Page 63 of Dead Serious Case 4 Professor Prometheus Plume
“He’s a retired GP,” Ellis carries on. “Mr Pennington is over in the corner, he’s the one looking a bit grim. He’s a writer and he’s not very happy right now.Writer’s block.” He whispers the last words. “And here,” he says, beaming, as we’re approached by two little old ladies, “are Martha and Essie. Ladies, this is Danny and Tristan. Danny is a detective with Scotland Yard,” he tells them, much to their delight. “And Tristan.” He tilts his head as he studies me. “What is it you do? Do you work at Scotland Yard too?”
“Actually, I’m a forensic pathologist,” I say.
“My goodness!” One of the ladies responds with a thick Geordie accent. “That’s wonderful! Oh, you both definitely need to be on our team.”
“Are we having teams?” I ask.
“Oh, good. Rosie has just arrived with the costumes.” Ellis claps his hands.
“Costumes?” I repeat.
Ellis nods. “Yes, we thought it would be nice for everyone who didn’t bring a costume with them to have one for tomorrow night. We found them in the attic—you wouldn’t believe what a treasure trove it is up there. Anyway, feel free to have a rummage, they do smell a little like mothballs but they’re true vintage. All we ask is that you don’t get anything on them and you hand them back in at the end of the weekend. That way we can re-use them next year if this is a success and starts a yearly tradition.” He holds up both hands and crosses his fingers. “I’ll just go help Rosie get set up. I’ll leave you all to get to know each other.”
He heads across the room toward his colleague, who is dragging in a rack of clothes and an old brown leather suitcase.
“Such a sweet boy,” either Martha or Essie coo.
I’m not sure which is which yet. They appear to be identical twins and are somewhere in their late seventies, just like I sort of remember Ellis saying. They’re both small and dainty with short, tightly curled grey hair. Both are wearing matching dresses and cardigans, but one’s outfit is a pale lemon colour while the other’s is a darker cerise. Hanging from their necks are identical tortoiseshell reading glasses on thin golden chains.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Danny says politely, offering each of them his hand to shake.
“What a lovely young man,” the one in yellow replies, smiling. “I’m Essie, this is my sister, Martha.”
Okay, now I know which is which, I’m pretty sure I should be able to tell them apart even if they change clothes, and I mentally catalogue the minute differences between them that most people wouldn’t notice. I guess it’s handy being a pathologist.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I echo Danny’s words. “Ellis says you’re Agatha Christie fans?”
“Oh, we are.” Martha nods. “We love a good murder mystery. We tour the UK a few times a year to take part in these events. In fact, we’ve formed our very own whodunnit society. Of course, we only have two members so far, but we’re hoping to encourage more people to join. Here, we even have pins. We’re selling them to raise money for a trip on the Orient Express.”
She rifles around in the huge handbag hanging from her bony wrist and produces two little badges, each about the size of a fifty-pence piece. I’m pretty sure they’d have to sell a lot of these to fund a trip on the Orient Express.
She hands one to me and one to Danny and as I look down at it, I have to bite my lip to stop myself from snorting out loud when I read the words printed on it.
I support T.I.T.
I look up and school my features, not daring to risk a look at Danny because I know I’ll laugh.
“Um, that’s an interesting name. What is your society called?” I ask politely.
“It’s the Tyneside Investigative Taskforce,” Essie says proudly.
“I told her it’s too much,” Martha huffs. “It makes us sound like we should be busting drug lords or something. It needs to be more in keeping with the elegance of a murder mystery, not sounding like we belong onMiami Vice.”
“I don’t believe they have a Tyneside in Miami.” Essie rolls her eyes. “And besides, you got to choose the colour of the stationary, I get to choose the name.”
I’m dying inside. I can’t believe they’re more concerned about sounding like a narcotics department than the fact their acronym spells out tit.
“Everyone, if I could please have your attention,” Ellis calls out, and we all turn our attention to him. “First of all, I’d like to officially welcome you all to the First Annual Murder Mystery Weekend at The Ashton-Drake Manor House Hotel,” He lifts his fists and gives a happy little shake. “Yay!”
“Here here!” Dr Walsh raises his now full drink in a toast and then drains the glass.
“Let me introduce you all to the characters!”
There’s a smattering of polite applause as the actors, who all appear to be in costume, rise from a nearby table and line up to the side of Ellis.
“This is Major Dick.” He points to the man with a neat beard wearing an officer’s uniform.
“Richard,” he hisses under his breath to Ellis. “How many times must I tell you, it’s Major Richard.”