Nice Weekend for a Murder

We sat, Jenny in the middle.

“Have you ever been to Mystery Weekend at Mohonk before?” I asked them.

Frank nodded, but Jenny lit up, all smiles and enthusiasm.

“Oh yes, and it’s great!” Jenny said, like the captain of the Mohonk cheerleaders. Then she forced herself to calm down: “At least I think it’s great. Frank isn’t a puzzle freak like I am — though he figured last year’s out, darn him.”

“Your team was one of the winners?”

“Yes,” she said. “Funny thing is, we were going all out to win ‘most creative,’ and thanks to Frank, here, we won for accuracy!”

“Attaboy, Frank,” I said. “What are you going after this year?”

“Whatever we can get, Mr. Mallory,” Frank said, smiling, proving he could speak.

“Make it Mal,” I said. “And I was just wondering if you’d brought any theatrical gear along.”

She shrugged. “A little. Some makeup and such. It’d be nice to bring more — all sorts of props and stuff. It’d really help score points in the ‘most creative’ category. But it’s hard to know what to bring, since we don’t know what the mystery’s going to be till we get here.”

“I want to ask you something,” I said. “And I promise if you’ll be truthful, you won’t get into any trouble.”

Jenny narrowed her eyes, leaned her head forward. “Trouble?”

“I would greatly appreciate it if you’d put my mind to rest and admit to what you did last night.”

Frank grinned. “Is that really necessary? We are married, you know.”

“I’m not kidding around,” I said. “Was it you?”

Jenny was shaking her head. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Mal.”

“You heard me being questioned about ‘Sloth’ being killed outside my window, last night.”

“Yes...”

“Well, something did happen outside my window last night.”

“We know,” Jenny said, shrugging again.

“You know?”

“Everybody’s talking about it,” she said. “It’s part of the weekend, right? Something Curt Clark staged to get things off with a bang?”

I sighed. “If Curt staged it,” I said, “he’s keeping me in the dark. He says it’s a prank pulled by one of the teams.”

“Oh!” Jenny said. “I get it. You thought we might have been the ones behind it... but we weren’t. I swear.”

“Don’t kid around with me, please.”

Frank said, “We’re not. Are you sure this isn’t Clark’s doing? Part of his weekend?”

“I was very upset last night,” I said, “and we’re good friends, Curt and I. He has a nasty sense of humor, granted. But he would’ve told me.”

Ever suspicious, like any true Mystery Weekender, Jenny said, “Where was he when the prank was pulled?”

“He was in his room,” I said. “I’d spoken to him on the phone, moments before. He just didn’t have time to get outside, even if he climbed out a window. Besides, the ‘killer’ was a short, stocky person; and of course Curt’s lanky and tall.”

“You’re telling us,” she said, surprised, “that this isn’t part of the mystery.”

“That’s right,” I said. “When somebody brought it up during the interrogation, I tried to deflect it, but I only helped things to get more out of hand.”

“So we know something the other teams don’t,” she said, with a smug, squeezed smile.

“Yes,” I said. “Though I wouldn’t mind it spreading to the other teams.”

“No way,” she said, with a wave of finality. “Let ’em do their own investigating.”

Brother.

“I’d like to ask a favor of you,” I said.

She shrugged. “Sure. As long as it doesn’t help out some other team.”

“Well, it does involve the other teams: do you know if any of them have theatrical pros on them?”

“A few that I know of do,” Jenny nodded. “I could ask around a bit. See if anybody wants to pool props and makeup. You’d like to know if any of the other teams staged that ‘murder,’ I take it?”

“That’s right,” I said.

“What’s in it for us?” she said, with an evil little smile. “Will you tell us whether or not you’re the killer?”

“No,” I said. “But I will do this for you: I won’t tell any other game-players that the prank isn’t a part of Curt’s mystery. That’ll give your team one up on everybody else.”

“Deal,” she said, and we shook hands.

They got up and wandered off, Jenny glancing back and reminding me that if I didn’t keep my end of the bargain, I’d have to talk to her lawyer; and Jill sat down.

“Who was the dish you were talking to?” she said.

“Don’t pinch me again, please, I think I’d cry.”

“I meant the guy,” she said.

I smiled and shook my head and filled her in. “How were the other interrogation sessions?”

“Interesting,” she said, her tan face impassive. “I don’t have any insights into your fellow suspects, though, I’m afraid. Nobody seemed particularly nervous, including Janis Flint. But one funny thing... did you know that what happened outside our window last night is getting itself worked into the weekend mystery?”