“Congratulations to one of you,” Giles said once they were all back in the sunroom. “You have solved the challenge, thus concluding the investigation period for our fourth crime. As you all know, that means it is now time to once again lay out your cases for the killer to review.”
One by one the guests were escorted away to a small screened-in smoking parlor adjacent to the sunroom. The room was complete with a walk-in humidor and various antique and modern ashtrays, most of which cost more than an average American’s monthly salary. The room, like usual, had a single tiny camera set upon a tripod.
The guests once again stated their cases into the camera. By the time the last guest had been escorted back to the sunroom, it was just after nine in the morning and the wear of not having had a full night’s sleep in several days was definitely showing on all of their faces.
“We now must ask that each of you retire to your suites until lunch. This will give you time to nap, freshen up, relax, or perhaps merely consider what you’d like to eat this afternoon: a fresh lobster roll or a Waldorf chicken salad sandwich. Regardless of what you choose to do, you will be confined to your suites until lunch is served at precisely one P.M.”
Most of the guests did indeed sleep that morning until lunch. Except for one, of course. The killer alone remained awake, powered by the adrenaline of such a well-executed game. The killer sat and watched the other guests’ newest murder scenario theories with growing delight. Everything had gone as planned so far, which was somewhat unexpected. The killer hadn’t even had to resort to any of the backup murders that had been arranged in case any of the primary murders didn’t work out as intended.
Then again, this had all been so carefully coordinated and so meticulously thought out in advance, why should the game’s success have been unexpected? Even the killer’s choice of Giles as the administrator of the game seemingly couldn’t have been a better one. He had remained calm and professional throughout, just like a butler of his training and experience should.
At lunch, later that afternoon, Giles held up the five envelopes containing the results of the most recent murder case. The five guests looked concerned, to be sure, but they also finally looked at least somewhat well rested having had the better part of the morning to relax and sleep.
“Thomas, the killer wishes you to open your envelope and share your results first,” Giles said, after they’d all started eating.
Thomas’s hand shook as he reached out for the envelope. But it was from the excitement and adrenaline of knowing he’d won rather than from nerves. He opened the envelope and read the contents aloud.
“ ‘Congratulations, you have won a second time and are once again Spared. Please share with the room what you and I alone know. Tell everyone how I managed to murder two of you at the same time while I was in my suite, sound asleep.’ ”
Thomas put the card back into the envelope and looked up at the four faces watching him expectantly.
“Sophia realized that with both her and Parker Scared, she was likely going to eventually die one way or another. She knew she stood no chance to win this game without her partner in crime solving the murders for her,” Thomas started out, smirking at both his bad pun and cruel joke. Nobody else in the room even so much as grinned. He shrugged it off and continued. “So she devised a plan to break them out of the estate, ignoring the warnings that escape is not possible.
“She slipped a note under his suite door that night, telling him to meet her in the mansion garage at three thirty A.M. She was going to get them out. Parker, nervous and uncertain, arrived at the garage slightly late, her note still clutched in his hand. Sophia had already broken in and found the keys in the ignition of the only uncovered car in the garage, a rare Rolls-Royce convertible. She yelled at Parker from inside the car, telling him to go around to the front of the car and open the garage door.
“As he did this, she started up the car. As soon as the car was running, a computer system connected to the car wirelessly transmitted a preprogrammed route. The car shifted into gear on its own before Sophia realized what was even happening. The headlights switched on and the car fired forward, hitting Parker straight on, breaking both of his knees. He hung on to the car’s hood for dear life, probably staring into Sophia’s wide, terrified eyes the whole time, wondering why she was doing this, of course having no idea she was not actually in control of the runaway car at all.
“The car made several programmed turns, lining itself up with the boathouse gasoline tanks. Then it hurtled straight ahead and crashed into it. Upon impact, Parker was thrown back-first into the top of the gas tank, suffering fatal internal injuries. Sophia was smashed forward into a deployed air bag, leaving behind traces of her makeup imprinted on the air bag material and also keeping her from smashing her head into or through the windshield. She was not wearing her seat belt, however, and thus the impact broke both of her legs and caused severe internal injuries to her organs.
“The gas tank ignited seconds after the collision. The force of the explosion ejected both victims more than fifty yards straight backward, where they landed remarkably close to each other. Had they not already suffered fatal injuries from the force of the collision, their proximity to the initial concussion of the explosion would have killed them instantly, and the subsequent impact with the ground fifty yards away might also have proven to be fatal were they still alive by some miracle.”
By the time Thomas finished, he was nearly out of breath. He sat down, trying to catch it.
“Well done, Mr. Gatling,” Giles said. “Now, for the rest of you.”
He held up the other four envelopes. Each guest was given one with his or her name printed on the front. Giles pointed at Guadalupe.
“My dear,” he said. “Proceed.”
She opened her envelope and read the card within. And for the first time since she’d arrived on the estate, she showed signs of having real human emotions. She gasped and covered her mouth with a shaking hand. She did not cry, but everyone in the room could see that the tears would eventually fall, even if it was hours later.
“Scared,” she finally whispered.
Jacqueline went next.
“Spared,” she said, looking relieved in spite of the fact that the joyful and vibrant glow in her eyes seemed to have disappeared.
“Scared,” Bryce said a short time later, reading his card.
Darrel tore into his envelope like a kid opening a Christmas present he always wanted and knows he is getting. He couldn’t help but smile as he read the contents.
“Spared.”
“With news both good and bad finally shared, the killer has requested that we take the night off from the game,” Giles said. “Dinner will be served via room service this evening, delivered directly to your suites. When you return to your rooms, there will be a small menu on your bed. Please make your dinner selections and give them to the maid, who will stop by at three P.M.”
Giles allowed a lengthy pause before he began speaking again.
“The killer has assured me that no one will be poisoned by tonight’s dinner items, so please eat your selections with confidence. And please keep in mind that the killer has not lied to us yet. As a reward for making it halfway, the killer will allow both Bryce and Guadalupe the opportunity to write one last letter home tomorrow morning. You may write only one letter to a single recipient of your choosing, expressing your last wishes and thoughts and, of course, possibly just to say good-bye. Stationery and a pen will be delivered to you both in the morning. Please bring your letters down to breakfast tomorrow at nine A.M. out on the patio. We will be having steak and eggs for breakfast, which I’m sure will be quite a treat!”