Murder on the Playground - 1. Ain’t No Party Like a Murder Mystery Party

"Wait, are we seriously having the reunion there?" Samson asked as he looked up from his phone and removed his earphones. Through the tinted windows of his silver Rolls Royce, he could see an old Victorian mansion in the distance, growing larger by the second. It looked more like a location fitting for a horror movie rather than a silly show such as The Playground.

"Yup, this is the place," the driver nodded as he steered the vehicle up the sloping road surrounded on both sides by an idyllic autumn collage of red and yellow trees and shrubs. He didn’t think much of the old building - all he cared about was following his GPS and getting them to their destination.

"Weird choice if you ask me," the young singer raised his eyebrows, appraising the grand house they'd be staying at for the weekend. It looked creepy to say the least.

When he received the invite for a special reunion episode of the new variety show The Playground, Samson didn't even think twice about accepting. As he thoroughly enjoyed being on the show the first time, coming back was a no-brainer. Plus, it wouldn't take up much of his time and didn't clash with his schedule. And most importantly of all, it would be the perfect chance to catch up with his celebrity crush turned steamy affair, Troy Wolfe. The actor had already texted Samson that he would be coming, which only made the popstar even more glad to accept the invite.

"Maybe they have a theme or something?" the driver offered his opinion. Lewie, a good-natured middle-aged man had been in Samson's employ for nearly two years now. Even though he didn't seem to know much about show business, and certainly didn't keep up with the latest social media trends, he was a very good driver and conversationalist, which was all Samson needed.

"Or maybe this is where Nicholas lives. You know, nothing would surprise me when it comes to that man."

"I suppose it'd make sense for the host to offer his home to... well, host the show," the older man chuckled at his own accidental pun. "Did they really not tell you anything about it?"

"No! Which is why I'm so suspicious. I asked Troy and he didn't know anything either. Even Marcus texted to ask me about it. Seems like they're keeping us all in the dark," Samson explained. "Which means they’re definitely up to something."

“I guess we’re about to find out.”

~~

The car turned into the parking lot behind the villa, where around a dozen other vehicles were already parked. It was obvious some of the guests had already arrived. Two of the staff members promptly appeared, welcoming Samson and his driver and ushering them into the building. After a brief goodbye and good luck, the driver made his way toward the staff area, while Samson was led to the grand hall.

He stopped at the entrance to the opulent room, not knowing where to look first. Everyone was already there - it seemed they were all waiting for him. Two long tables stood in the center of the room, already set with plates and cutlery, waiting for dinner to start. Large crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, while the indigo walls were covered in paintings. Heavy, deep purple drapes hung down the right wall, partly covering the high windows. The left wall had several doors leading to other parts of the villa, including a winding wooden staircase leading to the upper floor.

“Well, look who it is,” Marcus was the first to greet him. The tall dancer stood next to a window, holding a champagne glass in his hand. He wore a form-fitting button-down shirt and tight pants, both black. “We thought you might’ve gotten lost on the way.”

“As if I’d make it that easy for you,” Samson was quick to reply. “Nice to see you again! You look good!”

“Thanks, so do you,” Marcus gave him a friendly nod as he checked out the singer’s outfit - a silk black shirt paired with glossy green pants. A thin gold chain with an emerald pendant hung around Samson’s neck. “Ash says hi, by the way.”

“Aww, thanks! Tell him I love his new song!” Samson replied enthusiastically. “So, everyone’s already here?”

“Yes, we were waiting just for you,” someone spoke just behind Samson.

The singer’s heart skipped a beat when he heard the familiar smooth voice. He turned around to see Troy standing next to him, a playful smirk on his handsome face. He looked even better than Samson remembered, the dark jeans and red shirt accentuating his fit body. His hair was a little longer than the last time they saw each other, with dark blond bangs falling down the right side of his face.

“Hey, good to see you again!” Samson smiled, trying to play it cool.

“You too. It’s been a while, huh? We definitely need to catch up,” Troy replied in a husky voice as he gave Samson a hug, holding him a little longer than necessary.

“We’re going to…”

Before Samson could even finish his thought, he heard a familiar squealing sound, which could only mean one person.

“Ahh! You’re here!” Tiffany was making her way toward him like a freight train, spreading her arms out for a hug. She wore a short yellow sundress, her long brown hair tied in her signature ponytail. “Finally! I’ve missed you, babe!”

“Aww, I’ve missed you too, gurl!” Samson returned the hug, laughing at her enthusiasm. The girl may have been petite, but her personality was bigger than that of most people he knew.

“How have you been? You know, I’ve been to your concert in Miami! Oh my god, I had a blast.”

“I know. We took a pic backstage, remember?”

“Oh, right! I forgot,” Tiffany laughed as she grabbed Samson’s hand, dragging him with her. “Come, everyone’s here.”

On one side of the table, celebrity chef Clementine Swann was in deep chat with TV host Alana McConnell. Clementine looked as neat as always, dressed in a smart, beige pantsuit, her blond hair styled in a short bob. If he didn’t know any better, Samson would’ve thought she was a CEO ready for a chairholders’ meeting. The brown-haired TV host rocked a turquoise blazer and a skirt, her long nails painted in the same color. They looked up in unison, smiling when they saw Samson approach them. Both women stood up, sharing hugs and greetings with the popstar.

“How are you, darling?” Alana asked as she gave the singer a hug.

“It’s lovely to see you again,” Clementine patted him on the arm.

“You too. Wow, look at the two of you, you’re serving fashion tonight!”

“We’re just trying to keep up with these two,” Alana replied, pointing at the two younger women across the table - TV actress Gloria Mendosa and singer Kelly Marvel.

“Yes, and they’re giving us a run for our money,” Gloria joked as she got up to greet Samson, her bracelets dangling as she did. She was a picture of elegance, wearing a beautiful, royal blue dress, while a large matching flower decorated her long, brunette hair. “So good to see you, babe.”

“You too, honey. You look amazing!” Samson returned the hug. “You too, Kelly.”

“Thanks! Good to have you back with us. We were wondering when you’d show up,” Kelly replied cheerfully, their bitter rivalry from the last show seemingly forgotten. The pop starlet’s usually black hair was now dyed red, matching the scarlet dress she wore. “We should’ve known you’d be fashionably late.”

“You know me, I do everything fashionably,” Samson shrugged, cocking an eyebrow.

“Look who it is!” the booming voice of Rico Gonzales caught everyone’s attention as he walked over. Like everyone else, the basketball player was dressed smartly, wearing a light gray shirt paired with a black vest and black pants. There was a rather thick gold chain around his neck, matching his gold watch. “Samson, my man! How’s it going?”

“Hey! It’s great seeing you again, Rico,” the singer smiled as he attempted an awkward hug with the much taller man. Even when he stood up on his toes, he only reached up to Rico’s armpit. “You ready for the weekend?”

“Absolutely. After last time, I’m ready for anything. And this time, I’m going all the way,” the athlete replied confidently. But as soon as he stopped talking, another voice replaced his.

“Sammy, long time no see,” Eric Collins came over with a big, confident smile on his face. His white shirt and silver vest looked as if they would tear at the slightest movement of his muscular body. “Where’s my welcome hug?”

Samson eyed the NFL quarterback, trying to decide how to greet him. He still hadn’t forgotten about his betrayal in The Playground, but it was a long time ago, and after all, it was just a game. Maybe it was time to bury that hatchet.

“We wouldn’t want you to feel left out, right?” the singer replied, giving the much bigger man a brief hug.

Eric let out a deep chuckle, but just as he was about to say something, the main door opened yet again and in came Nicholas Stone, the host of The Playground. Everyone paused and turned to him, watching as the tall, middle-aged man walked up to them, smiling. In his salmon-colored designer suit, he looked as fashionable as ever, his short, brown hair neatly combed.

“Everyone having a good time?” he eyed the guests as cameras focused on him.

“Of course. About time you came to join us. Is this how you treat all of your guests?” Alana was the first to speak. She could never pass an opportunity to tease her colleague.

“We got tired of waiting, so we got the party started without you,” Eric replied, lifting his glass.

“Don’t worry, folks, I came just in time. But I suppose I should catch up with you then,” Nicholas said as he picked up a glass of champagne from a tray, lifting it in the air. “Well, since we have everyone back, let’s make a toast.”

“To winning… again,” Marcus gloated, unable to resist.

“Winning? Are we playing games again?” Tiffany asked, her eyes darting between Nicholas and Marcus. “I thought it was just a reunion party.”

“To having a good time and seeing old friends again,” Nicholas finished the toast, ignoring Tiffany’s question. He then took a small sip, smiling mysteriously.

“Yes, to the OG team being back together!” Gloria replied excitedly, taking a sip of her drink. “So, Nicholas, when are you going to spill the beans?”

“Yeah, we know you’ve got something up your sleeve,” Troy added. “You didn’t bring us all here just for a dinner and drinks. Right?”

“Perceptive as always,” the host nodded at Troy and Gloria. “A dinner party is just one of the reasons you’ve been invited. More importantly than that, you’re here because I have something to tell you all. Something that cannot wait.”

“You’re pregnant?” Samson joked, causing a few snickers from others.

“I’m afraid not,” Nicholas smiled as he took another sip of his drink. “It’s something very serious. I’ve discovered that… that…”

Suddenly, he began to choke, his empty champagne glass dropping to the floor with a crash, smashing into pieces. He stumbled as he coughed, grabbing at his throat, before tumbling down in front of everyone.

“Oh my god!”

“Nicholas!”

“What’s happening?!”

There was barely any time for the guests to start panicking when Nicholas opened his eyes, shooting them a wink.

“Wait, what?” Troy was all confused as everyone gathered around, staring at the host in varying degrees of shock.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Murder on the Playground,” Nicholas announced, still lying on the floor. He then swiftly stood up and dusted himself off with a few elegant movements of his hands. Everyone kept their eyes on him, still trying to process what was happening.

“Murder on the Playground?” Rico repeated. “Are we doing a…”

“A murder mystery party!” Kelly suddenly clapped her hands, having a eureka moment. “Right?!... Well, Nicholas?”

The host grinned at her, giving her a proud nod. “Exactly. And this weekend I am not Nicholas. I am Nick Fortescue, a wealthy cattle farmer who made his fortune breeding and selling cattle in the Midwest, and who has just been, sadly, poisoned in his very own home. Struck down in the prime of his life! Betrayed by…”

“Alright, we get it,” Clementine rolled her eyes, struggling not to laugh. “You’re not that good of an actor.”

“Ahem, anyway… Your task, ladies and gentlemen, is to figure out which one of you killed me.”

“Ooh, so one of us is the killer?” Samson raised an eyebrow, whipping his neck as he scanned everyone in the room.

“Exactly,” Nicholas nodded as a crew member went around with a tray in her hands. Instead of drinks, however, she handed each guest a brown envelope with a red wax seal on it. “In these envelopes, you will find your new identities - the personas you will play this weekend. You will see some information about your characters that you can reveal to others, and some that you must keep a secret - for now at least. Now, let’s open the envelopes and see which characters you’ll all be playing.”

“Ok, so… My name is Judy Green, and I am the eccentric sister of Nick Fortescue,” Clementine started reading from her character sheet. “I’m fifty-fi… Excuse me, I am NOT that old!”

“Not you, of course, but Judy is,” Nicholas corrected her.

“Ah, alright, I suppose. I’m fifty-five and a widow. And my trusty tarot cards told me my brother was in danger! Alas, they did not lie,” the chef finished reading, shaking her head with a sad expression on her face.

“How sad for you. Me next!” Marcus quickly cut in before anyone else had the chance. “I am Alfie Fortescue, Nick’s son. I have a PhD in business, with the ambition of eventually taking over my father’s farm. I’ve just returned from college this year. I’m very used to… oh wait, I’m not supposed to tell you this.” The dancer bit his lip and smiled, quickly putting his paper away back in the envelope. “Anyway, who’s next?”

“What’s that you don’t want us to know, Marcus? I mean Alfie. Maybe you’re the murderer, huh?” Eric asked as he scrutinized the dancer.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna tell you. Good job, Eric,” Marcus rolled his eyes.

“Alright, I wanna go next!” Tiffany shook her paper in the air excitedly. “Listen up! My name is Pamela I. Maxwell, and I’m a… a private investigator! Yay, how fun!”

“You’ll smash it, babe!” Marcus encouraged her.

“Wait,” Kelly cut in. “SHE gets the detective role?! Tiffany?” The singer looked at everyone, waiting for someone to back her up, but everyone stayed silent, enjoying the moment.

“And why not?” Tiffany replied. “I’ll have you know, I have photogenic memory.”

“Photo- seriously? No one?” Kelly stared at the group with a deadpan face, her arms crossed at her chest. “Fine then. Keep going.”

“Anyway, as I said, my name is Pamela I. Maxwell and I was a good friend of Nick’s. I came here to investigate his death and find the killer. I love classical music and solving puzzles.”

“So her name is… P.I. Maxwell?” Troy noticed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Clever, right?” the host looked very proud of himself as if he had come up with the name on his own. “Kelly, why don’t you go next?”

“Might as well. Ok, let’s see. I’m…” the singer opened her own note, reading it out. “I’m Miss Phoebe Turner, Nick’s long-lost daughter. I’ve been living in Europe for decades, and I’ve just relocated to America, looking for work as an actress.”

“Long-lost daughter, huh? Now that sounds suspicious if you ask me,” Gloria mused.

“Indeed,” Kelly quickly agreed, sending the actress a mysterious smile. “Prepare to be kept on your toes.”

“Alright, my turn,” Troy interrupted their exchange, clearing his throat. “I’m Reggie, and I’m the hot stableboy. Wait, I don’t even get a last name?”

“Hot stableboy? It doesn’t say that!” Samson rolled his eyes. He dashed over to the actor, trying to snatch the paper away from him. “Let me see that!”

“It does say so,” Troy protested, covering part of the paper with his fingers.

“I knew it, it just says ‘stableboy’,” Samson managed to get a quick peek, confirming his suspicions.

“Well, any role I play is hot,” Troy shrugged, hiding the paper from him. “Anyway, let’s see what it says. I’ve been working at Mr. Fortescue’s farm since I was a kid, and so did my father before me. I love working with animals, playing the flute and… yeah, that’s all you get for now.”

“Ok, boys, me next,” Gloria stepped forward and did a hair flip, trying to catch everyone’s attention. “I am Ms. Marie Thibodeaux, a local bar owner and… Nick’s mistress. Our affair has been an open secret for quite some time, and Nick was a regular patron at my establishment. And now he’s… he’s gone,” the actress finished her brief speech, wiping an invisible tear from her cheek.

“How moving indeed,” Nicholas nodded. “Samson, please tell us what your role is.”

“Gladly!” the popstar jumped to it, quickly unfolding his paper. “I am… Mr. Olive, the cook?!” A few people chuckled at Samson’s grimace as he looked at the paper with disappointment.

“Oh, wait, that was actually supposed to be Eric’s role,” Nicholas explained. “The envelopes must’ve gotten mixed up. But I guess it doesn’t matter either way.”

“Oh, ok! Eric, wanna swap envelopes?” Samson turned to the quarterback, hopeful.

“No, thanks,” the athlete shook his head, smiling. “I’m sure the role came to you for a reason. And look at the bright side, at least you get to serve us all weekend.”

“Ha-ha, how funny,” the singer gave him the biggest eyeroll. “Wait, can we add our own twist to it? Like, maybe I’m a cook who’s actually a cyborg? Or I’m an alien on a secret mission to learn about human cuisine?”

“I’m afraid not,” Nicholas shook his head as he let out a soft laugh. “Now, please read the rest of your description.”

“Oh, alright. Party pooper,” Samson muttered. “I’m Mr. Olive, the cook. And apparently I have no first name. I started working for Mr. Fortescue only a few months ago, after his previous cook retired. Although I’m young, I’m excellent at my job. I especially enjoy baking bread and pastries,” the singer finished reading. “Also, the cook’s surname is Olive? How creative.”

“Thank you. Eric, please go next,” Nicholas replied, turning to the NFL star.

“Alright, I hope you’re ready, folks. I’m…” Eric suddenly stopped, clenching his jaw as he silently read his paper, refusing to look up. “I am… Father Tabernacle, the priest at the local church.”

Samson’s loud yelp cut through the air as the rest of the group snickered.

“Wait, can you… can you repeat that?” the singer asked, barely managing to keep it together. “You’re… who exactly?”

“You know, I was just playing earlier,” Eric forced a smile as he looked at Samson. “If you wanna swap roles, we can totally do it. I mean, it’s only fair since…”

“Oh no, thanks! I’m good!” the popstar shook his head, shoving his paper back in his envelope. “With all due respect, Father Tabernacle, I’m sure the role came to you for a reason.”

“Come on, Eric, read the rest of your character sheet,” Nicholas urged him.

“Fine! Why not? Let’s see…” Eric continued, aggressively unfolding his paper. “So yeah, priest at the local church, blah blah... Well respected, organized church renovations a few years ago. That’s it for now.”

“Alright then, who’s left?” the host asked.

“Me!” Alana stepped forward next. “Let’s see, I am Lucy Edwards, attorney. I’ve got my own office in town, and I’ve been the family lawyer for the Fortescues for over a decade. For better or worse,” the woman squinted, side-eyeing Marcus.

“Yes, we know, Ms. Edwards,” Marcus replied icily, emphasizing her name. “Can we move on to the next person?”

“Wait, what’s the deal with them? Do Marcus and Alana have beef?” Tiffany whispered to Gloria as she watched them bicker.

“No, I think they’re just in character,” she replied.

“Ah, right! That’s good.”

“Anyway, saving the best till last!” Rico spoke. It was finally the basketball star’s turn to reveal his role. “Alright, my name is Jeremiah Wordsworth, and I am… well, was Nick’s business partner. I’ve got a ranch of my own, but I’ve been branching to other areas - hospitality and tourism to be precise. I came to talk to Nick about a business deal, but unfortunately, now it looks like it’s not going to happen.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re all suspicious to me,” Clementine spoke slowly as her eyes moved from one person to another. “My brother’s soul cannot rest until I find out who killed him.”

“Yeah, unless it was you,” Eric replied. “Everyone’s a suspect. Even the detective,” he added, earning a shocked look from Tiffany.

“Excellent!” Nicholas clapped his hands. “That’s the enthusiasm we love to see. So, here’s the deal: you’ve got the next two days to get to know each other in your new roles and figure out who killed me.”

“But if you’re dead, how are you talking to us then?” Rico teased, looking around to see if anyone would laugh at his remark.

“I don’t know, I’m a ghost,” Nicholas shrugged. “Anyway, although Tiffany is playing the role of the detective, each of you should try your best to find the culprit. In the end, whoever succeeds will win two hundred thousand dollars, to be donated to the charity of your choice. If more than one person finds the killer, the prize will be split. And if no one succeeds, the killer wins the prize.”

“Two hundred thousand? That’s double from last time!” Alana quickly noticed.

“Indeed. I hope that motivates you all to put on your proverbial detective hats and get to sleuthing! Oh, and some final pieces of advice. The show will be filmed here, on the ground floor. Your bedrooms are on the second floor - you’ll see your names on the doors. I suggest you go there now and change into your costumes. They should be ready for you by now. That should help you all get into your characters.”

“Oh man, we gotta wear costumes?” Eric moaned.

“Yay, I hope I get a sexy Sherlock outfit,” Tiffany clapped her hands excitedly.

“Yes, because he’s known for wearing revealing clothes,” Alana chuckled at the girl’s enthusiasm.

“And Eric gets to wear priest robes!” Samson gloated.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re dying to see that,” the NFL player was not amused.

“We all are, Eric,” Clementine corrected him, looking at him with a mix of pity and amusement. “You’ll be the buffest priest America has ever seen.”

“Off you go, then. Get changed and then come back here - dinner will be served shortly,” the host advised them. “Just don’t get too comfortable. After all, there is a murderer among you.