A Game of Cluedo

After the meal, the guests played Cluedo - a game where someone has to murder someone (only pretend, of course) and in some strange way. They chose death by chocolate cake, and Madeleine Short was chosen to be the unlucky victim - only pretend, of course, and all in fun.

Miles had baked a beautiful chocolate cake. He named it ‘midnight chocolate cake’. It was laced with rum, but one slice was laced with something stronger - deadly nightshade! It was actually just wild-turkey whisky, but Madeleine had to pretend it was poisonous. Madeleine Short (or Maddy, as she liked to be known) was told to take a bite or two and then pretend to drop down dead.

Miles brought out the chocolate cake, and all the guests thought it was delicious.

“The taste of rum in this is delicious,” said Barry Winters.

“Crikey!” croaked Madeleine Short. “I can’t taste rum. It’s burning my throat. It’s like firewater.”

Then she dropped to the floor like a bag of hammers. She wasn’t really dead - it was just a game - but Mog Og hadn’t really understood it was a game. He started to panic.

“Call a doctor!” cried Herbert Rufus. “I think she’s been poisoned.”

Jessie Jakes rushed over to the 1920s telephone. It was one of those telephones with a separate earpiece, and it looked a bit strange to Mog Og, who couldn’t understand what everyone was up to. He was getting a bit worried by this game of Cluedo.

Jessie called a doctor, and seconds later the door burst open and in flew Patrick’s friend Dr Rama Singh.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Dr Singh,” said Patrick. “We think Madeleine’s been poisoned, but we don’t know who is responsible.”

“Well, it wasn’t me,” said Mog Og. (Everyone seemed to be looking at him.)

“Sorry, but I think you did it, Mike,” said John Vermont.

“I haven’t murdered Madeleine. How preposterous!” said Mike Short, seething with anger.

“Someone here must have brought some deadly poison with them, so let’s look for it. The bottle must be hidden somewhere.”

All the guests went to search for the deadly poison.

Henry Bollinger was getting rather drunk. He went into the living room and noticed the picture clock. It showed Westminster Bridge and Big Ben. Suddenly, the picture changed, so it now showed the London Eye. Then the picture changed again. This time it showed a theatre called the Big Eye, and when he looked closely he could see that there was a date on the building. It read, ‘Built in 2012’. He blinked and when he opened his eyes the picture had gone back to the original scene, showing Westminster Bridge and Big Ben. Henry thought he had imagined the whole thing because he’d had too much to drink.

At that moment Harriet came into the room.

“Henry Nelson, you’re wobbling,” she said. “You have had too much to drink.”

“I was just looking at this picture, Harriet, and ...” Henry was slurring his words.

“Don’t tell me - the picture changed and you saw some pink elephants!”

“No, I saw a theatre named the Big Eye, built in 2012.”

“Well, Henry, it’s not there now, is it?”

Then Alice Bridges came into the room.

“Wow! That is a lovely picture clock of Westminster Bridge,” she said.

There were red double-decker buses going over the bridge. It looked like the image was suspended in time, and that’s exactly what all the pictures were: real images suspended in time.

Whilst they were admiring London Melody, Dr Rama Singh and Miles helped to carry Madeleine Short upstairs, and they laid her on the spare bed in one of the guest rooms.

Then Dr Rama Singh and Miles went downstairs and Dr Rama Singh said to the assembled guests, “I cannot find a pulse, so it is very bad news. She must have had a great deal of poison to die so quickly.”

Then Patrick asked, “Are you off duty now, Dr Singh? Would you like a drink?”

“Of course I’m off duty, Patrick! What do you think I am - a workaholic?”

“Ha ha!” said Patrick. “That’s so funny. Would you like a pear wine, my good friend?”

“A pear wine would be excellent.”

Dr Singh’s wife, Chandra Singh, was in India visiting relatives. She was in Bombay, but she would be going to a hotel named the Jewel of India, in Goa. Dr Singh spent hours on the phone to Chandra, speaking in Gujarati. His phone bill was astronomical.

“Your pear wine, Dr Singh.”

As usual, Dr Singh was on his mobile phone, speaking to his wife. Raj Peshwari could understand what he was talking about as he spoke the same language.

“I’m drinking pear wine,” Dr Singh told his wife. “Madeleine Short has dropped down dead, and Miles and I have just taken her upstairs and put her on the spare bed in the guest room.”

His wife must have said something like “What are you talking about? Are you losing your marbles?” because Dr Singh replied, “No, I’m not losing my marbles. I’ve got them all. I can’t explain now, but it’s connected with a game of Cluedo they’re playing at Penelope’s birthday party, Chandra.”

Raj Peshwari was waiting till Dr Singh finished the conversation. He hoped to strike up a conversation with him in Gujarati, but Dr Singh had a great deal to say to his wife so Raj went to speak to Cherry Scrimshaw instead.

Cherry was sitting in the living room, and she had just given Mog Og a pickled onion.

“I see you’ve finished your drink. Shall I get you another one?” Raj asked.

“Yes, that would be nice,” said Cherry.

“What would you like?”

“Irish mead would be nice.”

“Shall I bring you a few pickled onions and some party sausage rolls and some pineapple and cheese? It looks like you’ve been feeding half of yours to Mog Og.”

Meanwhile, upstairs Madeleine Short was sitting on the bed, wondering if they had found the bottle of poison or if they had forgotten about her. She thought she’d wait another ten minutes, and she looked at the watch that had come with her necklace and bracelet. It was a gold watch with a gold strap, and it looked as though there were rubies in the strap and a triangle of rubies in the watch face. The watch was named Ruby Sanctuary.

Madeleine fiddled with the watch and pressed some of the buttons on the back. Suddenly the glass covering the watch face swung away and a red beam of light shot out. Unbelievably, it formed a doorway of red light.

Madeleine wondered if she’d been drinking too much or if she was dreaming; something compelled her to walk through the strange door, and she was flabbergasted to find herself in a town she didn’t know. She could hear a lot of seagulls so she knew it must be near the sea. She looked at her watch and the glass was back in place.

Well, she walked along and then came to a small building with a sign which read, ‘Jezebel’s Jazz Club, appearing for one night only, the one and only Madeleine Short’.

Madeleine had always wanted to be a jazz singer, but her singing was a bit rusty as she and her husband had been running their own business non-stop. They owned Bollinger’s Fashion House, and they taught designers in the fashion industry, but Madeleine had always wanted to sing jazz in a nightclub.

When she went in, the manager of Jezebel’s Jazz Club came over to her and said, “Thank God you’re not late!”

“But I’m - I’m-” Madeleine started to stutter.

“Yes, you’re here, and that’s all that matters,” the manager interrupted her.

Suddenly Madeleine felt as if she was a famous jazz singer. She sang a few notes and her voice was incredible. To cut a long story short, that was how Madeleine came to be a jazz singer for a night.

Meanwhile, Miles had gone into the room where he had left Madeleine, but of course she wasn’t there. Miles looked under the bed and in the wardrobe and in the en-suite room, but there was no sign of Madeleine.

He went downstairs to tell Mike Short.

“Mike, Madeleine has disappeared into thin air,” he said.

“Well, let’s go and find her, then,” said Mike.

All the guests went searching all over the house, thinking it was part of the game. Little did they realise she was in Folkestone, in Jezebel’s Jazz Club - singing instead of pretending to be murdered in a daft game of Cluedo.

As Madeleine enjoyed herself in the jazz club, belting out jazz songs with a group of jazz musicians, the guests were searching high and low for her. They looked under the beds and in the wardrobes and cupboards, and even in the creepy cellar and the loft.

At last Henry Bollinger piped up: “Let’s not spoil the party by looking for someone that obviously doesn’t want to be found. Game over!”