It was a dark and stormy night. Sure, that was the cliched kind of way for the night to be, but that's just how it was, okay?So anyway.
It was a dark and stormy night. Rain lashed down against the Massachusetts Academy, pelting with vengeance and furious anger against the venerable old building! Lightning flashed, then flashed again, followed closely by thunder! KRR-KK-OWWWW!!
And a lone shriek stained the darkness....
the case of the murdered marty sue
A Mystery Story
It was a wet morning like any other at the MassAc. While most of the student body was still wrenching themselves from the covers, Paige Guthrie was jogging perkily along the grounds, breathing in the wet-leaf smell of autumn and enjoying the physical activity. She was sort of a keener that way. But hey, it landed her a boyfriend, so who cared?
Paige smiled radiantly, dazzling a chipmunk in a nearby tree so much that it fell off its branch and concussed itself. Nobody likes chipmunks, though, so that's okay.
Her new amazing rich wonderful sensitive blackmailing blond smart boyfriend, Tristan, was the best thing that had ever happened to her. He promised her a life beyond all this; he promised to elevate her socially above the status of corn-fed corn-pone; he promised he'd still respect her in the morning.
As she jogged past the old woodshed (where, oddly enough, they kept wood), Paige catalogued all the reasons that being with Tristan was better than being with *sigh* Jono.
1) Kissing did not involve major reconstructive work to the dorms
2) Strolling about the grounds was far more healthy than being cooped up in that mouldy basement
3) Violin recitals instead of poorly-plucked-out songs by The Verve
4) Tristan? The name of an Arthurian hero in a tale of true love. Jonothon? The name of a dead mouse from "The Secret of NIMH."
5) Guaranteed blonde childrenOf course, Jono was really hot and had a wicked sense of humor, whereas Tristan on his most giddy days was akin to a Bob Saget Comedy Marathon.
But one had to make sacrifices in order to move ahead in this world.
Flicking blonde hairs out of her eyes (this new short hair might be chic as all heck, but it sure couldn't tie back worth a pig's damn), Paige was about to head into the main building for a morning drink of wheatgrass juice and double-malt whiskey when something ominous caught her eye.
A pocket square, lying on the grass just a ways from the door to the woodshed. A pocket square of the finest Irish linen, embroidered with the initials "T.B."
"Ohmigawsh!" Paige breathed, filled with a lurching sense of dread that elevated her already thumping heartrate. This was horrible. She'd never noticed that Tristan's initials stood for "tuberculosis."
And on top of that, he might be hurt!
Dropping her hand-held sixty-two pound weights, Paige sprinted over to the woodshed, her terror increasing with each step. Here was Tristan's gold engraved Sheffield pen! And his brand-new Sulka tie! Heavens, his copy of "Lolita"!
Pushing the door open, Paige caught her breath at the hideous sight that greeted her, feeling the world dip and spin.
Tristan Brawn was sitting propped up on a pile of corded wood, dressed in a silvery, butter-soft silk negligee and a frightening pink peignoir. His blond hair was tied into a dozen little pigtails; his purple tongue protruded from a mouth drawn in frosty pale pink lipgloss. Definitely not his color, Paige noted through her despair. He should have gone with a more matte shade.
The rest of Tristan's school uniform was folded and placed neatly on a pile of wood next to his body, where curious little pillbugs were making a thorough examination of them. He was, however, still wearing his socks and lace-up Allen Edmunds. They were very nice shoes. She had always liked his taste in footwear.
Paige went slowly over to the body and moved aside the pink feathers of the marabou to check for a pulse in Tristan's neck. It was really the only way she could think of to figure out whether he was dead or not, because she'd never heard a heartbeat in his chest and his conversation honestly left people wondering whether they'd even talked to him.
She felt nothing.
Gathering what was left of her breath, Paige let out an ear-splitting scream.
. .. ... .. . The fire crackled with vigor in the fireplace of the common room, where a small bunch of mutants was assembled.
"Now, lads and lassies," Sean said seriously, removing his pipe from his mouth and rocking back and forth on his slippered feet, "it seems we've got a wee bit've a situation here —"
"Someone has killed Tristan Brawn," Emma announced, looking impatient. "Who did it? Confess now!"
Sean was slightly annoyed, since he had been enjoying his "Lord o' the Manor" routine, good Irish fire and pipe and slippers and magnanimous tone and all. But he let it go because Emma was showing a great deal of pale creamy skin over the lace edging of her nightgown and Lord knew Sean had a weakness for pale creamy skin.
Jubilee scratched her belly, yawning. "Hey, howcum it's just us muties here? What about all the other kids who go to this school now?"
Emma waved her hand dismissively. "They'd never do it," she said. "They know that if one of them got killed, it would be open season. No, it's one of you kids, and we demand to know who!"
"Me," Angelo mumbled.
"You?!?" Sean repeated, shocked.
"No, not really. But I wanna go back to bed."
"We hafta find the person who did this eeeevil thing!" Paige sobbed, collapsing to a sitting position in front of the fire. "Ah need ta know who killed mah boy-friend!!"
The other kids and Emma looked politely bored, while Sean hemmed and hawed. Finally, with a sigh, Everett broke free from the gaggle and went over to put his arms around Paige.
"Don't worry, Paigey. I'll figure it out for you."
She lifted her head and wiped tears from her eyes, noticing what a handsome robe Everett had on. "No offense, Ev — but whut exac'ly can ya do? It ain't as if ya been one'a the more popular characters 'round here...you hardly even talk!"
Trying not to look offended and trying even harder not to smack Paige upside the head, screaming "Get over yourself!", Everett forced a smile. "Ah, but I grew up watching reruns of "The Avengers", I read a ton of Sherlock Holmes books, and I saw "Young Sherlock Holmes" twice. And I kick ass at Clue!"
The others all looked impressed, and Paige seemed won over as well.
Monet extricated herself from the crowd and joined Everett. "Mister Steed," she said to him with dignity, "shall we begin investigations?"
Grinning, Everett stood up, straigtening his robe. "Certainly, Mrs. Peel," he replied, tilting his head.
Jono groaned. Sean smiled indulgently. Emma went back to her room. Paige sniffled hopefully. Jubilee and Angelo, having no idea as to who the Avengers were (short of Hawkeye, Crystal, et al), declared a need for breakfast.
"And we," Everett announced, "are going to go look for clues on the body."
"That's verra responsible of ye, lad," Sean murmured approvingly. "See yeh don't pick up any diseases or the sort from it."
. .. ... .. . They reassembled later that evening in the common room, with the fire curiously at the same intensity as it had been that morning. Closer inspection proved that it was in fact a gas log, and Sean was severely humiliated at the discovery.
A large upholstered wing-chair was dragged in front of the fire, and Paige (who had dressed herself in widow's weeds, complete with gloves, a hat, and a black spotted veil) seated herself on it, sniffling and dabbing her eyes carefully to avoid disturbing her eyeliner.
Everett and Monet stood flanking her chair, hands behind their backs, faces composed and only the tiniest bit smug.
"We know who killed Tristan," Everett announced.
"But we'd like to make an entire story out of it, with pertinent dramatic pauses and painstaking recounts of false leads and suspect eliminations, before we actually say who did it," added Monet.
"Well, get to it, then," Emma snapped. "Frasier" was on in a few minutes and it looked like she might actually get to see Maris in this one, so she was understandably impatient.
"First of all," Everett began, "we figured out how Tristan was killed."
"It was poison," Monet supplied. "I sniffed his lips --"
"Eeeeeiw!" Jubilee squealed. "That is rank, M! Uck-a-DOO!!"
"-- and identified the substance as Orbitz." Blank, unholy silence met this last declaration. Finally, Sean cleared his throat and asked.
"Monet, lass, what's 'Orbitz'?"
"A carbonated beverage, consisting of flavoured water in which small flavoured globules of gelatin are suspended. Orbitz."
"Holy sheez," Angelo breathed. "I remember that crap now! I tried one once and threw up after the first sip!"
Monet nodded calmly. "I'm surprised to find you so enlightened, Angelo, since you were the one who forced him to drink it!"
A chorus of gasps resounded as all eyes turned to Angelo, who looked, in turns, frightened, shifty, and defiant. "You'll never prove it!" he yelled triumphantly.
"Au contraire," Monet said smoothly. "There are fingernail markings at the back of Tristan's throat, which indicates that his mouth was held open for the Orbitz to be poured in. And the only person who could do that with ease, I'm afraid, is you."
"Ayn-geh-loh!" Paige wailed. "How couldja?!?"
"All right, we know who murdered Tristan," Emma interjected. "Let's kill him and have done with it."
"Ah, but he wasn't working alone!" Everett declared. "The Orbitz alone wouldn't have killed Tristan. It was the strangling that helped put him over the edge!"
::I might's well own up, then,:: Jono sighed. ::Y'got my number on that one, Ev. I strangled the lil' git wanker.::
"But whyyyyyy?" Paige moaned.
Jonothon shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. ::Why not? Stupid poofter...but he did have some right sharp ties, I'll tell yez that.::
Everett held up the black Sulka tie. "This is what Jono used to strangle Tristan, who was still halfway choking on the Orbitz. He probably tried to steal it, too."
::Oi, I need sommat nice t'wear on special occasions, like! Black leather bandages aren't spiff enough!:: Jono said defensively.
"But why was he dressed up the way he was?" Pagie sobbed. "He looked like a contestant for the Cowpie-Flingin' Rodeo Queen!"
"It was that final humiliation of wearing all that junk that made Tristan release his last tenuous hold on life," Everett told her. "We've confronted the owners of the clothes, and confirmed that the silver nightie was Miss Frost's, the bubblegum lipgloss was Jubes', and...we're not sure about the pink peignoir." Here Everett cast a glance at Sean, whose eyes flicked about nervously.
"Miss Frost, too?!?" Paige hollered, wringing her hands. "Ya all were in on this?!?"
"Everett and I were not," Monet pointed out, looking hurt.
"Yeah!" Everett was offended as well. He whapped Jono with his notepad. "You guys could've invited us along, y'know! Maybe we would've liked to be involved!"
::Sorry, mate,:: Jono was contrite. ::It was sort've spur-of-the-moment.::
"Well, I'm very proud of you children, you did a splendid job and demonstrated some really keen detective work here. Good job." Emma stalked off into her room, intent on seeing Mrs. Niles Crane if it was the last thing she did.
"Mah boy-friend's DEADDDDD!!" Paige yowled. "How can ah —"
She suddenly cut herself off, sat up straighter in her chair, and took off the veiled hat. "Whu — what's going on? Why're you all standing around here? And what —" her blue eyes grew wide. "What happened to my HAIR?!"
"The eeeevil Tristan has, in death, released his grip on Hayseed!" Jubilee cackled. "Yayyyyy!!"
::All's well that ends well, like.::
"Nice to have you back, chiquita! Don't worry, it'll grow."
The kids gathered Paige up and swept her into the kitchen for a mass feeding on cocoa and Rice Krispie treats. Sean watched them go, puffing on his pipe.
What Monet hadn't been able to tell, and what Everett hadn't figured out, was that Tristan Brawn's synapses had been short-circuited by a concentrated high-frequency shriek that frizzled that last bit of life from him.
Smiling, Sean tucked the Irish linen pocket square into his smoking jacket, resolving to pick the embroidery out at the first possible opportunity.