It's mah mystery *shot*
TOOK FOREVER!
Pleeease read it!

The bright, clear whistle of the 10:00 train let me know I was going to be late. “Excuse me, look out!” I tried to make my way through the throng of people. Men, women, and children all leaped out of my way. I may be short (nineteen years old and 5’ 4”), but I can run faster than anyone I know. I practically lobbed my ticket at the conductor. “Lawliet? As in Lawliet Bank?” I sighed. “Yes, my family runs Lawliet Bank, now please let me board the train!” He stepped aside, looking a bit awed. I am, unfortunately, the daughter of Maria and Edgar Lawliet, worldwide investment bankers and bona-fide millionaires. I’m the black sheep of the family; majoring in Intelligence and Security in college.
Once I was comfortably settled on the train, I pulled a slip of paper from my pocket. “To: Miss Lucy Lawliet. Dear Madam. You are cordially invited to celebrate the 50th birthday of Mr. Henry Boddy on Tuesday, the twenty-fifth of April, two thousand and twelve, at his home in Hartford, Connecticut.” At the bottom of the invitation, there was a phone number and an address. I knew Boddy; he had been an acquaintance of my family for years. So why had I been invited, you ask? Because he needed my help. When I had called the number at the bottom of the card, Boddy answered. When he knew it was I, he sounded both relieved and panicky at the same time. He needed my help, he said. He feared for his life. He claimed that someone wanted him dead, that somebody was following him. I’m not sure if it was paranoia, insanity, or someone actually WAS following him, but I decided to check it out anyway. He had called me because of my college major. He said he couldn’t trust anyone else. So now, I was sitting on a train bound for Hartford, and contemplating what Boddy’s odd attitude meant. If he were insane, it could be very, very bad. Why? Because Henry Boddy had control over the internet.
Back in 1992, 30-year-old Henry Boddy and his colleague, Maxwell Scarlet, had engineered a new version of the internet. Once it took off, it bypassed every other browser available. But all the money went to Boddy’s head. He pushed Scarlet out of the way, claiming all of the riches for himself. Mr. Scarlet died a few years later, a pauper, while Boddy raked in the cash. Maxwell Scarlet’s only surviving family was his daughter, Miss Amelia Scarlet, a socialite. I had noticed her name on the invite list. I was going to have to keep an eye out.
When the train reached Hartford Station, I called a taxi. After a short drive, we arrived at Boddy’s sprawling brownstone mansion. I knocked on the massive door. A tiny old lady opened the door. “Uh, I’m Lucy Lawliet; I’m here for Mr. Boddy’s birthday?” She nods. “Right this way, Miss. I’m Mrs. White, his housekeeper.” Indeed, she was the color of flour from head to toe, and she smelled a bit floury too. She must’ve been in charge of the birthday cake. Mrs. White led me through twisting and turning passageways until we reach a large room containing several people. “Ah, Lucy. Now we’re all here.” Seated in the place of honor, in a massive chair in the middle of the room, was Henry Boddy.
He shook my hand and introduced me to the other guests. “Professor Plum, Colonel Mustard, Mr. Green, Ms. Peacock, and Miss Scarlet.” I nodded politely to each person. “Well, as much as I’d love to stay, I simply must go freshen up before dinner!” I look at Miss Scarlet, the speaker. She was smiling, but her eyes were cold. “Of course!” said Boddy. “In fact, why don’t we all get ready until dinner?” Everyone acquiesced. Mrs. White showed me to my room, then closed the door with a sinister thud.
Looking around my room, I noticed several things. For one, it was massive. It was also windowless, which I found more than a little disconcerting. But the creepiest thing of all was the security camera. That was just disturbing. I unpacked my suitcase and put stuff away in the drawers. Earlier, Mrs. White had told me that dinner was to be at 7. It was 6:15 now. I thought, ‘Heck, I’ll explore the mansion for a bit. I should look for evidence that someone actually is following Boddy.’ Because the guy owned the whole internet, I figured it wasn’t so loony of him to think that someone wanted him dead. Loads of people would happily murder him for his fortune; for he had no heir, nobody to pass his money on to. I wandered the house. It was even bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside. Then, suddenly, a scream split the silence. “Help! Someone, quick!” The screamer was in the lounge. I ran as fast as I could toward the shouts. Opening the door, I found a gruesome scene laid out before me. Mrs. White was standing over a lifeless body. Henry Boddy was dead on the floor.
“What happened?” I inquired, scurrying over to the terrorized housekeeper. “I came in to dust the couches, and, and…” She collapsed onto a couch and began to sob. I patted her on the back a bit, but I didn’t speak. Everyone in the house was now a suspect. Suddenly, someone came barreling into the room. “Mr. Green!” I gasped, for he had scared me out of my skin. “What, what’s happened?!” His bald head was shining from the exertion of running down several flights of stairs. “”Mr. Boddy’s dead.” I said, breathlessly. He made a noise halfway between a sigh and a gasp. “I’ll go tell the others.” I stopped him. “Everyone in this house is now a suspect, including you. Please sit down.” He spluttered. “I am a respectable”- “Sir, if you’ll excuse me, I’m the only person in the house with police training. I have an alibi, but for now, we need everyone to come and present his or her defense. This is a serious murder. He started to sweat more “Yes, quite right, do you know how he was killed?” I walked over to the body and bent down. The only mark on his whole body was a tiny bullet hole, smack-dab in the center of his forehead.
I straightened up. “He was shot.” Mr. Green went as pale as the handkerchief he was wiping his head with. “O-oh.” He too sat down with a thump, causing a large maroon armchair to puff up around him. I thought about Mr. Green. He owned Acme Weapons, a large artillery and arms company. Mr. Boddy had been shot. By a gun. Oho. Well, that put Green at the top of my suspects list.
I had Mrs. White call the police, then round up the guests and take them to the library, where I was waiting. I counted them, to find they were all there. Professor Plum was shaking. Miss Scarlet looked calm and coolly observant. Ms. Peacock was sniffing and wiping her eyes. Colonel Mustard was stroking his mustache thoughtfully. Mr. Green was looking around the room quickly, looking like an anxious pig. Mrs. White was wiping her eyes and sighing. I coughed. “Everyone?” They all looked up. “I’m going to run a short investigation. Someone in this room is the murderer. I intend to find out who.” Colonel Mustard blustered, “Why should a child be running a serious investigation such as this?! I have years of military experience; I should have the deciding role.” I laughed a little. “Well, you’re wrong. I have two years of college Intelligence and Security training. I have the best credentials.” He flushed, taken aback.
“This is going to work like the game of Alibi. I need each person to present a valid excuse. If you can’t, however, you won’t be accused until all alibis are received. Alright?” There were murmured “Yes’s” and nods of the head. “Alright then.” I smiled. “Let us begin.”
“Ms. Peacock.” I said. “What exactly were you doing around 7 PM?” “U-uh” she stuttered, “I was, uh, well…” “Yes?” She sighed. “I was in the Kitchen, putting arsenic on Boddy’s plate, alright?” Everyone gasped. “So you attempted to murder him, but someone else got there first?” I asked. She nodded. “I don’t know who, but it wasn’t me. “Alright then.” I said. “Viable excuse.”
“Professor Plum?” I strolled over to the couch he was sitting on. “Where were you?” He sat up a little. “I was in the ballroom, examining the architecture.” He said happily. “This house displays some beautiful use of pre-Victorian scaffolding and-“ “Uh, thanks Professor, that’s quite enough.” This guy was definitely clean; no murderer could ramble on to high heaven about scaffolding.
I gestured towards Colonel Mustard. “Colonel.” I asked, “What’s your alibi?” He made a grumpy face. “I was in the study,” he huffed, “looking for Boddy’s wallet.” “Thief!” screamed Miss White, “Lying, thieving, dirty scoundrel!” He shook his head. “Boddy owed me loads of cash. The tight-fisted weasel just didn’t wanna pay, so I had to self-serve.” I shook my head ruefully. “Looks like everyone in this house is corrupt.”
I looked at Mrs. White. “And you, Madam?” She sniffed. “I had been tidying the library and had just moved on to the lounge, when I found the body, I walked around her in circles. “What time did you find the body?” She shook her head. “Maybe… ten to seven?” I nodded, but she had just contradicted herself. Dinner was at seven; at ten to seven she should’ve been in the kitchen, in which case she would’ve known about Miss Peacock. Mrs. White was a definite suspect.
Walking over to Mr. Green, I noticed he was shaking, and sweating more than ever. “Mr. Green?” He opened his mouth, closed it, and then blurted out: “I may have provided the weapon, but I didn’t do it!” Everyone in the room gasped. But I had already known this was coming. “I sold a gun to an anonymous buyer two days ago. They said they were going to kill Boddy, and would give me a share in the profit if I sold the gun.” I sighed. “A pack of villains…”
Finally, I turned to Miss Scarlet, who was sitting in her chair calmly, with a politely amused expression on her face. “Before you ask, little girl,” she said, “I was in the ballroom, practicing the flamenco.” I nodded. “How long would you say you were there?” She cocked her head. “Well, until I heard screams. Then I came here.” I turned to Plum, the only truly innocent one so far. “Professor?” I asked gently, “Did you see Miss Scarlet in the ballroom?” He shook his head “No… and I was there up until I was called by the housekeeper.”
“So, Miss Scarlet. Don’t try to lie, because we all now know you were lying about the ballroom. What do you have to say for yourself?” She flushed. “If you must know, I was in the billiard room, examining the billiard balls. They were a hobby of… of my father’s.” I laughed. I had my murderer. “Were you aware, Miss Scarlet, that the billiard room is locked? That only Boddy has the key?” she turned ghostly pale, then flushed the color of a beetroot. “Alright, so I murdered him!” She yelled, prompting Plum, Peacock and Mustard to gasp. “He ruined my father! An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth! He deserved it!” I nodded. “But you didn’t act alone. You had a lookout!” I whipped around and pointed to Mrs. White. “You, Mrs. White, weren’t dusting the library, because at ten to seven you would’ve been setting the table!” She flushed. “Y-yes, I was a lookout. She threatened me!” “Oh, come on, don’t lie!” I sneered. “She offered you more money than you would make in a lifetime spent working for Boddy. He was a tightfisted and greedy man, we all know that!” She nodded and hung her head. “As for Mr. Green,” I laughed, “We all know how he aided this murder.” He sighed. I smiled. So now we had a case closed, and an internet ripe for the picking.
I opened the study door and walked to the desk. Opening the drawer, I found a manila folder marked “WILL,” containing several papers. I picked it up and carried it back to the lounge.
Looking over the will, I found that ownership of Boddy’s company, “InterNetInterActive,” was to be passed to Professor Plum. According to Boddy he was the “Smartest, most reliable man I’ve ever known, fittest of all to take control of all the world’s knowledge.” Plum, needless to say, was chuffed. The rest of the money was to go to charity, and nobody else was mentioned in the will.
After the body was taken away, and the criminals arrested, I decided to return home, instead of staying in a house that echoed of death. The Professor decided to sell it, he said he didn’t want to live in such a big house anyway.
The next day found me again on a train. I sat staring out the window, thinking about Boddy’s final days. His worries about someone wanting him dead weren’t just paranoia; he had indeed been murdered. But his murder only made me think more about how corrupt and cruel the world can be. In this life, nobody is truly good, and no one is ever what they seem.