Disclaimer: Whatever.
At ten till midnight, Cain, Oscar and Mel staked out the back of the crowd, facing the location across the river where the fireworks were to be set off from. Mel was jittering faintly from the cold, and though Oscar seemed unaffected, Cain felt rather sympathetic. It was almost January, as it were, and although an unexpected thaw had turned most of the snow temporarily into mud, it was still nearly freezing.
Just as Cain was about to suggest that Mel go back into the house to find his valet to fetch his coat and hat, Riff materialized out of nowhere, with a pile of coats in his arms and two top hats.
"Oh ho ho!" Oscar cheered, fishing his tweed overcoat out of the pile and slinging it over his shoulder. "Riff, old man, I was wondering when you'd surface!"
"Are—are those mine?" Mel queried, indicating one of the coats and top hats, mystified.
"Yes, Sir Howard," Riff nodded with a faint smile. He handed the heavier of the remaining coats and the shabbier top hat to Mel, who looked a little thunderstruck as he shrugged into the cape.
"Its just Mel, Sir Howard is my uncle," he waved. "But how the devil did you know which one was mine? You're Cain's manservant, right?"
Riff nodded silently, helping Cain into his overcoat. Cain had a decent idea of how Riff had deduced to bring Oscar and Mel's things as well as his own, but the distraction such an unknown factor was causing Mel was very entertaining.
"No, no, no, don't tell me," Mel held up a hand. "I know, you're magic!"
"I beg your pardon, sir?" Riff blinked, silvery eyebrows shooting up. Cain bit his lip trying not to laugh outright.
"I should have guessed Cain would have a magic valet. Although they're usually Indian. The complexion threw me," Mel discoursed, his Cheshire cat grin reaffixing itself to his face. Oscar shook his head, grinning.
"Maybe that last champagne toast was too much for you, eh?" he chuckled. "It's affecting your brain, Mel!"
"I wouldn't be surprised. He's nowhere near your weight class, Oscar," Cain smirked.
"Are you insinuating that I'm drunk?" Mel drew himself up to his full height, which was a futile gesture.
"Mel!" Kitty called, emerging from the crowd with Merry. "They had sparklers, but you missed it."
"So pretty," Merry murmured, a look of peaceful wonder on her face.
"Getting tired, Miss Merryweather?" Riff inquired of her gently.
"No, I have to see the fireworks!" Merry protested, suddenly a lot more energetic. Kitty grinned.
"Well then, come on, we have to all get a good place near the front to watch," she urged, tugging on Mel's hand. Mel sighed.
"No, dear, we don't. You do, because you're too short to have a decent view from inside a crowd," he teased. Kitty frowned at him, but he only smiled.
"I know I'm short," she grumped.
"I want to watch the fireworks with Cain and Mel," pouted Merry, making puppy-dog eyes at Kitty.
"You won't see them," Kitty insisted. "You're too short as well."
"We'll see," said Mel, turning around. He hunched down, and looked over his shoulder at Merry, his hands cupped in stirrup shape behind his back. "Climb aboard. Aim for the shoulders."
"Oh!" exclaimed Merry, and used his hands to boost herself onto his shoulders, where she perched, clutching around his neck for support, even as he straightened up. "I can see over the crowd!"
Cain frowned, an ugly expression that darkened his eyes. He didn't know why, but seeing Merry that happy with Mel plunged icy fingers into his chest. Kitty, too, looked up at them with hurt in her aqua eyes, along with the knowledge that, however short she may be, she herself was far too big to be picked up and carried so easily by her brother. Riff watched with guarded carefulness, and Oscar laughed.
"Well, that's a solution! Gets the little lady off her feet, too," he grinned, amicably oblivious.
"Hmm. I'm going to find someplace to watch, closer up," Kitty said, and moved off through the crowd, more sedately than earlier in the night. Merry leaned forward, taking in the night sky and drinking in the excitement, as though it could keep her awake longer.
"Oh, out with the pocketwatches!" Oscar remarked, pulling his from his fob pocket. "Five minutes 'till midnight!"
"Five minutes until a new year begins. I wonder what it will bring with it…?" Cain murmured, but only Riff, standing at his elbow, heard him.
"Your hair smells nice," murmured Merry, resting her chin on top of Mel's head. "Girly, but nice." Mel flushed, and Cain looked at him curiously.
"I… must have… used Kitty's soap…" he stumbled, trying to catch a bit of his hair and smell for himself.
"Hey, the crowd's moving," said Oscar. "I wonder why?"
Indeed, the crowd had shifted positions, and as someone shot off a test flare for the fireworks, they found out why. The stately group of trees and the tangle of shrubbery that bordered the estate completely blocked the group's view of the fireworks.
"Oh no!" exclaimed Merry.
"You'd better go find Kitty," said Mel, sinking down so that she could slide off his back. "She's sure to have someplace with a good view near the front. That girl navigates crowds like Ferdinand Magellan."
"But you all won't be able to see!" she protested, tugging on Mel's sleeve.
"There is a tray of champagne resting on that pillar over there," mentioned Riff quietly.
"We'll be fine!" exclaimed Mel and Oscar simultaneously, and Cain groaned a little.
"If you say so," smiled Merry, and dashed off into the crowd.
"We'll be able to see the higher fireworks, at least," said Mel, peering upwards. "Good thing it's a clear night."
"Riff, my man, about that champagne?" Oscar nudged. Riff heaved a barely discernable sigh and went off for the tray of champagne. When he returned, there was barely time to hand around four glasses before the party guests all started to count down the last ten seconds until the New Year.
"Five…four…three…two…one. Happy New Year's!" cheered the masses, and the first brilliant cascade of fireworks shot into the sky.
"Cheers!" said Mel and Oscar, and Riff and Cain joined the toast rather more conservatively. Downing the glass in one go, Oscar quickly struck up a chorus of 'Auld Lang Syne' in a hearty, rugby-cheer voice. Riff joined in, singing surprisingly well, and Mel contributed a scratchy, thin alto. Cain didn't say a word, but he was caught waving his glass to the beat.
The fireworks continued, unleashing blasts of light, color and sound into the atmosphere. Every bang sounded like a gunshot. Suddenly, both Mel and Cain went still, and looked at each other.
"Hear that?" Mel asked, hushedly.
"No firework attached," said Cain, glancing at the sky. Oscar might as well have had a huge question mark perched over his head, and Riff was frowning.
"Over there, in the trees!" Mel exclaimed, pointing.
"Are you sure?" Cain replied.
"Where else?" asked Mel, glancing back at him, already dashing towards the trees.
"Sir Cain?" asked Riff, joining Cain in following Mel. Oscar hung back.
"Oh," said Mel very softly, stopping short just beyond the edge of the trees. Cain, coming up behind him, sucked in his breath.
Sprawled in the grass with a bullet wound the size of a canal through her head lay a girl, a party guest, a fair-haired girl dressed in white. For a moment, Cain's heart almost stopped, until he realized that it wasn't Kitty. It was a girl who had been with Ophelia, earlier. Cain hadn't learned her name.
"Oh, no," said Mel, even softer, as he knelt beside the body, and gently touched the raw, pulpy explosion of matter that had been a living girl's brain.
"Riff, have Oscar call the police, and then get Merryweather out of here!" Cain exclaimed, whirling around. Riff paused, then bowed and started to leave. "No, wait," said Cain, glancing back at Mel. "Take Kitty, too."
"Thank you," murmured Mel. His tone was dreamy, but when he looked up at Cain, his eyes were hard and clinical. Cain recognized the expression. It was similar to his own when he was analyzing a problem.
"Soft-nosed expanding revolver bullet, by the looks of it," said Cain. "Probably from something that would fit in a man's pocket."
"They can't have gone far," said Mel tightly, standing up. "Or moved the body."
"Which means the bullet ought to be nearby," said Cain, walking towards a tree with a fresh-looking chip in the bark. Mel looked around, and started off determinedly in the other direction. "Where are you—" Cain started to ask.
"Tell Kitty I'll be all right. I'm going hunting," he said, and swirled his overcoat off into the darkness.
Cain just stood there, beside the body, with the party lights glinting off his yellow eyes, as a group of servants and officials, headed up by Oscar, came running up. He looked back, then down at the body, then up at Mel's quickly disappearing silhouette.
"I'm coming with you," he called, and stepped over the corpse to trot after Mel, who paused, looking surprised and gratified.
"Are you sure?" Mel asked, realizing it was a stupid question the minute it was out of his mouth. Of course Cain was sure.
"How do you plan to track them, in the dark?" inquired Cain, ignoring the other's question with mild disdain.
"This bit of woods has access to the street at the far end, a very tall wall of thornbrush-covered stone to our right, and the house to our left," said Mel, still calmly plunging forward.
"How do you know that?" Cain asked, mildly impressed.
"I like to pay attention to things," Mel shrugged. "If the culprit returned to the party, we are completely out of luck. There weren't many people near the scene, though, so we probably would have noticed them. So they could either have used a servant's entrance to return to the house, or gone out into the road for a cab."
"We're heading for the road," said Cain to affirm.
"Because that route would require a more urgent pursuit," nodded Mel. The brush suddenly thinned out again, and Cain stumbled into Mel's back, and they both emerged on the sidewalk beside the grand façade of the house.
Well, wasn't that exciting! A murder on New Year's. Gunshot noise disguised as firework. Would have gone undetected, if not for Cain and Mel's superior… uhh… unusual… god-modding skills. Okay, I admit to stretching probability here. I'll probably continue to do so, if this mystery is to be solved and make any sort of narrative sense. … But hey! On the bright side, you have Riff! I don't know exactly what –he- does at parties either, so I made him rather long-suffering and dry. It works, I suppose. Next time, on Hume Nisbet: Fireworks – exciting chase scenes, comic relief, and quack genetics!