Page 64 of Dead Serious Case 4 Professor Prometheus Plume

“If you say.” Ellis moves on to the person next to him.

It’s the woman we saw in the billiards room last night, only now she’s wearing a fringed flapper dress decorated with silver and black sequined geometric patterns. That short, sharply angled bob is sculpted into deep finger waves against her head, and a headband is wrapped around her forehead. In one hand, she holds a long, thin, old-fashioned cigarette holder and in the other is a half-filled champagne flute. Her lips are painted a murderous crimson.

“This is Miss Ruby Fairfax,” Ellis introduces her. “And then we have Professor Plum.”

“It’s Plume, Professor Prometheus Plume,” the man in the dinner jacket with the receding hairline corrects.

Ellis nods and waves a hand at the next person. “Mrs Arabella Snow.”

It’s the elegant white-haired woman who threw her wine in the face of Professor Plume at dinner last night. Her white hair is caught in a tidy bun at the nape of her neck and she’s wearing a black satin dress draped with a pure white, and what I hope is fake, fur. She glances imperiously at the assembled hodgepodge of guests and lifts her cocktail glass, which is filled with some kind of purple liquid, in a mock toast.

“Mr Sebastian Greyson.”

The man alongside Mrs Snow is the other half of the amorous duo we caught knocking balls around on a billiard table. Like Professor Plume, he’s dressed immaculately in a dinner jacket and bow tie, but in one hand he holds a riding crop, the end of which he touches to his temple in a mock salute to us all before cracking it down on his other hand with a thwack. From the corner of my eye, I see Ruby Fairfax give a little body shudder.

“My, my,” a now familiar voice tuts. “Who’s been a naughty boy?”

I look over to see Roger perched on a table, leaning provocatively on one hip with his legs crossed, his mouth curved in salacious amusement.

Ellis motions to the end of the lineup. “And lastly, we have Mr Meadow.”

I cast my eye over the final character. Like the other two men, Mr Meadow is dressed in a dinner jacket but other than that, there’s nothing remarkable about him. He’s the kind of person to blend into the background and people barely register his presence.

“And there we go,” Ellis announces excitedly. “Now to my left with Rosie, our lovely office assistant, are costumes for tomorrow, so please help yourself. On the table to my right, you’ll find gift bags containing notepads and pens at the ready for you all to record all the clues, motives, and potential red herrings! Tomorrow night, the event will be based all throughout the ground floor of the hotel. One of the characters will be murdered!” Ellis says gleefully. “But none of us will know which one until the fateful moment! All the other characters will be stationed in other areas of the house, so feel free to access the… well, not the kitchen because Aggie might actually murder you if you enter her domain, and the last thing we want is a real body.” He quacks out that cute little laugh of his. “But you can visit the study, the library, the ballroom, the dining room, and the conservatory. Potential murder weapons are hidden in all locations, so it’s up to you super sleuths to figure out who the killer is, why they did it, and what murder weapon was used.”

“Both Ellis and I will be on hand to answer any questions, but we can’t give you any direct help,” Rosie pipes up. “The event will begin at seven in the dining room, where you will all share a meal together, then the murder will occur at nine. After that, you will have two hours to gather your clues, and the killer will be announced at eleven p.m.”

“If you have any more questions, you can come and speak with Rosie and me now. The characters will be circulating around the room, so feel free to talk to them and ask anything you like.”

“Hmm,” Roger hums beside me and I’m startled to find him so close. “Perhaps you should ask Miss Fairfax and Mr Greyson what they were doing in the Jacuzzi.” I glance over at him and he gives me a devilish look before leaning over and whispering in my ear.

My face burns bright red and I’m pretty sure that was something I could have gone my whole life quite happily not knowing.

16

Wrinkling my nose slightly, I give the dark crimson velvet smoking jacket a sizeable squirt of the cologne Chan bought me for Christmas. I’ve paired it with my own black skinny trousers and dark button-down shirt. My hair is just about behaving, sitting in thick waves and curls around my head. I adjust my dark-framed glasses and twist from side to side to check myself out.

Not too bad if I do say so. The jacket might smell like it’s been sitting in mothballs for decades, but it looks good, makes me feel like a Kingsman agent. I grin to myself. Speaking of Taron Egerton look-alikes, I glance toward the bathroom.

“Danny? Are you ready?”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he calls back.

As I continue to study my reflection in the mirror, I see the bedside cabinet begin to slowly inch across the floor.

“Arthur, there’s no point in hiding from me, I know it’s you,” I say firmly. “Put it back.”

There’s a pause and then the piece of furniture is shoved back into place with the hint of a sullen attitude emanating from it. The bathroom door opens and Danny walks out, clad in an old-fashioned dinner suit probably from the fifties. It suits him perfectly. Freshly shaven and with his dark blond hair neatly combed into a side parting, he looks every inch the Hollywood leading man from that time period, right down to the sexy open collar exposing his throat and the bow tie draped around his neck.

“I can’t get the hang of this thing.” He glances down at the tie.

“Come here.” I step in close to him and reach for the silken material, tying it for him expertly.

“Where did you learn to tie bow ties?”

“My dad,” I say softly, feeling a small pang at the memory of him teaching me when I was a kid. “He was a professor for years and very fond of them.”

“Is that why you wear them?”