a killer supper

Okay. Some years back, I took part in one of those murder mystery dinner parties. The ones you did at someone's home before restaurants, whose business was flagging, started doing them in an attempt to forestall bankruptcy.

Here is a brief telling of that event:


So, it was thrown by the girlfriend, at the time, of my best friend. She did not like me very much and most of the people there were her friends that he had already met.

So, I felt a little weird being invited and it was supposed to be a surprise too. She called and asked if I would come. I said I would and we got our characters ahead of time. I think in the mail. The setting was turn of the last century or so and I was a bartender in a saloon/tavern, where the murder took place.

Me being me, I took my part seriously. I read my physical and psychological description several times. I secured a white bar-style apron, a bar towel to sling over my shoulder, a striped shirt with big sleeves, my dad had a pair of sleeve garters for some reason, which I used and I still have, the works.

Sadly, it takes me a very long time to grow significant facial hair. (Probably as I am an immortal of the woodland, it keeps one quite youthful; but that is another tale altogether.) No way I was going to grow enough of a moustache for the role in the time I had.

So, being pre-interweb, I called all kinds of places and drove around to all kinds of locales. In the end, I think I ended up in St. Catherines or Niagara-on-the-Lake; bear in mind this is heading out from Hamilton, not so very far, but certainly not close. I bought a really cool soup-catcher that was close-ish to my hair colour at the time. Hell, I even slicked my hair back as it was longish at the time too.

We all got to the dinner ahead of my friend and he was quite surprised by the reception; especially by my presence as he knew of his gal's dislike for me. Anyway...

At the dinner party we got more of the scenario and the guilty party was informed in their final document package. Only the murderer knew, not even the hostess had an inkling.

There was much back and forth. There were accusations. There was deflection. Shouting. Outright lying. Fingers were pointed in many directions. Yet, other than a couple/few idle comments, no one suspected the true killer. Right to the end.

All but one in the dinner party selected the same person as the murderer, with much assistance from the actual doer of the deed. The lone person, some joker, stood out with their selection. They were so way off in the end, one had to laugh. Some did, including the murderer. The rest? As I stated earlier, were utterly wrong as well.

When the last bit of the documentation was opened stating the who-done-it, all but one were in disbelief. This criminal mastermind had fooled all. Some demanded to read the card revealing the truth for themselves. That is how convincing this blaggard was. To be able to sway all, that it was not themself who was the actual culprit. To hook all but one, that it was a particular individual? Dare I say they were a mastermind? A genius? I dare! And applaud their confidence and audacity.

In fact, the murderer, in true bizzaro-world fashion, turned the tables with one of the earliest known reverse "Scooby-doo ending" admissions of guilt. Yet, there was still much disbelief and many were agog at this adroit assassin's prowess at guile, subterfuge, and outright trickery.

I think some, to this day, still do not believe the declared and official result to be so.

I can certainly say that that supper was a delight. blbbl