Serious Moonlight(51)

“Good evening, everyone,” he said, stopping the conversations. “I’m Mr. Boddy, owner of this elegant and very fine mansion. I invited you all here tonight.” After a burst of applause and cheers, Mr. Boddy proceeded to tell us that we all had something in common, and could we figure out what that was? Colonel Mustard’s wife, who was a little tipsy, shouted, “Blackmail!”

This clearly irritated the actor playing Mr. Boddy, who broke character for a few seconds. He then proceeded to give a dramatic speech about how we were all ruthless people with dark secrets—and look! He had some gifts befitting our dank, despicable souls. He withdrew stacks of boxes from the shopping bags, and after he exited the room to more applause, proclaiming, “I’ll see all of you villains at dinner!” each couple chose a box. Daniel shook ours before opening it. It was our murder weapon; we got the candlestick.

While everyone was still buzzing about the prop weapons, the butler returned to herd us across the foyer into a dining room. Under another glittering chandelier, a long table was set with china and silver and fresh flowers. “Everyone, find your place cards,” Mr. Wadsworth instructed. “And before you’re seated, please place your weapons on the tables lining the walls.”

We followed instructions and found our places at the table, which happened to be across from the only other teen couple—the Peacocks. They smiled at us, but I caught them staring at Daniel and whispering, and that made me uncomfortable.

After a salad was served, Mr. Wadsworth encouraged each couple to open their envelopes without showing the contents to others. Ours contained: a “detective notebook” to check off clues; brief motives for our characters (Mr. Boddy was blackmailing us because we’d smuggled artifacts from South America, and we’d lose our university teaching jobs if anyone found out); and a single white card that read innocent.

“I’m almost disappointed,” Daniel whispered. “That Mr. Boddy is sort of a dick, and I was hoping to off him tonight.”

“Why did we smuggle artifacts? Wouldn’t we be more concerned about going to jail than losing our jobs? This motive is incomplete.”

“We probably needed the money from selling black-market artifacts to raise money for our sick child’s surgery.”

“We have a kid?”

“We have ten. Little Timmy may never walk again.”

“He’s not the only one,” I mumbled. “Ten kids? Good grief.”

“You couldn’t stay away from me. I tried to resist, but the smell of chalk dust and blackboards excited you, so we were constantly having sex in the classroom where we taught.”

“Well, that was enough to get us fired, right there.”

“It wasn’t in front of the students,” Daniel said, feigning disgust. “God, Nora. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Dinner was a jumble of dishes and animated conversations. An anticipatory revelry crackled in the air. Everyone seemed happy—some more than others, depending on how hard they’d hit the cash bar. The only thing casting a pall over the otherwise cheerful table was the teen couple, who were continuing to make me nervous with all their staring. Finally, when dessert was served, the boy spoke up.

“Hey,” he said to Daniel, signaling him with his hand. Both had to lean in to hear over the laughter and chatting surrounding us. “Did you go to Garfield?”

“Yeah,” Daniel said, shifting a vase of flowers to see the boy better. “I graduated last year.”

“I thought so. We’re seniors,” he said, referring to his partner. “We thought you looked . . . familiar.”

The girl blinked rapidly and said, “You’re not that kid who—”

“Shh,” the boy scolded, bumping her. And then it sounded like he said, “Don’t ask that here.”

“Never mind,” she mumbled to Daniel.

A tension grew in the silence that hung over the table. Maybe they were talking about his failed stunt with the Houdini water torture cell? Surely that wasn’t what was causing all this weirdness. Then I remembered what Daniel said during Truth or Lie: I did a stupid thing.

What did he do?

Daniel was staring at his silverware. It crossed my mind that maybe he hadn’t heard them; the table was loud, and perhaps his good ear hadn’t picked up on their muttering. But then he volunteered, “I know what you’re talking about, and yeah, that was me.”

The boy looked away. The girl fidgeted with her hands in her lap and then said, “I’m sorry. That was rude. I was just curious. I didn’t mean to . . .”

“It’s fine,” Daniel said.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Really,” he insisted. “It’s cool.”

“That’s good,” the boy said. “Sorry again.”

Daniel shook his head dismissively, and when he glanced at me, his look was awkward and self-conscious. And then he turned back to examining the silverware, distant and lost. I’d never seen him look that way. Now I was both dying to know what the couple had been talking about and wishing they’d never said anything, because the good cheer between me and Daniel was suddenly sucked away, and all the raucous laughter around us rang hollow.

Without thinking, I reached under the white linen tablecloth and put my hand on Daniel’s. He looked up from the table, and the hard lines on his face softened.