Murder on the Playground - 4. Victim No. 2

“Everyone, get over here!” Marcus called out from the doorway, excited the share the news. In a blink of an eye, the rest of the group dashed over from different parts of the villa, curious to see what all the commotion was about.

“This better be important! I need to pee!” Kelly groaned, her heels clicking on the tiled floor as she ran through the lobby. “Did you find something?”

“What? What’s happening?” Eric asked as he tried to push past Marcus into the library. Once inside, he could see the TV host looking annoyed, her clothes all smeared. “You called us because Alana dropped her sandwich?”

“I’ve been killed - show some respect,” the woman frowned at him, shaking a piece of paper in her hand.

Gloria and Samson looked at the strange scene in shock, while Clementine and Kelly seemed to take in everything, their eyes darting around the room and the other contestants.

“Ohh, that’s why the power went out. Someone cut it off on purpose!” Samson snapped his fingers, having an epiphany.

“What’s with that?” Rico gestured to the paper in Alana’s hand. “Another note?”

“Yeah. Take a look,” the woman replied, unfolding it so everyone could read the brief sentence scribbled across the paper: YOU HAD IT COMING.

“You had it coming?” Troy raised an eyebrow as he studied the words. “Is it the same handwriting as on Tiff’s note?”

“You think… what if the killer was after me?” Tiffany’s eyes went wide as if she were doing her best owl impression.

“It makes sense… They did warn you not to snoop around, babe,” Gloria shrugged as she approached the younger girl, watching her rummage through her little purse. “The notes seem connected.”

“I think you’re onto something,” Alana agreed. “It was pitch black in here. They could’ve easily got the wrong person in the dark.” Getting up from the armchair, she unbuttoned her blazer and took it off. “Ugh, I’m getting sick of the smell of ketchup.”

“It’s a nice touch, though,” Marcus noted, snickering along with Eric.

“Look! I think it’s the same handwriting,” Tiffany’s voice turned from a shout to a whisper as she laid down both pieces of paper on a small coffee table.

“Yup, looks like it to me too,” Gloria mused. Her glossy lips were pursed as she inspected the notes, her tall silhouette leaning against the table. “It’s the same person who wrote both. Which means they were probably after Tiffany.”

“Probably, but not necessarily,” Clementine offered.

“What do you mean?” Rico asked. He had stayed quiet the entire time, waiting to see what everyone would have to say.

“Ponder this!” the celebrity chef exclaimed dramatically, raising her right index finger. “What if the killer went after Mrs. Edwards on purpose? She had the will in her posession. And as my brother’s lawyer, she knew quite a lot. Probably enough to be a threat.”

“Right! You were supposed to bring the will today. Do you have it?” Marcus asked as everyone turned to Alana in eerie unison.

“I do,” the woman confirmed.

“Well, where is it?”

Instead of answering, she simply shrugged. “Sorry, but I'm not sure I can tell you. I’m supposed to be dead, remember?”

“Ugh, great, so the killer got what he wanted. Or she!” Tiffany gripped her pen in frustration, nearly breaking it in half. “But who would’ve wanted Alana - Mrs. Edwards dead?” The young woman looked expectantly at the newest victim, hoping for an easy answer. To her disappointment, all Alana did was raise an eyebrow, cocking her head slightly to the right.

“What?” Tiffany shook her head.

“I think she’s trying to - not so subtly - point at Rico,” Kelly observed.

“Me? Well I didn’t do it,” the NBA star put his hands up in defense.

“You had a good reason, though,” Tiffany tilted her head as she guiltily eyed Rico. As much as she hated accusing the hot athlete she was crushing on, the detective part of her really wanted to get the truth out. “Mrs. Edwards told me about the business idea you had - the one that Nick rejected.”

Just like that, the heat was suddenly on Rico, as every head in the room turned his way.

“Whoa, whoa… That doesn’t mean anything,” the man shook his hands. “Sure, he didn’t like my proposal that much, but that doesn’t mean I’d kill him over it. It was just one of the many ideas I had. We still had a good cooperation beyond that.”

“Still, sounds like a good motive to me,” Samson shrugged. “Not saying you did it, but we have to question everyone.”

“You’re grasping at straws, man. I didn’t even go near the library today.”

“Really? Do you have an alibi, Mr. Wordle?” Kelly faced the much taller man, her hands on her hips.

“It’s Wordsworth!” Rico shouted in exasperation. “And what about you, do you have one?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I had no reason to kill Mrs. Edwards. If anyone wanted to read that will, it was me,” the songstress replied with no hesitation.

“Oh really?!” Marcus immediately jumped in, his face lighting up with a devious smile. “But I thought you didn’t care about the will? Didn’t you say you couldn’t care less if father dearest left you anything?”

“That’s…” Kelly’s jaw clenched as she glared daggers at the dancer. “Not the point. I still didn’t kill Mrs. Edwards! For all I know, it was you. You were afraid of seeing what was in that will, in case daddy left something to me. Imagine not being his only heir anymore, ouch!”

“Daddy? You barely even knew the man,” Marcus grimaced as if he’d just eaten a lemon.

“She’s got a point,” Tiffany reluctantly agreed. “But so do you. Not gonna lie, all of you look suspicious to me right now.”

“Tiffany, honey, do you have a theory you’d like to share perhaps? No? Well, I have one,” Kelly seemed prepared for a speech.

“Oh lord, another one? Haven’t I suffered enough?” the new ghost couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Shush, Mrs. Edwards! Aren’t you supposed to be dead? Besides, I’m trying to help solve your murder.”

“Solve her murder or get attention off of yourself?” Samson made himself comfortable in an armchair, crossing his hands as he watched the situation unfold with glee.

“Why not both?” Kelly seemed unfazed. “Anyway, no one seems to be thinking how the simplest answer is often the correct one.”

“And that would be…?” Troy asked, trying to sit on the narrow armrest next to Samson and repeatedly failing.

“Who was the only person we know for certain was in the room with Mrs. Edwards when she was killed?”

A smug smile slowly spread across Kelly’s face as everyone turned to Tiffany. The detective looked shocked, even offended that she would be considered a suspect even for a second.

“Me?! You think I killed Lucy?”

“Why not? You could’ve easily written those notes, and you had the best opportunity out of everyone. You made us think the killer was threatening you, but in fact it was you all along,” Kelly finished her spiel, looking mighty pleased with herself. “I’ve gotta say, you did a good job acting all clueless, but that can only work for so long.”

“Hey, she’s not acting!” Samson cut in, attempting to defend his friend. “Uh, I mean…”

“Thanks, babe,” Tiffany shot him a quick smile before turning back to Kelly. “Think what you want, but it wasn’t me. P.I. Maxwell would never betray her profession like that! And I don’t even have a reason to want her dead. Or Nick.”

“It’s kind of a flimsy theory, Miss Turner,” Troy agreed.

“What do you mean? It’s straight up out of an Agatha Cristie book,” Kelly tried defending her story.

“Is it? I don’t reckon Poirot or Miss Marple would ever kill anyone,” the actor didn’t sound convinced. “And besides, isn’t one of the main rules of whodunits not to make the detective the killer?”

“I dunno, I think it’s a pretty good theory. Wouldn’t it be a great plot twist if Tiffany was the killer?” Eric finally spoke, as if thinking out loud. “I mean, as Father Tabernacle, what I meant to say was… I believe we should keep an open mind and, uh, pursue every trail until we find the culprit.”

“I think it’s bullshit,” Gloria put it bluntly, joining the conversation. As others started chiming in with their own theories and accusations, the situation in the library rapidly dissolved in utter disorder and confusion. With everyone talking over each other, it was difficult to hear anyone at all. It was no surprise then, that when Nicholas Stone entered the room, no one even noticed he was there until he clapped his hands loudly, bringing everyone’s attention to himself.

“I see you’re having a productive group discussion,” the host observed, his black eyebrows wiggling as he surveyed the scene. “Mrs. Edwards, my condolences. I hope you had a quick and painless death.”

“You could say that,” Alana nodded. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to give us any clues?”

“Not as such. But I trust you’ll figure it out in due time - at least one of you. Otherwise the killer gets everything,” Nicholas replied. “I do have an announcement to make. Seeing as we’ve got one more death, and the killer is still among you, I think we need to let our resident detective do her work. Miss Maxwell, you’ve got two hours to investigate the crime and interrogate the rest of the group one on one. Well, everyone except the victim.” With that, he pulled a small digital clock out of his jacket and placed it delicately on the coffee table, setting the timer.

“Does that really mean Tiffany’s not a suspect?” Kelly asked.

“I didn’t say that. But she is the detective, and she has to play her part. As does everyone else,” the host smiled mysteriously. “Now come on, let’s get out. Miss Maxwell, we’ll leave you to do your thing. Your time starts… now.”

With a press of a button, the timer on the clock started ticking away as everyone began filing out of the library, leaving Tiffany alone.

“Mr. Olive, why don’t you stay?” the starlet called after Samson. “I’ll question you first.”

“Fine by me,” the singer gave her a shrug and a smile as he closed the door from the inside. It was just the two of them now. “Gurl, you really need to be more subtle. People are gonna think we’re working together.”

“Oops, I guess you’re right. Well, what’s done is done now,” Tiffany didn’t seem to care much, sitting down behind the large wooden desk. Excited like a kid at Christmas, she opened her notebook and clicked her pen, ready to take notes. “Come, sit! Oh gosh, I don’t even know what I want to ask you. My mind is all… ugh! I wish I had some chamomile tea. Anyway, where should we start?”

“Maybe from my alibi?” Samson suggested as he pulled an armchair closer to the table and made himself comfortable.

“Good idea! So, Mr. Olive, where were you at the time of Mrs. Edwards’ murder?”

“I was with Marcus - well, Alfie, at the lounge. We were eating chips and chatting,” Samson began his seemingly well-rehearsed response.

“Which flavor?”

“Sour cream and onions.”

“Ooh, the best!”

“I know! And you can ask Marcus, I’m sure he’ll confirm it. Oh, at one point, Mr. Wordsworth came in looking for Mrs. Edwards. We told him we didn’t know where she was - which we really didn’t. I guess she was at the library with you at the time.”

“Oh, interesting… What did he want with her?”

“He never said. He just rushed back out,” the singer gave a casual shrug, then ran a hand through his hair, letting his raven black bangs fall neatly across his forehead and eyes.

“Hmm, I’m gonna have to keep an eye on him then.”

“I’m sure you will,” Samson’s lips curled into a smirk, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

After scribbling a quick note into her notebook, Tiffany looked back up at him. “So, Mr. Olive… How was it like working for Nick?”

The young man perked up, surprised by the question. “It was good. The job wasn’t too difficult, and the pay was great! And Mr. Fortescue was a very good employer. I can’t say anything bad about him. Though I didn’t really know him that well. I’ve only been working for him for a few months.”

“I see… And how are you getting on with his son? Do you think he’ll keep you on the ranch?”

“Alfie’s great, we get along like a house on fire,” Samson replied confidently. “And yes, I think he’ll definitely keep me around. It’ll be a pleasure working for him.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

“Well, he’s… he’s obviously young, so he’s more modern than his father was, more open minded. You know, that kind of stuff.”

“I guess, if you say so,” Tiffany nodded as she jotted down in her notebook, making notes after every answer Samson gave her. Once she was finally done, she looked up, a radiant smile on her face. “Well, that was fun! I’m gonna enjoy this little detective bit! Now, who do I question next?”

“It’s up to you,” the popstar got up from the chair, straightening his uniform. “By the way, don’t you think you should be searching the crime scene, looking for the murder weapon and all that?”

“Oh, good idea!” Tiffany clapped her hands excitedly. “But Alana was killed with… ketchup? I guess I’m looking for a ketchup bottle then. Let me make a quick dash to the kitchen first!” Without wasting another moment, the girl rushed out of the library, leaving Samson alone as she beelined for the kitchen.

“Whoa, what’s the rush, Tiff?” Rico seemed startled as the starlet burst into the room, her breathing heavy. Eric stood next to him, popping a few peanuts in his mouth. Two cold cans of beer stood on the kitchen island in front of the men. “Not another murder?”

“No, no, I’m just… Investigating,” the girl spared them a quick glance before going straight for the fridge, swinging the door open. She quickly scanned the contents from top to bottom, then checked out the door shelves. Beer, lots of meat, vegetables, eggs, milk cartons, several bottles of water, as well as various condiments and salad dressings. But no ketchup. “Ugh, just my luck!”

“Everything alright?” Eric eyed the girl with curiosity.

“Yeah, just fine. Um… Has either of you seen the ketchup bottle?”

“Nope,” the quarterback shrugged. “If you need some, you’ll have to scrape it off Alana.”

“Gee, thanks for that,” Tiffany scrunched up her face before turning on her heel and rushing out, letting the door slam behind her.

~~

After a soft knock at the door, Clementine entered the library, clutching her large purse in one hand and a teacup in another.

“Come in, come in,” Tiffany gestured for the older woman to sit in the armchair closest to her. “How are you, Miss Green?”

“I was just reading leaves, trying to get some answers,” the older woman gave an exaggerated sigh as she sat down, shaking the dainty cup in her hand.

“And what did they tell you?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. But we will get some answers today,” Clementine replied. “Maybe not the ones we were looking for, but something important will be revealed, that much I know.”

“Ooh, let’s hope you’re right,” Tiffany rubbed her hands in anticipation. “But let’s get started because I’m on the clock! Can you tell me where you were when Mrs. Edwards was killed?”

“Of course, dear. I was in the kitchen, preparing something to eat.”

“Is that so? And what did you have?”

“Um, I was making a sandwich.”

“With what?”

“Some prosciutto, brie, lettuce…” Clementine started listing the ingredients of her mid-day snack.

“No ketchup?”

“No. I was going to put it, but I couldn’t find it. Do you think…?”

“Whoever killed Mrs. Edwards must’ve already taken it out of the fridge,” Tiffany tapped her chin with the end of her pen. “If I believe what you’re saying, of course.”

“I have no reason to lie, child. I promise,” Clementine replied softly, a hand on her chest.

“Ok, if you say so. And was anyone there with you?”

“Well, no. Although, Kelly did come in at one point to get some water, but she only stayed for a minute or so.”

“I see… So, um, do you have anyone you suspect? Anyone that would’ve wanted Nick and Mrs. Edwards dead?” the young woman looked hopeful as she held her pen above the page, ready to write.

“Hmm…” Clementine pursed her lips as she thought about her answer. “I’m not sure what to think of Phoebe. I know she’s my niece, but I don’t know the girl. Neither did Nick, but he wanted to get to know her. I’m also unsure about Father Tabernacle. I know he and my brother had a falling out. You might want to talk to him about it, because I’m not privy to the details, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I sure will! Thank you for that info! And also, you seem pretty close to Reggie?”

“I am, I’ve watched him grow up since he was a baby. He’s a sweet, golden boy. And Nick was like a father to him - especially since Reggie’s own dad… may his soul rest in peace,” the chef closed her eyes, her voice going quiet.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Um, may I ask… what happened to Reggie’s dad?”

“There was a terrible accident at the ranch and he… Oh, I shudder at the thought,” Clementine placed a hand on her chest as she looked down. “Apologies, dear. It’s hard to talk about it.”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” Tiffany bit her cheek as she flipped a page of her notebook, then kept filling it with words.

The next suspect - Marcus - entered the library calm and confident, carrying a cocktail glass in one hand. With Clementine gone, he took her place in the hot seat, greeting Tiffany with a cheeky smile.

“Heey! Great to see you, Marcus… Alfie… both of you!” the young woman smiled back. But as soon as she glanced at the timer on the table, her friendly expression quickly vanished in favor of a more professional facade. “Ooh, but I’ve got to hurry up, babe. No time for chit-chat, I’m afraid.”

“That’s alright, Tiff. I’m here to answer all your questions,” the dancer seemed as relaxed as ever. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we? Anyway, let’s start with an easy one: where were you when Mrs. Edwards was killed?”

“That is an easy one. I was hanging out with Mr. Olive in the lounge.”

“Yeah, he told me that too,” Tiffany confirmed as she started writing. “Which flavor?”

“What?” Marcus frowned in confusion.

“Oh, sorry. Mr. Olive said you were eating chips. Which flavor?”

“Ughh, sour cream and onions,” the dancer grimaced. “There wasn’t any other left.”

“Got it,” the girl nodded, noting the guys’ answers matched. That must mean they were both telling the truth - or they agreed on their story beforehand. Suddenly, her hand froze and she looked up, her frowning gaze fixed on Marcus. “But wait, if you were together, how come you were the first to come to the library when the murder happened? Mr. Olive didn’t show up until later.”

“Uhh, well, I guess we weren’t together the entire time,” Marcus gave a slight shrug. “Mr. Olive left the lounge - I’m not sure where he went, and then the power went out. But he couldn’t have done it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Really? You sound so sure about that.”

“I am, I think Mr. Olive is very… trustworthy. I’ve got to know him quite well and I definitely trust him. He’s actually a sweetheart once you get to know him.”

“Aw, that’s nice! I got that impression too,” Tiffany smiled warmly, forgetting about her role for a moment. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask - if you’re so close to him, how come you call him Mr. Olive? Don’t you know his first name?”

Marcus’ mouth hung open as he tried to come up with a convincing reply. Scratching his chin, he quickly nodded. “Uh, of course I do. His name is… Jim.”

“Jim, got it!” the girl immediately wrote it down, satisfied with the answer. “Ooh, I’ve got another question! Back when we first got our roles, you and Mrs. Edwards seemed to have some bad blood. We all noticed it. What’s that all about?”

“Ah, that. It’s nothing big, really,” the dancer shook his head dismissively. “As my dad’s lawyer, I think she took everything too seriously. She could be a little too controlling, you know? It’s no secret that we didn’t always see eye to eye, but that doesn’t mean I’d ever harm the woman.”

“If you say so,” Tiffany shrugged, noting it down. With every passing moment, she felt herself getting less and less certain about things. Everyone was keeping their cards close to their chest, so how on earth was she supposed to figure this out? Glancing at the clock, she remembered time was running out. She’d have to hurry up if she was to question everyone in time.

“Mr. Wordsworth, just the man I wanted to see,” the girl was all smiles when she saw the basketball player enter the room after Marcus had left. “Tell me, where were you when Mrs. Edwards was killed?”

“Um, I was in the grand hall when the power went out. Yeah, I’d just got out of the kitchen and then bam! It was pitch black. I even stubbed my toe on a fucking chair.”

“Ouch! That’s got to hurt,” Tiffany winced as if she was the one who got injured. “Was anyone in the kitchen or the grand hall?”

“Uhh, the hall was empty, but Mrs. Green was in the kitchen.”

“And what about Miss Turner? She wasn’t with Mrs. Green?”

“No, no. Judy was all alone.”

“Interesting. Did you see anyone else?”

“Yeah, I passed Troy… I mean Reggie. But I have no idea where he was going. And I saw Alfie and Mr. Olive in the lounge,” the athlete explained as Tiffany observed him carefully.

“Right, you went in there to ask for Mrs. Edwards. Why were you looking for her?”

With a sigh, Rico leaned back into the armchair. “Alright, I admit, I wanted to see her. But I just wanted to talk to her. I know she said she had some documents about me, and I wanted to see what they were. But I wasn’t planning on killing her, that’s for sure.”

“If not you, then who? Is there anyone you think could’ve done it?”

“Not sure who could’ve done it, but I think I know who might’ve had a motive,” the man replied, turning around to glance at the door. “Gloria.”

“Miss Thibodeaux?” Tiffany seemed genuinely surprised. She had had several different names going through her head as possible culprits, but Gloria certainly wasn’t one of them. “Why her?”

“Let’s just say being an actress suits her. She’s pretending big time. I know she’s doing the crushed girlfriend act, but I ain’t buying it.”

“Why not? You don’t think she actually loved Nick?”

“Maybe she did,” Rico shrugged. “But things definitely weren’t all rosy with them. I know for a fact they had a big fight after a party last year, but I don’t know what about. Nick never really talked about his personal life with me. Everyone could tell something had happened, though. It was pretty uncomfortable.”

“Great, just what I needed,” Tiffany shook her head as she furiously wrote in her notebook. “Another suspect to add to the list.”

“As long as I’m not at the top of it.”

“If you don’t give me a reason, you won’t be. But you could be on top of me,” the girl smiled sweetly, not saying the last part out loud.

~~

Beneath the watchful gaze of ancestral portraits and shimmering crystal chandeliers, two figures reclined in ornate chairs, making sure to keep their voices to a whisper.

“Do you really think Tiffany’s the killer?” Gloria asked as she kept her eye on the library door. Eric had come in for questioning after Rico had left.

“I’m not sure, but she’s definitely at the top of my list,” Kelly looked deadly serious. “I don’t care what anyone says about whodunit rules or whatever. I just don’t trust her. But then again, I don’t really trust anyone here.”

“Me neither. Whoever it is, they’re doing a good job of pretending.”

“Tell me about it. And I think I’m in the worst position of everyone around here. My character doesn’t know anyone,” the young singer groaned in frustration. “My character sheet has almost no information.”

“That sucks… I think we’re all pretty much just going to be guessing tomorrow, so whoever has the most luck will win.”

“I don’t know. A lot can happen by tomorrow.”

The sound of a door opening caused both women to turn their heads, watching as Eric left the library. As usual, his expression was that of confidence, bordering on smugness.

“Do you wanna go next, or should I?” Kelly asked the actress.

“You go ahead, babe. I need to go to the restroom,” Gloria replied as she got up and made her way across the room. She turned left into a long hallway, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of the mystery everyone wanted to unravel. Pushing the restroom door open with a gentle creek, she froze in her tracks, her eyes widening in disbelief at the sight before her.

Caught in their embrace, Samson and Troy jumped apart, their cheeks flushed with a mix of shock and embarrassment. Still rooted to the spot, Gloria stared at the two men in utter surprise.

“Sorry, boys, am I interrupting something?”