"Anyone who hasn't handed in their consent forms yet will have to see me before they get onto the coach," my teacher, Miss Hills, says as she leads our group towards the bus. All of the girls have paired up, leaving me on my own. Not that I mind, but it leaves me to sit with Miss Hills at the front.
"Suprised you came, freak," one of the girls sneers as she passes me. I don't have the patience to turn around and check who. "Thought you would find it 'boring'"
"On the contrary," I argue calmly. "It's a mystery. It's this place which is boring."
"Oh yeah, and why's that?"
"Because your actions and speech are perfectly predictable, so unless you want your vocal chords to become better aquainted with my slightly oxidised tool for cutting, I suggest you shut up and sit down." I do turn around for her reaction. As expected, her coloured-in brow creases as she tries to figure out what I just told her. She understands enough of it to take the hint and move on.
It's the first week back to school after a holiday of boredom and no cases, and drama class have decided to take us to see Terror by Night in a small theatre on the Strand. I wouldn't have gone if it wasn't a mystery production which I haven't seen before. I'm probably going to guess 'whodunnit' within the first five minutes.
After a half hour wait, the cast assemble on stage and a narrator steps forward.
"Last night, a terrible event occurred." I roll my eyes and nestle into my seat. "Lady Margaret Chaplette," he looks nervously back at the cast gathered behind him, "is dead." The freeze frame behind him rolls into action. This is going to be a long evening.
I check my watch for the twelfth time time evening. Ten minutes until it's due to finish. Detective Sidney Paget waltzes onto stage, his long coat (not unlike mine and dad's) flapping behind him and calls the cast to assemble around him for the 'whodunnit'. It's already clear to me who's the so called 'murderer'. Detective Paget has a bruise on his arm from where he's been hit several times in the same place by a circular object. This shape matches the bottom of the crutch that Lady Margaret Chaplette's son carries. As Albert Chaplette hasn't hit the Detective yet, it's obvious that he'll do it when it he's accused of her murder.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Detective Paget says in a 'low and mysterious' voice. "Thank you for coming today." Albert Chaplette takes a flask out and drinks from it. Something tells me that it isn't just water in that flask. "You presented to me a most intetesting case. The murder of Lady Margaret Chaplette was a most mysterious one, and most confusing as everyone in this room here has a motive.
"Now, Miss Hastings," he addresses the love interest for Albert. "For you, you knew Lady Chaplette would never bless the marriage between you and Mr Chaplette."
"Even so, I wouldn't kill her," the girl sobs. "She was such a lovely lady."
"I believe you," the detective consoles her.
"Next, we have Mr Hastings. A man struggling to pay debts. You thought that if you were to kill Lady Chaplette that where the money would end up would be unknown, and during that event, you would be able to snatch up his fortune and make a run for it."
"Don't be absurd," Cedric Hastings replies, his false mustache flapping slightly as he speaks.
"A valid motive, but it wasn't you.
"Now, Jade the maid. You'd been working with Lady Chaplette for many years, and as a result, you grew close. You would confide in each other things you wouldn't tell anyone else, but one day you let something slip. You told her about the son you had had with Mr Chaplette here. When she started threatening your dismissal without character, you knew that you had to get rid of her." The other characters begin to advance upon her, and she looks around.
"But I didn't do it!" she cries.
"You certainly had plenty of chances, but you didn't have the stomach," the Paget tells the cast, and they retreat back to their original position. By now, they're beginning to realise that there's only one person left.
"Now hold on one moment," Albert Chaplette. "You can't think I killed my own mother!"
"Please remain seated, Mr Chaplette, I haven't finished. You are, of course, the beloved son of the late Lady Chaplette. You were going to inherit her entire fortune. Until the night of the 5th were she confessed to you that she was thinking of rewriting her will. Reflecting on what I said previously, you had an affair with Jade which resulted with a child. Your mother knew this, of course, and you believed she would punish you by writing you out of her will, so you had to kill her before she had the chance to consult a lawyer."
"What the dickens?" Chaplette demands, bringing his crutch down onto the stage with a loud bang. "You have no right," he slurs, "to make those accusations without proof."
"Oh but I do," Paget replies. "I spoke to your mother's lawyer and it would seem you were too late. Your mother had spoken to Mr Kingston before speaking to you, and had listed her changes. You became disinherited and later, a murderer." With this final remark, Albert Chaplette raises his crutch and strikes the Detective across the head.
To which he crumples to the ground.
Dead.