“Why yes, Anne, there is enough,” I said, holding her eye contact as I passed her a packet.
The edge of her mouth lifted in a smirk. “You aren’t mad at me, are you?” Her tone gave her away. She knew I was annoyed with her and she was playing the innocent old woman card. It wouldn’t work on me.
“Nooooo.” I exaggerated the o’s until I knew that she knew she was in deep shit.
She leaned in closer and whispered so that only I could hear. “I’ve lived on this earth for a very long time and I’ve learned that sometimes you just have to cut the shit. You’ve been eyeing my grandson for the past two years and both of you are too scared to do anything about it.”
I scoffed, even holding my hand over my heart for emphasis. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mmhm,” she mumbled as she pulled away from me. “George, make sure Ruby gets a packet. She’s sure good at acting today.”
Had she not been my best friend and eighty-something years old, I would have flipped her off. Damn that, Anne. I couldn’t ever stay mad at her.
The rest of the attendees finally strolled into the dining hall, and by 7:30 P.M., George and I were standing in front of the room with two packets remaining.
“We need two more resident volunteers before we can start,” I said, waving the packets out in front of me like I was trying to auction them off.
The sea of residents stared at one another, waiting for someone else to volunteer. Out of twenty of them, there’d only been four volunteers so far: Anne, Sandy, Gertie, and Mr. Tennon. George would have volunteered, but he was out since he knew the plot.
“Seriously, someone has to volunteer or we’ll all just sit here,” I said, trying to get the ball rolling.
Sawyer glanced around the room before he finally shrugged and stood up.
“If it’s okay with everyone, I’ll play,” he said.
Anne clapped wildly, but no one else cared to comment as Sawyer stepped toward me.
“You should play, too,” he said with a devious smile as he slid the packet out of my hand.
I didn’t want to be a part of the murder mystery. I think I even specifically opted out of it on numerous occasions, but we were still down one player and if no one wanted to volunteer, I didn’t really have a choice.
I glanced around the room one more time, even holding eye contact with a few residents to make them squirm in their seats.
“Okay, fine, I’ll be the last person. Let’s do this,” I said, opening up my packet and peeking inside to find a script, a small description card, and a few props.
George clapped his hands and shouted, “Players, go read your cards and put on anything provided for you in your packet. We’ll meet back here in five minutes to start the game.”
As I made my way toward the bathroom, Sawyer caught up to me.
“Who are you?” he asked with a small smile.
“Detective Maverick,” I said, reading the front of the packet.
He nodded. “Apparently I’m Jim Fitzpatrick, the son of Gwyneth Fitzpatrick.”
I laughed at the silly expression he was making. “Thanks for volunteering by the way. I thought we were just going to sit there all night.”
“Yeah, no worries. I have a Halloween party to go to, but it doesn’t start until later,” he said with a shrug.
I thought about what I had planned for later. The options were: reading, watching a scary movie, and eating enough candy to go into a coma. I’d most likely do all of the above. Of course, I didn’t dare tell Sawyer that.
“Oh yeah, me too.” I nodded with what I hoped was a cool, nonchalant expression.
He smiled as we turned a corner toward the bathrooms near the dining hall. “Well then, let’s solve this mystery.”
Ten minutes later, the five of us were standing up at the front of the dining hall with our scripts in hand and our props attached to various parts of our bodies. George strolled across the stage in front of us, announcing the players to the crowd of on-lookers who would be helping us solve the mystery. I browsed over my script as he read aloud.
SETTING: An old estate in the heart of Savannah, Georgia.
THE PLAYERS
Gwyneth Fitzpatrick: An eighty-year-old woman who has oil money from generations past. She owns an estate in Savannah and has invited a few close friends over for a dinner party. She has two children, Jim and Hannah Fitzpatrick, who are both attending the party.
Gwyneth was played by Sandy in her latex Catwoman suit. Seemed appropriate.
Jim Fitzpatrick: Gwyneth’s eldest child. He’s a prominent lawyer in downtown Savannah. He was married to a young debutante when he was younger, but she died in a horrible lipstick accident the year before.
Jim was played by Sawyer. He still had his soccer jersey on, but now he’d added a cane, pipe, and monocle as well. Jim Fitzpatrick was apparently very stylish.
Hannah Fitzpatrick: Gwyneth’s youngest child. A struggling artist who doesn’t get along with her older brother. She has a lover named Antonio Ricardo.
Hannah was played by Anne, who was carrying a paint palette and a paint brush. She’d added a few streaks of paint to her hair which I thought was a cute touch.
Antonio Ricardo: Hannah Fitzpatrick’s lover. He’s a Latin underwear model currently between jobs. He’s never gotten along with Hannah’s brother, Jim.
Antonio was played by Mr. Tennon, who I knew from experience was probably sporting some whitey-tighties beneath his suspendered pants. Meow.
Izzie Jenkins: Gwyneth’s maid of ten years. She’s a young girl who grew up in a bad neighborhood in Savannah. Gwyneth took Izzie under her wing and provided her with a job when she had no other prospects.
Izzie was played by Gertie ,who did not look pleased to be wearing a skimpy maid’s outfit over her pants and blouse. She had her arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to conceal the feather duster in her hand.
Detective Maverick: A no-nonsense Savannah police officer that has never had a case he couldn’t solve. He has a thick Scottish accent and a serious drinking problem.
Detective Maverick was played by me. That’s right. I opened up that packet to find a thick mustache stuck to a gold police badge, a pair of aviators, and some plastic handcuffs. I’d stood in the women’s bathroom after sticking the mustache on, trying to find any sort of humor in the entire situation. It was so thick, and brown, and did I mention thick? I waggled my eyebrows for emphasis. That’s right, Sawyer. I hope you like your girls with big ol’ mustaches. I’ll admit, once I put the aviators and badge on, I’d fallen into my character. Heck, I even started walking with a bit more swagger.
Anne couldn’t look at me without cracking up, but that might have been because I kept telling her she had the right to remain silent as we walked back to the dining hall.
“You look like an 80s porn star,” Gertie said to me with her lips pressed together and her head shaking back and forth.
I wanted to ask her how she knew what an 80s porn looked like, but Sawyer walked out of the bathroom right then and I didn’t think we were close enough yet for me to say the word “porn” in front of him. At least not while looking like a male porn star. That might have been overkill.
“Okay! Does everyone understand who is playing whom?” George asked, walking in front of us and going through the names again.
“I’m confused,” one resident said, raising his hand. “Why is Sandy in a cat woman outfit if she’s supposed to be hosting a dinner party?”
George crinkled his paper and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Yeah - this is confusing,” a few other residents chimed in until George had to go through and explain the scenario again to everyone.
“Pretend that everyone is in proper costume and that they aren’t your friends. They are now characters in a murder mystery.”
While George rambled on, Sawyer leaned closer to me and pulled the pipe out of his mouth. “I think you should wear a mustache all the time. It looks really good,
” he joked with a sly smile.
I stared straight ahead. Sawyer is joking with you. Be funny. Be funny or so help me.
I stroked the fake hair above my lip and turned to him. “That monocle doesn’t look so bad either.”
“How long did it take you to grow that cool ‘stache?” he asked.
“About ten seconds,” I joked. “What’s in the pipe?”
“Just some manly tobacco or something,” he said, repositioning his monocle so that it wasn’t poking him in the eye.
We were joking, right? So why did it actually feel like we were flirting with each other?
“Are you the murderer?” I asked with a smile.
He laughed, shaking his head. “Wow, Detective, you’re really straight forward. There hasn’t even been a murder yet.”
Oh right, I’d forgotten how the game actually worked. Maybe I should have been paying attention to George after all.
“Okay!” George said, clapping his hands and walking over to the doorway of dining hall. “I’m going to flip this light switch and then the game will begin. Does everyone understand the rules?”
There were still a few murmurs in the crowd, and a few random words were thrown around, like “dentures” and “fiber”, clearly indicating the level of confusion felt throughout the room (were we all still on the same topic?), but George chose to ignore them and flipped the light switch anyway.
When the lights cut out, Sawyer’s hand brushed mine and I glanced over to try to see him in the darkness. There was no use; my eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark yet.
“This monocle doesn’t have night vision,” he whispered next to my ear.
I burst out laughing, ruining the seriousness of the scene.
“Get into your characters!” George bellowed across the room before flipping the light switch back on a moment later.
When he did, we found not one, but two bodies, lying on the ground.
The game had taken a dark turn.
Gwyneth Fitzgerald, aka Catwoman Sandy, was lying on the ground with her limbs artfully spread out around her. She’d been murdered and we were supposed to be concerned about that, but everyone was focused on the fact that a random audience member, Beatriz, was also lying on the ground, blinking her eyes and staring up at the ceiling.
“Uh, Beatriz?” I asked, stepping forward.
“What’s going on? Were there two murders? This is confusing,” Anne asked, glancing back and forth between the bodies.
George flew into action, practically fuming. “Beatriz, why are you lying on the ground? You aren’t supposed to be dead. You aren’t even a character in the game.”
Beatriz propped herself up on her elbows, her dyed red hair now sticking up all over the place.
“Oh, I was confused about the rules,” Beatriz began to explain in an old, scraggly voice. “I played a game once when there were random murders and then we had to guess—”
George cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Beatriz! This is not that game and there was only one murder tonight.”
“Stop trying to steal my thunder, Beatriz,” Sandy said, temporarily breaking her character.
Even in death, Sandy was a bully.
“People! Let’s focus. Beatriz, please take a seat and we’ll keep going as planned,” George said, dabbing the sweat from his forehead. He was losing control of his cast, and I could tell it was stressing him out. “Everyone take our your cue cards and read what you’re supposed to do first.”
I pulled out a note card that had a #1 printed at the top, and read the first instruction: Detective Maverick, you arrive on the scene after Hannah Fitzgerald calls you. Make sure you examine the body for clues.
I turned to Anne, Hannah Fitzgerald, and waited for her to read her cue card.
“Oh dear,” Anne began, with mock seriousness, as she read straight from the card. “Gwyneth Fitzgerald has been murdered in her own home during her own dinner party. We have to call the police!”
I had to bite my hand to keep from laughing while she read the words. But when Sawyer nudged me forward, I realized everyone was waiting for me to start reading from my card, considering I was the police.
“Don’t worry, I’ve arrived!” I said, only remembering that my character was supposed to have a thick Scottish accent after I started, so I quickly worked it in. “Don’t fret, lads and lassies. I’m here to solve the case!”
“I couldn’t understand any of that,” Sawyer said with a laugh.
“You didn’t sound Scottish, Ruby, you sounded like you were from the Middle East,” George said, rolling his eyes.
I pressed my mustache back into place and tried again.
“Heeelllooo evverryonnee, I’m Deteccttivvee Mavverriickkk.” I mostly, sounded like a drunk version of Shrek.
“Nope. No. Now you’re just talking really slow, Ruby,” George said, interrupting me. “Damnit, just scratch the accent all together!”
I shrugged and stepped forward to examine Sandy’s body. It was kind of awkward since she wasn’t actually a dead person and she was blinking up at me while I circled around her. Her character’s blonde wig was still on straight, a strand of pearls hung around her neck, and a big fake, diamond ring hung on her bony finger. Nothing seemed out of the place except for the fake knife lying directly next to her head with blood on it. At least, I thought it was blood. It smelled like ketchup. I pretended to be horrified either way.
“No!” I gasped, pulling out the gloves that I’d spied in my packet earlier and slipping them on so I could pick up the knife and hold it up for everyone. “She’s been stabbed to death!”
Everyone gasped and Sawyer even screamed “Nooooooooooo,” for emphasis. George applauded him for being committed to his character. I laughed until our eyes met, and then I quickly looked away like a nervous school girl. You’d think my badass detective outfit would have helped with my nerves. I really thought I was pulling off the mustache look rather well, but still, one look from Sawyer and I was like a shy three-year-old.
After I confirmed that there weren’t any more clues surrounding Sandy (Gwyneth), we all looked to George for our next piece of instruction. He shoved his hands into his argyle sweater and sighed. “You’re supposed to put together the clues and figure out where to go next.”
“Oh right,” I said, glancing back down at the knife in my gloved hand.
I frowned at my lack of intuition about where to go next. I wasn’t an actual detective, people.
“Is there a card that tells us where to go next?” Sawyer asked, stepping toward me and kneeling down so that I caught a whiff of his cologne. Let me tell you, it was not that cheap stuff that makes your nose fall off. It was light and masculine and it made me forget that we were in the middle of a nursing home.
“No! You have to think,” George replied, enunciating “think” like we were a couple of simpletons.
“Alright well, we have a knife, and…” my sentence trailed off as I realized I had nothing else to contribute.
“And where do you get knifes from?” George gestured in a circle with his arms, trying to get us to fill in the answer.
“The kitchen!” Sawyer and I yelled in unison, smiling at each other as we got to our feet.
“Okay, let’s go check the kitchen for clues,” I said to the other characters in the game.
“How about you two go check it out and we’ll all hang back here and search for more clues,” Anne suggested. I glanced toward her, trying to decide if she was being sly in trying to get Sawyer and I alone.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Sawyer said, looking toward me to lead the way.
I nodded silently, heading toward the kitchen, but not before looking back at Anne. The little devil winked at me.
Sawyer caught up to me as I exited the dining hall. “This is better,” he said. “They’d just slow us down anyway and we’re on the trail of a murder.”
I laughed. “A made-up murder.”
Sawyer guffawed. “You’re Detective Maveri
ck. You’ve never had a case you couldn’t solve.”
I thought for a moment, wondering if I was going to shy away or if I was going to show him my true personality. I decided there was no point in trying to be cool. I was still wearing my mouse ears, after all, let’s not try to kid ourselves.
I stopped walking and turned to him, pointing toward his chest. “You’re damn right, and this one won’t be my first!”
Just before we pushed open the shiny, swinging door that led to the massive kitchen of Paradise Springs, Sawyer put his hand on my shoulder.
“I have a confession to make,” he said.
My heart rate picked up at his serious tone. Was he about to confess his love for me? Right here in the doorway to the kitchen with the smell of potato salad in the air?
I cleared my throat. “What do you have to confess?” I asked, purposely keeping my gaze on the metal door in front of us.
“I think I know who the murderer is,” he said.
“What? No! Don’t tell me,” I said, holding my hands up to my ears to block out his voice.
He laughed and reached over to pull my hands away. “I won’t tell you, and anyway, I don’t know for sure.”
“Maybe you should have been the detective,” I joked.
He thought for a second, narrowing one eye on me before announcing, “Nah. You make a cute detective.”
Cue internal breakdown. Sound the trumpets. Open the gates. He thought I was cute!
“Desserts going out!” a voice shouted behind me just as the metal door leading to the kitchen swung forward. I didn’t have time to move before the door slammed into me so hard that my face smashed into Sawyer’s chest and he had to reach forward and catch me.
“Oh no! Sorry! Sorry! I just hit you, didn’t I?” The cook was overly enthusiastic with his apologies, and Sawyer’s hands were a little too tight as he attempted to steady me.
“Are you okay?” Sawyer asked, bending low so that his eyes were level with mine. The entire situation was almost too endearing to handle.
I nodded, wishing he’d pull his hands away before I did something weird, like bend down and lick them.