Genre: Mystery
Location: A country club
Item: A trampoline
Inspector Clue scrutinised the collection of people sitting before him. Professor Damson slouched in his seat, mauve suit crumpled, tie loose around his neck. He absentmindedly swirled an untouched glass of port, staring unseeingly at where the corpse had lain on the lawn.
Despite being sat in a plastic garden chair, Colonel Dijon lounged comfortably. He wore, as always, full military staff uniform, unfazed by the midday sun. Gazing lazily around the garden, an arrogant half-smile rested within his well-groomed goatee.
Miss Pimpernel reclined luxuriously, taking a drag from her cigarette. Editor at Femme Fatale Weekly, she belonged on a page from her magazine. Dark hair fell elegantly down her back, and she wore a low-cut red dress. She breathed out the smoke, and it drifted languidly upwards.
Slumped in his chair was Reverend Chartreuse. Green jacket resting upon the back of his seat, dark patches showed under his armpits as he struggled with the heat. His round face was pale and queasy. He stared unhappily at the half-empty glass in his hand.
Stiff-backed, head held high, not a single crease was visible on Mrs Pheasant’s cyan suit. Her hair was contained in a low ponytail, any stray greys lost in a sea of brilliant blonde. The wrinkles around her eyes could be called laughter lines, if not for the fact that she never laughed.
Finally, Mrs Alabaster wore a simple blouse and skirt, hands resting in her lap. Thin white hair was pulled into a bun. She wore her wrinkles proudly, proof of a lifetime of experience. Her eyes rested on the inspector, waiting patiently for him to begin.
Clue got to his feet, and those not already watching him looked up. “You all know why you’re here. Dr Joseph Jet rented this country club for the weekend, bringing you together to celebrate the life of his father, Jeremiah. Yesterday, he was found dead. I suspect foul play.” He paused, expecting an outcry. They continued to watch him. “Each of you had a reason to want him dead.” This garnered a greater reaction, each suspect slyly sliding each other suspicious glances.
“Professor Damson,” he said, turning to face him. “You were once a colleague of our late doctor’s late father. Although Jeremiah moved on, he was generous enough to continue funding your experiments. You were upset by his unfortunate demise, but you were perhaps even more upset when Joseph informed you that you would no longer be funded by the Jet family.”
“Colonel Dijon,” continued Clue. “You’ve been a lifelong friend of the family. After Jeremiah’s death you took the time to visit his son and comfort him in his time of need. But when you arrived you found Joseph to be drunk and belligerent. The moment your back was turned he stole your Bentley and crashed it before even reaching the end of the road. This classic car, your pride and joy, destroyed at his hands.”
“And how about you Miss Pimpernel? One would think that you would be distraught at the death of your fiancé. Yet you have not let a single tear run down your cheek. Had you come to hate the love of your life upon discovering his affair?”
“Reverend Chartreuse, it was only with the help of your dear friend Jeremiah that you managed to defeat your alcoholism. I’m sure his passing away must be difficult. Yet he is not the only friend you recently lost. Patch, your canine companion, died only last week, after an unfortunate accident involving a Bentley.”
“You never liked your nephew, did you Mrs Pheasant? He took after his mother, the evil woman who stole your baby brother away from you. When Jeremiah died you found out that you had been cut off from the family fortune and it was all going to Joseph. Did that prove too much for you to bear?”
“And finally, Mrs Alabaster. You worked for Jeremiah for many years. A kind employer, he always treated you well. I understand his son was less kind, and you were often subject to racist abuse. You were pleasantly surprised when Jeremiah included you in his will, and understandably angry when Joseph found a legal loophole to have you removed.”
“You all have a motive. Instead we must look at the method. Having briefly examined the body, I can confidently say that the weapon used to kill Dr Jet was this trampoline.” He gestured at the apparatus on the lawn behind him. “Someone maliciously double-bounced him into that neighbouring tree, with intent to kill.”
“Several suspects can therefore be ruled out. Professor Damson, of course, is paralysed from the waist down, and unable to leave his wheelchair. Similarly, Mrs Alabaster requires the use of a walking stick, and so I suspect her unlikely to frequent trampolines. Colonel Dijon has an intense phobia of trampolines, making them an unsuitable first choice of weapon. And at the time of the incident Reverend Chartreuse was quite drunk, requiring both Mrs Pheasant and Miss Pimpernel to assist him to his room.”
“In fact, none of you committed this heinous crime. I say instead, the butler did it!” Several of the others gasped, and they turned to face the man who had patiently been stood off to the side with a pitcher of water, ready to assist any who needed hydrating under the hot sun.
“William here is an amateur trampolinist. He’s even won several competitions. This very weekend in fact, he was intending on attending an international event. The prize money would have been enough for him to leave his job and pursue trampolining full time. But alas, Joseph forced him to come here, threatening to dock his pay otherwise. William Wigglesworth, I hereby charge you with the murder of Joseph Jet.” His monologue complete, Clue smiled smugly to himself.
“Inspector, I have just one question,” said Mrs Alabaster. “If you knew the killer all along, why didn’t you just say so?”
“Oh, this was much more fun, don’t you think?”
