“The killer has reminded me that being a good investigator involves more than simply inspecting clues with magnifying glasses,” Giles said once they had all returned from the challenge. “It also requires a lot of paperwork. Hence, the killer wants to see how well you can lay out a murder case in writing, how convincing you all are on paper. Follow me.”
Giles led the guests, still on a gag order, so to speak, into the formal dining room. On the table, in four spots as far away from one another as possible, sat four yellow legal notepads and several pens. The maids and servants led each guest to an assigned seat.
“You now have precisely thirty-nine minutes, one for each year in Guadalupe’s life, to lay out your theories as to how she was murdered. We owe her at least that much time in death, don’t you think?” Giles said, pausing a few moments before continuing. “The killer has requested that you write legibly. He or she will view poor penmanship as the unclear arguments that they literally are. Your time begins now.”
The four guests picked up their pens. Thomas and Jacqueline began writing immediately. Bryce and Darrel each took a few moments to brainstorm before beginning. Ten minutes in, all four pens were scribbling furiously across the legal pads.
When the time was up, Giles walked around the room and collected the notepads. Bryce was still frantically writing and Giles had to take the notepad right out from under his pen, leaving a streak of ink across the page.
“Ah, crap, man,” Bryce said.
“When time is up, time is up,” Giles said quietly. “Now, lunch will be served and then you may all enjoy the estate as you wish until dinner, at which time the results will be shared. Dinner will be a casual affair this evening, out on the patio by the pool. Eight o’clock.”
Bryce spent most of the afternoon lounging alone in the game room, watching TV and shooting pool. After retiring to her room for a short nap, Jacqueline spent the next few hours smoking nearly a pack of cigarettes in the smoking room with Darrel, who didn’t smoke himself but did start drinking doubles of whiskey. They mostly talked about how screwed they likely were this time around. Thomas spent most of the afternoon in his room reading.
By the time dinner rolled around, the four guests were hungry even though they were also about to find out which of them were in danger of dying next. But as they were discovering, all too unfortunately, hunger pauses for very little. Not even the fear of death once you’ve grown accustomed to such.
Envelopes bearing their names were already waiting for them on one of the stone patio tables by the time they got outside. Giles was there as well and greeted each of them with a smile.
“Thomas, it seems as though you are getting quite good at this,” Giles said, once they were all seated and being served burgers fresh from the grill. “You once again have pleased the killer with your murder case. Please, open your envelope and then stand and explain to us how the killer managed to kill Ms. Ferrara this morning while eating breakfast with the rest of you.”
Thomas opened his envelope. Instead of printed words, this time the card inside contained only a crude drawing of a simple smiley face. He furrowed his brow at the unsettling picture and then stood to face the table.
“Above Guadalupe’s bathroom, above her bathtub to be exact, in the attic, the killer rigged a trapdoor inside the floor. Above this trapdoor, the killer installed a tank capable of holding liquid nitrogen. That morning, the pen delivered to Ms. Ferrara to write her parting letter had been engineered to explode ink all over Guadalupe once she started using it. The victim quickly drew a bath to clean herself off. When she pressed the button to switch on the Jacuzzi jets, it sent a signal to the trapdoor in the ceiling above the bathtub. The trapdoor opened, dumping several gallons of liquid nitrogen directly into the already full bathtub, instantly freezing the victim solid. Simultaneously, a chemical reaction initiated when liquid nitrogen is introduced to water created a massive explosion. The force of the explosion lifted the bathtub on two of its claw feet, as it was only bolted to the floor on one side, and ejected the victim right out the window and down onto the granite patio four stories below. Actually, right over there, as I’m sure you all remember.”
Thomas pointed toward where Guadalupe’s body had landed. It was a grisly memory, and all three of the listeners put down their half-eaten burgers.
Then Thomas sat down and picked up his own burger. He took a huge bite, ketchup and mustard staining the corners of his mouth as he chewed. The other guests watched him eat for a moment and then looked down at their sealed envelopes.
Giles gave no further directions, so Jacqueline eventually reached down and picked up her envelope. Her hands shook so badly she could barely tear it open.
“Scared,” she said, her voice so unusually quiet, it sounded like a whisper even though it wasn’t. She put her face in her hands and shook her head slowly from side to side.
Bryce opened his next.
“Spared,” he said, before taking a deep breath and sighing.
Everyone knew that likely meant Darrel was the other Scared contestant. In fact, he didn’t even open his envelope. He stood up and pointed a meaty finger at Thomas.
“You!” he snarled. “This is bull! This game is rigged. You’re cheating. You lied to us about your evidence! You’re… you’re the killer, aren’t you?”
He spun around and looked at Jacqueline, Bryce, and then Giles in turn, waiting for support. Nobody spoke. Most of them avoided looking back at him. Except for Giles, who looked right back into Darrel’s eyes without even blinking.
“He’s clearly the killer!” Darrel shouted at the three of them, still pointing at Thomas. “I mean, think about it! He’s some kind of engineer, right? Aren’t you?”
Thomas shrugged. “So what?”
“So, all of these contraptions… the liquid nitrogen trapdoor?” Darrel shouted. “The self-flying helicopter? I mean, these aren’t things that just anyone can do! A retired nurse, a football coach, and a goddamned unemployed freeloading stoner aren’t capable of rigging these things up, or even conceiving of them! Plus, you keep getting everything right!”
“That’s just because I’m smarter than all of you,” Thomas said calmly.
Darrel made a move toward Thomas, but Giles quickly and smoothly stepped in the way.
“Mr. Gleason, I’d advise you to not do something you might regret,” he said, his calm demeanor seeming to rub off on Darrel somewhat. “Even if Mr. Gatling is the killer, he has still been playing the game by the rules, the same as all of you. Now, you better retire to your suite before things get any further out of hand. Yes?”
Darrel nodded slowly and took a few deep breaths. Then he turned and stalked off into the mansion.