Clue

A prompted writing piece I typed up. It's based off the board game Clue or Cluedo, whatever you call it. Enjoy!

I am terribly afraid. I’m a suspect in the mysterious murder of my dear friend Bobby.
All the guests are cooped up in his mansion, all separated in the rooms we were found in. I’m sitting in Bobby’s bedroom and hug one of the many pillows when the door opens and in walks in a man. His stands ramrod straight with a puffed out chest. His presence just oozes authority. “Good day Miss Scarlet. I am Detective Smith. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
I throw the pillow to the side and indicate for him to begin. He nods. “A certain Colonel mentioned that you and Bobby own a racehorse. Is that true?”

“It most certainly is, but so does Mustard.” I sigh and wave a red gloved hand elegantly. “I heard Bobby was failing to pay for the other half of their horse.” I rest my elbows on my thighs and leans forward. I flutter my eyelashes and rest my jaw on my fists. “But do you want to hear the real scoop?” The detective stops pacing and snaps his head towards me with a salt and pepper eyebrow cocked. Satisfied, I smile at his interest. “Here’re my theories; Green murdered Bobby because of his wealth. You see, Green and Bobby have been friends since their childhood, so because of that Bobby put Green down on his will so that most of his money goes straight to him. Green’s real estate business is in the toilet at the moment, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he went to such great lengths to help his business.” Smith hums. “Also,” I lean back on the bed and peer up at Smith through half lidded eyes, “I think maybe Peacock did it.”

“Peacock? But weren’t her and Bobby in a relationship?”

“Oh yes, their romance was notorious amongst our small circle of friends. But, Bobby was terrified of commitment. So he cheated on her. Of course that nosey bee body found out. It’s her fault, she was too clingy.”

“Who did he cheat with?”

I smile mischievously. “Who do you think?” I wink at the detective.

He ignores me, which ticks me off. I pout at the back of his head as he paces again. “Yes, well thank you Miss Scarlet, for your cooperation.”

He reaches for the doorknob. “Wait!” He freezes. “Can you-” I swallow hard, “can you take me to the room Bobby was murdered. I heard you found out the room.”

He pauses for a moment and then, “Follow me.” He opens the door and stalks out. I hop off the bed and shuffle after him. A few police officers follow us as Smith leads me towards the library. We enter and I instinctively rub my shoulders. It feels colder in here somehow. “This is the room.”

I walk through the room. The mammoth book shelves housed hours of enjoyment right against the walls. Bobby’s favorite book lies face down on the floor near the loveseat. I pick it up and peer at the cover. A science-fiction by an unknown author; that kind of mystery always intrigued Bobby. The book is quite a best-seller; I borrowed this very book myself. I flip it open and spot a note on the inside cover I don’t remember being there. It reads, You’ll find the weapon in the kitchen.

I gasp. “Smith! Smith, come see this!”

Detective Smith jogs over and reads the note over my shoulder.  He spins around and faces the police officers by the door. “Men, search the kitchen for any weapons,” he snaps. They scurry out of the room and to the kitchen. Smith gazes down at me. “Good work Miss Scarlet.”

I smile at him. “Maybe I should be a detective.”

“Maybe.” I look back down at the note. The handwriting seems familiar, but I can’t place whose it is.

Not a minute passes before a big brawny officer bursts into the room. “Smith sir, we searched everywhere. We found a series of knives and this.” The man extracts a small pistol from under a white cloth in his large hands.

Smith takes the pistol in his hands and examines it carefully. I watch his every movement with curious eyes. He opens the chamber of the pistol to find it empty. “Tch.” He hands the weapon back to the officer. “This is the murder weapon.” I gasp in surprise and look down at the pistol in aversion. “I know who the culprit is.”

He saunters out of the room. I gather my wits and scamper after him with my heels clicking obnoxiously on the marble floor. Two police officers stand guard outside of the dining room doors. Smith gestures for them to follow him as he pushes open the door and struts inside. “Eleanor Peacock,” he booms. The regal woman’s head snaps up in the detective’s direction. “You are under arrest of the murder of Mr. Bobby,” he announces.

“What?!” The widow’s chair crashes onto the floor as she shoots up from her seat. Smith continues to recite the Miranda rights as the officers seize the woman. “You can’t do this!” she shrieks. “I’m innocent!”

“Sorry Peacock, but you evident gun powder on your sleeve,” states Smith lazily.

“But I didn’t do it I swear!”

I narrow my eyes at the widow. My loathing for her was always evident, but now it grows even more so as I look at the murder of Bobby. “You played Bobby the way you did your last four husbands!”

She draws in a sharp breath. “You just love being the star of the show; the poor widow of her dead or missing husbands,” I mock.

“Now you hold your tongue Miss Scarlet,” she hisses.

“Why should I?! You did it! It’s the truth!”

“I thought it was you in the library!” she yells. My eyes widen in surprise and my breath catches.

“Men, take her away,” thunders Smith. The officers drag a kicking and screaming Eleanor Peacock out of the room and down the hall.

I glance up at Smith. “It looks like you succeeded in another murder mystery.”

He puffs out his chest. “It seems I did Miss Scarlet. It seems I did.”