Sponge: Happy Wednesday all! Let's get started. Warning: This chapter contains spoilers for the Agatha Christie novel And Then There Were None. Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Scooby Doo characters. They belong to Cartoon Network, Warner Brothers, and Hanna Barbera.

Chapter 12: You're A Beauregard, Too

She was unbelievably glad to have her phone.

Daphne had turned off her flashlight – she wasn't sure if the light would shine from around the frame, or if it would even be visible if she was all the way down here, but she didn't want to take any chances. She did keep her screen lit, and the blue light was much more muted than the flashlight. Unfortunately, her earlier use of the flashlight on the phone had drained the battery, so she barely had ten percent power left. Breathing shallowly, she stayed as quiet as she could and tried not to think about how she would feel with no light at all in this small space.

"Please excuse me," she heard Mrs. Farquard say. "I must fill this bucket with water."

The gang must have been blocking the sink.

"Oh! Right," Fred replied. Daphne was surprised at how clearly she could hear everyone – she could even hear the gang shuffling away from the sink, and Mrs. Farquard turning on the faucet.

"One of you is missing," the housekeeper said. "Where is the clumsy redhead?"

Daphne frowned, rather offended.

"Upstairs," Velma said quickly. "She spilled some of the tea on herself, so she wanted to take a shower and clean up."

Daphne held her breath, waiting to see if Mrs. Farquard would go for the lie.

"Hmm," she said at last. "Just as well."

Before she could say anything else, a new pair of feet thundered into the room.

"Rutherford!" the housekeeper exclaimed. "What on earth?"

"Apologies ma'am." The chauffeur sounded quite out of breath. "I just got back from the mainland. There's a problem out front, and I could use some help."

"Why don't you four accompany him," Mr. Farquard suggested. "My wife and I will take care of the spillage in the dining room."

The gang hesitated. Daphne could almost picture the reluctant glances they were surely sharing.

The Farquards sensed their hesitation. "If we see your friend, we will send her your way," Mrs. Farquard intoned.

What could they do? They'd been asked to leave.

"We'll be back soon," Fred said, a bit louder than was probably necessary. Daphne knew this was for her benefit, and it made her feel a little better.

She heard their feet scamper away, presumably following Rutherford. Once they were gone, Daphne heard Mrs. Farquard speak.

"I wonder what has happened now," she sighed. "And who it has happened to."

"If I were to guess, I would think it would be one of the in-laws. Frank or Colton," the butler replied. He, like his wife, sounded resigned – as though they'd been expecting something to happen. He spoke again. "Careful darling, the bucket is getting full."

Daphne heard the faucet shut off. "Shh," Mrs. Farquard scolded. "Those teenagers could be back at any moment."

Daphne frowned. What did the bucket getting full have to do with when the rest of the gang returned?

A pair of feet raced into the kitchen and Daphne heard Velma's voice. "It's Frank," she said. "He fell down the porch stairs and busted up his foot pretty badly. Rutherford asked me to come inside and ask if you could both let Louisa know? I think she's in the study."

There was a brief pause. "Of course," said Mrs. Farquard curtly. "Come along, dear."

She and her husband exited the dining room – or at least, Daphne assumed so, based on the shuffling of their feet. There was a scraping sound as Velma struggled to remove the framed poem by herself. Once she'd done so, light flooded the dark shaft and Velma's face appeared.

"Look out," she warned, passing a dining room chair through the opening. Daphne moved aside to make room, then stood on the chair to climb out of the wall. Once she was back in the kitchen, she reached down to pull the chair back out before she looked at Velma.

"Is that true?" she panted. "Did Frank really fall down the stairs?"

Velma nodded gravely. "Rutherford said he found him like that when he came back just now," she said, pulling the rope to call the dumbwaiter back down. "Apparently there was a loose board on the porch steps, and Frank tripped. Shaggy, Scooby and Fred are out there with him still, but Rutherford asked me to go find Louisa. I figured I'd ask the Farquards to do it so I could get you out of the dumbwaiter."

"Thanks," Daphne said gratefully. She replaced the recording device on the dumbwaiter shelf – better not to leave any evidence that they'd found it – and then she and Velma carefully hung the poem back into place.

Velma sighed. "You better get out of here, Daph. The Farquards think you're upstairs cleaning yourself up from the spill."

"I know," Daphne replied, already moving towards the doorway as Velma followed. "I heard everything down there. Nice thinking on your feet, by the way."

Velma shrugged modestly. "Wait for us in our room," she whispered, replacing the chair at the dining room table. "I'll bring the boys as soon as I can."

Daphne nodded, but was overcome with an idea. "Just a sec." She returned to the kitchen and quickly snapped a photo of the poem.

Velma looked stricken. "What are you doing?" she hissed as Daphne came back into the dining room.

"I'll explain upstairs," Daphne said, moving towards the hallway – she would go into it now if she wasn't so worried about getting caught by the Farquards.

At the thought of them, she paused again as she was struck with a sudden realization. Why Mrs. Farquard had been concerned about the gang hearing the butler's comment about the water bucket.

Before she left the dining room, Daphne turned back to her friend.

"Velma," she said. "Mr. Farquard can see."

x.X.x

Daphne had plugged her phone in to charge while she waited for her friends, but it wasn't long before the rest of the gang joined her in the girl's room. It turned out Frank had probably sprained his ankle – possibly even broken his foot – but he was adamant about not going to the hospital and potentially losing the contest, so he was set up in the parlor elevating his foot and keeping it on ice.

Everyone was much more interested in Daphne's adventure in the dumbwaiter.

"Like I knew it!" Shaggy exclaimed once Daphne had finished divulging what she'd overheard. "I knew there was no way that guy was really blind."

"Rye told roo so," Scooby added. He was pacing the floor in front of the beds. They hadn't been pushed apart since their defunct "movie night" the previous evening, so it was still as though the humans were sitting on a large makeshift couch.

Velma sighed. "But why would Mr. Farquard lie about his sight? What's the purpose?"

"So we would underestimate him?" Daphne suggested, thinking. If the Farquards were the ones behind everything that had happened, the butler may have faked his blindness to throw suspicion off himself. "No one would suspect a blind man," she finished.

Fred frowned. He was sitting beside Daphne on the bed and holding her hand – he basically hadn't let go of it since he'd come into the room. "I don't know. My money is still on Louisa and Frank."

"But Frank just fell down the stairs, and potentially broke his ankle," Velma reminded him. "Or sprained it, at the very least."

"He could have done that on purpose," Fred argued. "It's not nearly as bad as what happened to Jack, Charlotte, or Jenna. I mean Frank won't even go to the hospital. It must not be a serious injury. He might even be faking the whole thing so we won't suspect him. That would be the smart thing to do – make it seem like you got hurt when really you're the one pulling all the strings."

Daphne gasped at a sudden memory. "Oh my gosh," she exclaimed. "I almost forgot to tell you – I figured out why I know that poem in the kitchen!"

Every head swiveled towards her. "Rhat?" exclaimed Scooby.

Daphne explained about her twentieth-century literature course, and their Agatha Christie unit. "One of the books we read was And Then There Were None," she said. "It's about ten people who travel to an island together and are killed off one by one."

"Gee like, that doesn't sound familiar at all," Shaggy remarked, gesturing around. After all, they were on an island. And while no one had died (yet?), they were getting picked off one by one.

Daphne continued. "The poem in the kitchen is almost exactly the same as the poem in the book." She had unplugged her phone and pulled up the photo of the poem she'd taken just before she'd left the kitchen.

Velma nodded slowly. She had read And Then There Were None as well, but that had been many years ago. Even so, she struggled not to show her annoyance that Daphne had been the one to make the connection and not her. "You're right," she agreed at last. "That poem is a nursery rhyme that's been around for generations. It's usually called Ten Little Soldier Boys or Ten Little Indians. And before that, it was a minstrel song with a…racist title that I won't repeat."

Shaggy sighed. Of-fucking-course the creepy poem about his family had racist origins.

"But in the book," Velma continued. "The way that each guest dies correlates with one of the lines from the poem. That must be what's happening now with the Beauregards." She held up ten fingers. "Who was the first Beauregard to drop out of the contest?"

"Uncle Jack," Shaggy replied. "He went into anaphylaxis with the strawberry yogurt."

Daphne looked at her phone and read the first line of the poem. "Ten little Beauregards went out to dine," she said. "One choked his little self and then there were nine."

Velma put one finger down. "Jack didn't exactly choke, but it's close enough." She leaned over Daphne's shoulder to read the next line. "Nine little Beauregards stayed up very late. One overslept himself, and then there were eight." She put down another finger.

"That's gotta be William," Fred said. "Scooby and Farquard went to wake him up from a nap, but he was missing."

"Rhat about Riane?" asked Scooby. "Rothing happened to her, rhe rust wanted to stay rith her rusband."

Velma read on. "Eight little Beauregards traveling in Devon. One said he'd stay there, and then there were seven."

Shaggy's stomach dropped. "Isn't the nearest hospital called Devon Hospital?" he asked the gang. "I'm pretty sure that's like, where Rutherford said that Jack, Diane, Charlotte and Jenna are."

Scooby shivered. This was no eerie coincidence. The gang was right – whoever was picking off the Beauregards was using this poem as their guide.

Fred let go of Daphne's hand to lean forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Okay, so Jenna was next," he said. "She sliced off the top of her finger."

"Again," Velma said. "Not quite what the poem describes, but close enough. Seven little Beauregards chopping up sticks. One chopped himself in halves and then there were six." She put down another finger.

Daphne sighed. "And then there was Charlotte and the yellowjackets. Six little Bearegards playing with a hive. A bumblebee stung one, and then there were five."

"That's everyone," Shaggy said. "I mean unless you count Frank but he's like, still in the house."

"He did get hurt though," Fred reminded him. "Did the poem say anything about a sprained ankle?"

Velma shook her head, still reading over Daphne's shoulder. "Not exactly. The poem in the kitchen goes, Five little Beauregards going through a door. One stubbed his toe and then there were four. But in the book, I think the line was something about going in for law."

"It made more sense in the novel," Daphne added. "If I remember correctly, that line described a guest who was a judge or a lawyer or something. And, sorry for the spoilers, but it turned out he was the one behind everything, and he'd faked his own death to throw suspicion off himself."

Fred threw up his hands. "Isn't that what I was saying? Frank is totally the one pulling all the strings!"

"But that's not the line in this poem," Velma argued. "In the poem that's hanging over the dumbwaiter, it's not about the law. And it wouldn't make sense anyway…I don't think there's anyone in Shaggy's family who is a judge or an attorney or anything related to the legal field."

"Res there ris," Scooby piped up, suddenly remembering. "Runcle Jack is a rawyer."

"That's right!" Shaggy agreed. "Remember? He said so on our first night, like, right before the ghost of Uncle Beauregard appeared."

Fred frowned. "But Jack was the first one out of the contest. And he was pretty badly hurt. There's no way he could have faked that."

"Diane did have the EpiPen ready," Velma reminded him. "Maybe they were in it together, and it's been them all along. And they enlisted the Farquards for help after they left the island."

"Or it's Uncle William," said Daphne. "He just up and disappeared. Maybe it's been him this whole time."

"By himself?" Shaggy shook his head dubiously. "There's like, too many moving parts. I mean, think about it. How would one, or even two people be able to pull off all this stuff? The finger? The yellowjacket nest? The loose floorboard that tripped Frank? There's like, no way it's a person doing this."

"Shaggy I swear to God if you say 'ghost' one more time…" Velma began.

He glared at her. "Like what is with you lately?" He'd asked a similar question yesterday, but this time it was laced with irritation – even malice.

Daphne shared a glance with Fred. Shaggy was right; something was going on with Velma. She was acting much more antagonistic than usual.

Scooby cleared his throat, eager to head off a fight before it began. "Rhat's in the rest of the roem?" he asked. "Rit could re a clue."

Velma turned away from Shaggy and took Daphne's phone to read out the rest of the poem.

"Four little Beauregards going out to sea. A red herring swallowed one, and then there were three.

Three little Beauregards walking in the zoo. A big bear hugged one, and then there were two.

Two little Beauregards sitting in the sun. One got frizzled up and then there was one.

One little Beauregard left all alone…"

She looked up. "He went and hanged himself and then there were none."

Scooby shivered involuntarily.

Shaggy frowned. "Like wait a minute," he said, counting. "The math is wrong. There's like, way more than ten of us on this island."

"But there are ten Beauregards," Daphne reminded him, taking her phone back from Velma. "By marriage or by birth. And that's who's been hurt so far."

Shaggy furrowed his brow, still confused. "But that's still only nine. My mom has four siblings, right? Charlotte, Louisa, Jack, and William." He ticked them off on his fingers, then added one for his mother. "Of the five siblings, only four are married." He added another four fingers, totalling nine. "So there's like an extra line in the poem."

Fred looked at him gravely. "No there isn't, Shaggy," he said. "You're a Beauregard, too."

Everyone was silent for several minutes.

At long last, Fred sighed. "You're right, though. The poem only mentions ten people – ten Beauregards. Does that mean that those of us who aren't Beauregards are safe? Or…does it mean we're in more danger?"

Daphne shared a worried look with him. "I feel like we ought to warn the others to be careful, but I still don't know who we can trust. What should we do?"

At that precise moment, thunder rumbled in the distance.

Everyone turned to glance out the window. Dark thunderheads were rolling through the sky, casting the island in a stormy haze.

"Well rhat's not rominous," Scooby quipped.

Shaggy sighed. "Let's go downstairs," he suggested. "We like, might as well at least tell my parents about what's going on."

As they exited the room, Velma frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder how long that poem has been here?" she mused.

"Rhat do you mean?" asked Scooby.

"Has it always been hanging in the kitchen?" she elaborated. "Would Shaggy's mother remember it from when she used to visit as a child? Or is it a recent addition to the house? Has it only been here since we all arrived for the contest?"

"Why would that matter?" Shaggy wanted to know.

Velma looked at him a bit witheringly. "It would matter because if we know who hung it in the kitchen, it might be a clue as to who's attacking the Beauregards."

"Well whoever is attacking them, it must be someone who's still on the island," Fred pointed out. They were walking down the stairs now. "It would be hard to pull all of this off from the mainland."

"So someone like the Farquards," said Daphne.

"Or Louisa and Frank," Fred added.

"Or a ghost," Shaggy emphasized.

They had reached the bottom of the stairs just as Paula, Colton, and Rutherford briskly walked by on their way down the hall from the parlor. The adults seemed…nervous. Agitated.

"Uh…Mom?" Shaggy called, momentarily distracted.

Paula turned her head as Rutherford and Colton stepped into the ballroom. Her brow was creased with worry. It made Shaggy's stomach clench "Like what's going on?" he asked.

Paula glanced after her husband before turning back to her son. "Louisa took Frank out on one of the rowboats to take his mind off his foot. But now there's a storm rolling in and they're not back yet. We're going to check if we can see them from shore."

As if on cue, a tremendous clap of thunder resounded, and everyone jumped.

Wordlessly, the rest of the gang followed Paula into the ballroom.

Rutherford and Colton were already standing at the picture window, and staring out towards the marsh. Rain had started falling in sheets, nearly obliterating the view.

"I told you we wouldn't be able to see anything from here," Paula chastised as she came up behind them. "We'll have to go down to the dock. It'll be easier to see them."

"With all due respect, ma'am," Rutherford said politely. "I wouldn't recommend that. Not in this weather."

The gang all stared out the picture window as the storm became more violent. None of them said anything. None of them had to. They were all thinking of the line in the poem:

Four little Beauregards going out to sea. A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.

"Rutherford's right, dear," Shaggy's father said. "It isn't safe."

"My sister isn't safe either," Paula argued.

Colton looked at her incredulously. "An hour ago, you were accusing her of pushing her own husband down the stairs! And this afternoon you thought she'd chased Charlotte into that yellowjacket nest on purpose!"

Shaggy felt mildly stunned. The gang all had their suspicions about Louisa, but the only person who'd outright accused her of anything had been Charlotte. Shaggy hadn't realized that his mother suspected her, too.

But now, Paula just looked worried. "I don't care what I said this afternoon, or an hour ago. What I care about is that my sister is in trouble and I have to help her!"

Shaggy shook his head in relative disbelief. Even after everything Louisa had done to make them feel uncomfortable, every mean and spiteful thing she'd said…Paula still, perhaps despite herself, cared for her.

The power of family was unbelievable. True magic in its own regard.

Would he have felt that way about his own sister, if she'd lived? If Sugie hadn't died from that intestinal obstruction as an infant, would Shaggy have loved her as unconditionally as Paula seemed to love her siblings?

He'd never know.

Colton recognized his wife's tenacity and turned to the chauffeur. "Rutherford, is there anything we can do? Can we call a rescue squad?"

Rutherford shook his head. "Clouds usually block cell phone reception during a storm like this," he explained.

Fred took out his phone. Indeed, he had no signal.

"But we can go into town and get help," Rutherford went on. He turned to the gang. "You kids will be all right here for a few hours while we go to the mainland?"

"Of course," said Fred without thinking.

"Excellent," Rutherford replied. He turned to Paula and Colton. "I'll go get the Bear."

Immediately, Shaggy felt his stomach turn to ice. "Um. Excuse me. Like the what?"

"The Bear," Rutherford went on. "It's what I call my own personal pick-up. It drives better in mud and wet conditions than the limo." He exited the ballroom and flew through the foyer. "I'll bring it around and meet y'all out front!" With that, he was out the door.

Shaggy shared panicky glances with the rest of his friends.

A big bear hugged one…

"Uh Mom," Shaggy said. His parents had followed Rutherford out of the ballroom but stopped in the entrance hall. "Maybe you shouldn't go."

"Go where?"

Everyone started at the new voice. The Farquards appeared in the foyer, near the entrance to the dining room. Mr. Farquard had been the one to speak.

"Louisa and Frank haven't returned from their boat ride yet," Paula explained, moving to stand by the front door. She peered out one of the sidelites. "Rutherford is taking us into town so we can get help. Colton and I are just waiting for him to bring his truck around."

Lightning flashed across the sky, accompanied by more booming thunder. Everyone jumped, despite themselves.

"It does sound as though the storm is quite violent," Mr. Farquard agreed. "Yes, you and your husband should go into town with the chauffeur. You will be able to find help for your sister and her husband. The teenagers can stay in the manor with us."

That was the last straw for Shaggy. "Mom!" he exclaimed, striding over to where she stood near the front door. "Do not leave the island."

She looked perplexed. "Norville, what on earth…?"

"I'm serious," Shaggy hissed, trying to keep his voice low so the Farquard's wouldn't hear. "Stay in the house. It's too dangerous. Like…you don't even understand."

Paula's previously confused expression softened to one of sympathy. "Oh honey," she sighed, pulling her son in for an embrace.

Shaggy went rigid. It wasn't his fault – his mother had never been a terribly affectionate woman, physically or verbally. He could count on one hand the number of times she'd hugged him like this, and he couldn't recall a single instance when she'd called him "honey."

"I know you're worried," Paula said, releasing him. "But we used to get storms like these all the time here. Your father and I will be fine…it's Louisa and Frank I'm worried about now."

"But…" Shaggy began.

His mother interrupted. "I know it doesn't make sense," she said, misunderstanding Shaggy's objections. "Louisa and I may not get along all the time, but that doesn't mean we don't still care about each other. She's judgmental and misguided, but she's not a bad person. Just like my other siblings." She sighed. "You were right before, when you said I was worried about the way my siblings would perceive me. Truthfully, I've always felt scrutinized by them. It's why I haven't seen them in so long, why I never had you meet them before this summer. But perhaps our trouble, my and my siblings, has always been communication. We're more content to sidestep unpleasant or unsavory matters, or sweep them under the rug and not discuss them at all. Being here with my siblings after all these years…it's brought up a lot of complicated emotions that I spent a long time trying to bury. But I want to be better. I want to be a better sister, and I can start by trying to help Louisa now." She tilted her head a bit sadly. "And…I want to be a better mother, and I can start by apologizing to you now."

Shaggy blinked.

"I am so sorry for the way I lashed out at you this morning," Paula said. "Everything you said to me was exactly true. I have always been more concerned with the way others perceive me, or perceive my family. And it was hard to hear it from you." She shook her head. "I'm not trying to make excuses or explain away my behavior. But I want you to know how deeply, deeply sorry I am."

Another thing Shaggy had not seen very often: his mother apologizing. Sincerely.

"Thanks," he replied, his voice rather thick around the rapidly growing lump in his throat.

Outside there was the sudden sound of a car horn honking.

Paula gave her son's arm one final squeeze. "We'll be back soon."

All the warm fuzzy feelings he'd felt over this heart-to-heart with his mother vanished as panic overtook Shaggy once more. "Wait, Mom…"

"Don't worry, Norville," she said over her shoulder, one hand already on the doorknob. "We'll be back in a few hours." With that, she flew out the door, through the rain and into Rutherford's waiting pick-up truck.

"See you soon, son," Colton added, following his wife and shutting the door behind him.

It seemed that the silence that followed their absence rang.

"Well then," said Mr. Farquard.

Shaggy slowly turned around. Facing into the house now, he could see the gang staring nervously at the butler and the housekeeper.

"It would appear," Mr. Farquard continued. "That Master Norville is the last remaining Beauregard heir."

Mrs. Farquard took one step forward. "And that," she finished. "Means you'll be coming with us."

Sponge: More next week! In the meantime, reviews feed the hungry writer's soul!