in fact, poking him. “I’m looking at the murder weapon.”
Liar.
“There’s an insignia on it that I swear looks familiar.”
Great. Carson felt the air space above him suddenly shift with the influx of bodies as they inspected the knife.
“You’re right,” someone said. “That does look familiar.”
“Hey. This corpse looks familiar. Is that—”
“And that’s time!” called Possibly Clem.
Thank fuck.
Carson wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to hold still much longer. Not like he could go anywhere, but playing a corpse wasn’t nearly as easy as Carson expected.
“If you’ll all make your way back out into the hallway, we’ll seal this room and make our way to other areas.”
“Hold your horses, there, Little Lady,” said a man with one of the worse cowboy accents Carson had ever heard. “I’ve seen Clue. This guy might be the murderer pretending to be the victim.”
Murmured voices affirming the possibility floated toward Carson.
“Great point, Cowboy Walt!” Possibly Clem said. “Someone should stay with the body.”
Crap. That would put a definite crimp in Carson’s plan to chow down while everyone else was out there trying to solve his murder. Fingers crossed, whoever it was would be just as hungry as he was, and they’d chow down together.
“It should be someone who can defend themselves against a possible attack!” a different woman called out. “In case he really is the murderer!”
“That is a wonderful idea!” Possibly Clem said. “Where is…Ah! Countess. Would you be willing to do the honors?”
“Uh. Okay?”
Huh. A cowboy and a countess. What the hell was the theme of this murder mystery, anyway? And what the hell qualified the Countess as someone who could defend themselves?
“The Countess?” Cowboy Walt and his bad accent again. “How’s she gonna defend herself?”
“Because the Countess is a trained assassin!” another woman called out.
The announcement was followed by several theatrical gasps and someone asking, “How do we know she’s not the murderer?”
“We don’t! That’s why it’s imperative we know where she is!”
Ah. Interesting. By having the Countess in charge of body watch, they were also effectively keeping tabs on her as well. Smart.
There was a slight commotion at the doorway, then the clatter of something being set on the table followed by the much closer smells of whatever they were making in the kitchen.
Thank God. At least about the food. Jury was still out on the Countess.
Carson heard murmured instructions, likely from Possibly Clem to the Countess, before the door closed, punctuated by what sounded like the clunk of a key in a lock.
Wow. They were going all out. At least for appearances, anyway. Typically, rooms locked from the inside. But this was an old inn, so maybe there were still old locks in place.
Carson peeked between his arms, and seeing only one person standing by the door, deemed it safe to come to life again. Moving his arms from where they covered his face, he raised one in greeting. Then froze. Because he definitely recognized the Countess, and she was definitely capable of murder.
Liz turned toward him, her eyes rounding as she shook her head back and forth.
“Nooooooo.” The initial shock and disbelief quickly morphed into anger, and she whirled around and tried to open the door.
Rattled the doorknob. Threw herself against the door.
Then began pounding on it. “Let me out! This isn’t funny!
” She glanced over her shoulder and resumed her pounding. “I will kill you all!”
Great. They really had trapped a murderer in the room with him. Because there was a fairly decent chance that if they didn’t let them out of this room soon, one of them would wind up dead.