When I鈥檇 volunteered to attend Discovery Co-op鈥檚 Murder Mystery Dinner I didn鈥檛 know what exactly I was in for.聽
In the split second between hearing my editor say 鈥淐o-op is hosting a murder myste鈥� and my mouth responding 鈥淚鈥檒l go to it,鈥� a few images popped in my head 鈥� mainly plot elements of movies Clue and Gosford Park and what I could remember of a game played in the dark at a childhood friend鈥檚 house for her birthday.
Would I get a part? What if they made me the victim, or worse, the murderer? I didn鈥檛 want to be the murderer.
Also, what about the game I played at my friend鈥檚 house? It had something to do with crayons.
From what I could remember the players would wander around in the dark with their crayons and scrape part of someone鈥檚 coloured-crayon wax under a fingernail until the lights came on and you could see who you murdered鈥攐r, something like that. I haven鈥檛 played it in a while. To be honest I鈥檓 not sure I didn鈥檛 just dream it up.
I was willing to bet Co-op鈥檚 Murder Mystery Dinner wasn鈥檛 going to be anything like a game I may have invented in a dream or played at a birthday party when I was 12.
Plus, I thought, eating in the dark sounded inconvenient. So I was gratified to find out a short time later that my instincts in this case were completely wrong.
As it turned out, I wasn鈥檛 going to be made to play the murderer. The parts of suspects, victim and murderer were all scheduled to be performed by Battlefords Community Players, so it wouldn鈥檛 be necessary for me to brush up on the cockney accent I inexplicably imagined I鈥檇 speak with were I ever involved in a pretend murder investigation.
The dinner was scheduled for 7 p.m. with doors opening at 6:30 p.m. to give everyone time to talk with the performers before dinner was served.
At the entrance to the caf茅 I handed a young Co-op worker my ticket while declining the option to buy a glass of wine to go with dinner 鈥� I needed all cylinders firing perfectly if I was going to crack this case.
I鈥檇 invited my mother and sister to come along, too, and we spotted my aunt and cousin at a table near the middle of the caf茅 and joined them.聽
Within seconds, drinks were being poured and we began to chat excitedly about what to expect. My aunt, who had attended the dinner the previous year, gave us newbies at our table the rundown.
Basically, the actors would be performing a character and we鈥檇 have to talk with them and hopefully pick up on any clues they dropped.
A few minutes after sitting down the actors joined the fold in the caf茅 and began to introduce themselves to the chattering dinner guests.
The first performer to visit our table was Dolores Bradley, who, the table mats at each place setting helpfully noted, is married to Emmett Bradley and whose marriage is rumoured to be rocky.
Now was my chance to shine. Just because I wasn鈥檛 precisely asked to perform a character didn鈥檛 mean I couldn鈥檛 come up with something.
鈥淗ow is your husband?鈥� I asked, playing along and grinning excessively, proud of my presence of mind to strike right to the heart of the matter.
鈥淗e鈥檚 at home, if he knows what鈥檚 good for him,鈥� Mrs. Bradley responded grimly and everyone at the table 鈥渙oh!鈥檇鈥� thinking we were on to something now.
My table mates, who hadn鈥檛 yet read their placemats, complimented my seemingly unnerving ability to assess character.
鈥淗ow鈥檇 you know about her husband?鈥� they asked, somewhat amazed.
I was about to announce I must have a knack, a gift one might say, when someone at the table pointed out the character bios on the mats in front of each of us.
Next up to our table was Yvonne. Sometime over the course of speaking to her we discovered she鈥檚 a 鈥渓ady of the night.鈥� Things were starting to get interesting.
Yvonne鈥檚 associates, Gertrude, Constance and their madam, Myrtle, respectfully stopped by a few minutes later to introduce themselves, too, as well as a few other townspeople.
Myrtle mentioned that she, Gertrude and Yvonne would be moving on soon. In their line of work they didn鈥檛 stay in one place for long.
During one of several visits from the performers who found their way to our table, Gertrude offhandedly mentioned in response to our polite grilling that she wanted to work for herself one day. Ah ha, I thought, a motive.
Constance, who returned for another solo visit a short while later, then informed us both Yvonne and Gertrude are jealous that she鈥檚 more popular with the 鈥減atrons.鈥�
All of us at the table began to find Gertrude looking mighty guilty, notwithstanding the lack of a murder having been committed by that point in the evening. We needed to stay vigilant.
At the 鈥渢own meeting鈥� held on a small stage at the end of the caf茅, North Battleford鈥檚 citizens concerned with the operation of a 鈥渄en of iniquity鈥� in their very town gathered to discuss the matter with an inspector, who had been called in to discern whether the chief of police had ever been a visitor to Myrtle鈥檚 鈥渉ome.鈥�
The inquiry turned quiet and one of Myrtle鈥檚 girls let out a piercing scream. Myrtle fell to the stage. Chief McGregor rushed to her side and, a few beats later, announced to the crowd, full of feeling, 鈥渕y God, she鈥檚 dead!鈥�
The rapt diners gave the performers a hearty applause as Myrtle was lifted onto a stretcher and carried down the aisle and out of the Co-op caf茅. It was time to eat.
Dinner was the caf茅鈥檚 signature roast beef with steamed vegetables, mashed potatoes and yorkshire pudding, with apple crumble for desert. Between bites we discussed theories about the murder that had just taken place. Maybe it was Dolores, I wondered aloud.
鈥淢aybe she was jealous and angry because Emmett was often a client鈥� I said without much conviction in the words. My strategy, which some might consider foolish, was to go for the least likely choice, in the event the organizers were trying to throw me off the scent. No one else shared this strategy. The common guess among my table mates was that one of Myrtle鈥檚 employees was the guilty person. I smiled smugly; I wouldn鈥檛 be fooled so easily.
After dinner was over it was time for the performers to retake their positions on the stage as the town meeting became a trial.
Several townspeople were questioned, including Dolores and her husband Emmett, Chief McGregor, Gertrude, Yvonne and Constance, among others.
Then it was the audience鈥檚 turn. We were asked to fill out a small handout asking us who killed Myrtle and whether Chief McGregor was guilty of patronizing the 鈥渉ouse of ill repute.鈥�
We discussed quickly among ourselves. A verdict hadn鈥檛 yet been reached as to whether Chief McGregor was guilty of improper conduct at Myrtle鈥檚. Could he have tried to silence Myrtle鈥檚 testimony by poisoning her?
Or maybe Gertrude really was ready to head out on her own and be her own boss. What about Yvonne? Sometimes it鈥檚 the one you least suspect. And then there was Constance. Did she have a motive we missed?
We had just a few minutes to come to our final verdict so I hastily wrote down Mrs. Bradley. I was serious about my nonsensical strategy. Plus, I thought, it would be all the more satisfying to win if I turned out to be the only person silly enough to pick the person with the weakest motive.
The papers were collected and the trial reconvened. The soft-spoken Chief McGregor, with a sudden burst of energy, began to loudly and sternly interrogate his fellow suspects.
Both Yvonne and Gertrude were loyal to Myrtle, but there was one person in particular who didn鈥檛 want to see them go: Constance; she wasn鈥檛 part of Myrtle鈥檚 plans to leave North Battleford and she couldn鈥檛 stand it.
During her passionate confession, Constance shared more of her story and filled in the missing pieces.
She鈥檇 worked at the grocery store before Myrtle convinced her to work for her at her brothel and now "she was going to leave North Battleford without (her)?" she asked incredulously.
The tables of enthralled diners stared in awe as Constance was arrested and taken away, which signalled the end of the show. The diners gave a big round of applause to all the performers who helped make the evening entertaining.
Even though I, or anyone else in my group, didn鈥檛 solve the murder, we can all rest easy knowing, at least when it comes to Co-op鈥檚 Murder Mystery Dinner, justice always prevails.
