iClue

Disclaimer: Uh, duh, don't own Clue. And if you think I own iCarly, then you do not grasp the purpose of 'fanfiction'. Thank you for reading, by the way. Oops, off topic.

Author's Notes: ...Yeah, not much happened last chapter, not really... just Scar and Freddie making up. Nothing special, unless you enjoy Seddie fluff. Really, you could skip it if you wanted to... I wouldn't, but I'm a Seddie fan! Okay, I've taken up enough of your precious free time. Enjoy the next chapter of iClue.


Chapter 19: iCatch a Glimpse

Okay, so me and Scar are friends again. Yay. There are still two major, and I mean MAJOR problems we still have to deal with. One: I'm still trapped in my mind, with Sam fighting some sort of criminal on the other side of the realm of consciousness. I'm trying not to think about her fighting off real criminals. Two: The only person who's given us virtually nothing is now going to be thoroughly investigated. Unfortunately...

That person is Colonel Howard Mustard.

The bitter crab is the twin of my cruel teacher. And the only one we've gotten zip from. Scar went to interview (interrogate) him once, but nothing came out of that. Scar just knocked him out with a punch to the face. Which reminds me...

"Did I say I'm REALLY sorry?"

If looks could kills, I'd be dead three times over by now, "YES, Fredward, numerous (And by numerous I mean twenty-three) times already. I get it, you're sorry!" Well, someone's in a rotten mood, aren't they?

"Just making sure..." I mumble below my breath. I hear Scar inhale deeply, trying not to lose her temper, and continuing to walk towards where Green said Mustard is...

The Lounge.

Entering the large room, we spot Mustard almost immediately. To be truthful, it's hard to miss a man dressed in a yellow uniform in an all-green room. He's on the couch... napping. We stare blankly at him, before Scar shouts, rather loudly, "THERE'S A HOBO ON THE COUCH!" She's so loud, I have to cover my ears to prevent damage (Not like it would matter in my mind). The three other guests run into the room, Mrs. White holding a broom, Carlotta holding a bar of soap (Hobos are afraid of soap, ya know), and Green with... a record?

Once we explain what we're doing, everyone leaves. I stop Green, curious as to one thing...

"Why did you grab a record?"

"Oh, that," He looks down at it, "It was the first thing I grabbed, and records actually hurt, ya know," He grins stupidly, letting me know he's gonna do something... stupid, "Allow me to demonstrate," Told ya.

"Wait-" Before I could stop him, he smashes it on his head, breaking it. I move to do... something, but he falls forward, onto the ground in front of him. Scar snorts loudly, but a quick glare from me tells her to help me move him to the other couch. We do so, careful not to injure him (Well, I am. Can't speak for Scar, though).

And throughout the whole thing, Mustard fails to wake up.


Well, that was a waste of time, I think as I randomly travel through the halls to clear my head. Scar went up to her room to do the same thing, annoyed that not one, but two of our suspects are out and currently unavailable. I can't say I'm not, but she had to go back to prevent violent outbreaks, at Mrs. White's insistence. Well, her exact words were, "If you go on a rampage, I'm not fixing or cleaning whatever you break!" So, for the benefit of all of us, Scar went to brood in her room. Isn't she so thoughtful? And believe it or not, I don't intent any sarcasm.

The sound of footsteps assault my ears, making me paranoid and cautious. I listen closely, determine where they're coming from, and move slowly; both to avoid being heard, and to make sure I can still hear the movements of the culprit. Breaking into a sprint would be a bad choice, though I have a feeling that's what Scar would do. Strange, these instincts. Ah, well, back to fighting crime.

I creep carefully to the source of the footsteps, and peak around the corner, where I see a glimpse of a dress as it rounds the corner. Though I can't tell it's direct color (Which would tell me who was wearing it; Everyone here only wears one color), I can tell it isn't red, which rules out Scar. It's either White or Carlotta.

Sneaking down is really the only option (Well, for me it is), but I never get my chance to see the culprit, as I trip just before I round the corner. Ah, of all the bad luck! The person heard me, and goes running off. By the time I am back on my feet, they could be clear across the manor. But why not face me? Why just run? I step on something on the ground, look down, and immediately wish I hadn't.

I feel a sick sense of dread when I look down and see the taunting object, covered in powder and left on the floor. I shake while I pick it up. Whoever that was, it was the culprit. How do I know?

Who else but the culprit would have powder and shots for a missing gun?


Scar stares at the gun rounds now held in her hands with no visible expression. For some reason, I wanted a more violent reaction. Anything but the silence we're experiencing now, filled with tension and some unknown feeling that gives me paranoia.

"Fredward," She says in a voice that can't be hers. It's way too calm, too void of emotion to be Sam... or Scar, in this case. I give her a nod to show I'm listening, "I think... we should inform everyone to lock their doors tonight," A worried look adorns her normally carefree face, letting me know whatever conclusion she came to is bad.

"Why? What do you think is gonna happen?" I can take a reasonable guess, but there is no way I can say it aloud, confirm both of our fears.

Scar looks up, and I can see it in her eyes before she says it, "The murderer is gonna strike again," I gulp.

One of the girls... Carlotta Peacock, or Marissa 'Little Miss Marissy' White is a murderer, the violent killer of Mr. Spencer Boddy.

And whoever the culprit is, she wants another victim.


DUN DUN DUN! Wow, that wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. BEHOLD, ROMAN SOLDIERS! THE PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD!

Well, anyway, the reviewers can review now. Though I doubt anyone will.