We drove up to the house at eight o'clock. Intimidating - that was my first impression of it. It seems odd to describe a house as intimidating but that's the feeling I got. I felt as if it were waiting to judge me, so I had better not misstep. The house reminded me of one that I had seen in a creepy horror movie. It was big and had an old-fashioned, eerie flair about it. Anyway, those were just my feelings; the house did not seem to leave much of an impression on my companion.

Jeremy and I walked up the front steps and he rang the bell. (Funny, I had expected a huge lion’s head door knocker instead of a doorbell.) We were attending a murder mystery party at his boss's home. A tall middle-aged woman dressed in a long, red, ruffled evening gown answered the door promptly. (To my chagrin, the attire for the party was formal.)

The lady greeted us pleasantly and led us down the hall, into the drawing room where the rest of the party was already assembled. I looked around awkwardly and felt somewhat out of place. The party had divided itself into two small groups. I stood with Jeremy, cornered off with our group of eight people, or characters, if you will.

"Who are these people again?" I turned to Jeremy and whispered.

He began to point them out to me. "The important-looking man sitting in the leather armchair is Charles Ingram, the CEO of Marcack Industries. The woman who answered the door is his wife, Dara. The young Italian woman with the long black hair and bright red lipstick is Marcelina, and the middle-aged man staring at her is her husband, Giles Sherman. Then there is the young accountant, Philip Marcack, heir to the throne – his father owns the company. I suppose that woman is his date – his girlfriend Gina."

I nodded as I looked at each of them in turn. It was an interesting group. They seemed kind enough - except for Marcelina, who looked extremely bored and irritated.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Ingram commanded our attention. "I am glad that you were all able to come," she began, with a smile. "I trust you all understood the directions included in the invitation. This should be an intriguing evening so, please remember," she beamed, "to remain in character."

"What exactly are we supposed to do?" Giles asked.

"Ssh," Dara quieted him. "Just play your part and you will see in good time."

Though I found the directions a little vague, I noticed that the others seemed amused – except for Marcelina, who continued to frown.

I will recount briefly the set up of the game. We each received invitations (mine came from Jeremy, of course) with the following information.

Setting: Dinner party at the Ingrams

Plot: A murder occurs which leaves the guests to play amateur sleuths.

Each guest was also assigned a role to play. (I must say, they were not too much of a stretch for most of the players).

Mr. and Mrs. Ingram -- highly- respected host and hostess Mr. Sherman - close friend of the Ingrams, heir to his father's fortune in diamonds Mrs. Marcelina Sherman - wife of Giles Sherman, famous actress Mr. Marcack and guest (Gina Milo) - vagrants taken in by the Ingrams Mr. Lancaster and guest (that's me, Holly Houston) - distant cousins of the Ingrams

That was the arrangement for the night. I did not anticipate a wonderful time. In fact, I expected a night of awkwardness and boredom. As it turns out, I was quite wrong - the fireworks quickly started. A scene ensued when Charles Ingram approached Philip Marcack, as he and Gina were speaking to us.

"I'm glad that you have come," Ingram said, to a wary Philip. "I thought that this might be a way to bury the hatchet."

"The only place that I will bury the hatchet is in your head," Philip replied, maliciously. "I have nothing to say to you," he said, as he stomped away.

"Then why did you even come?" Ingram called after him.

"I don't know," Philip shrugged. "Maybe I was hoping that you were the one who would get killed."

Charles grinned slightly and shrugged his shoulders. "These kids today," he philosophized, as he walked away.

"What was that all about?" I asked Jeremy, after Gina went to rejoin her date.

Jeremy shook his head. "Philip has accused Ingram of embezzling money from the company. Seeing that it is his father's company, Philip took the situation seriously."

"Is he going to do anything about it?"

"Philip? I'm sure he will. You saw for yourself how irate he is."

"May I ask how an advertising exec like you became so close to the CEO of a major company like Marcack?"

Jeremy laughed. "Actually, it's a funny story, though if you asked Ingram, he wouldn't think so. We got stuck in an elevator together one day at work. Charles Ingram is extremely claustrophobic, and I had to keep him calm the whole time. He was telling me all sorts of things. For one, he always sleeps with his bedroom door open at night – the quarters are too close for him. Small rooms don't so much bother him as long as they have plenty of windows, you know, to give the illusion of space. But when he goes on a business trip, he can't stay in a regular room. He always needs to get a suite because he needs at least two rooms."

"But he rides the elevator at work everyday?"

Jeremy chuckled. "Well, he doesn't have much choice about that. His office is on the tenth floor of the building. He just gets on the elevator and prays that it keeps going."

I nodded and smiled. There was a certain malicious humor to it.

Paying no heed to the previous scene, Mrs. Ingram approached Jeremy and me. She held out two glasses of champagne on a tray, and smiled sweetly as we graciously accepted the drinks. Jeremy sipped his champagne as I finished mine off in two gulps.

A few feet away from us, Marcelina sat on the divan as her husband stood behind her and leaned over her shoulder. Suddenly, raised voices came from that direction.

"Well," Giles was saying, "what would you like me to do?"

"Oh, forget it," Marcelina said, with an air of melancholy. "You show no interest in anything but your money and your job," she sneered.

"Don't anyone be fooled," Giles said, addressing all of us. "She always seems to be in character, ‘the debutante’," he asserted with a mock bow, and then sulked out of the room.

Marcelina looked around, shrugged her shoulders, and then took a sip of her champagne. Her husband's absence did not seem to disturb her at all.

"Well, this keeps getting more interesting," I said quietly to Jeremy, who merely nodded. Mrs. Ingram also ignored this scene. She approached me and made an offer. "Would you like to take a tour of the house?" she asked. "This is your first time here, after all, and I always enjoy showing off my decorating style."

I turned to Jeremy, who displayed a look of indifference.

"All right," I accepted, "that would be very nice."

"Good," Mrs. Ingram said pleasantly, as we exited the room.

Mrs. Ingram showed me around the entire house. The tour was surely not as interesting as the drawing room theatrics, but I deemed it a somewhat safer event. That turned out to be another incorrect assumption.

Mrs. Ingram paused before the final room, which we were about to enter. "And this is the library," she said, with pride, as she reached for the doorknobs. "We have a most extraordinary collection of modern and classic works," she said, while stepping into the room. She had taken no more than two steps when she sharply recoiled.

"What's wrong?" I asked her, noting the fearful expression on her face.

Mrs. Ingram moved towards the armchair in which her husband was slumped. She put her hand over her mouth. Her face became pale and she was shaking violently.

"Oh, oh no -- no -- no," was all that Mrs. Ingram could manage to say before she ran out of the room.

I am the first to be privy to the plot of the game, I assumed. Wrong again. I moved closer to the chair. Mr. Ingram's eyes were closed and his shirt was covered with a thick red stain. I stopped about three feet away from the body and then decided to find Mrs. Ingram .I walked down the hallway and saw that the first floor bathroom door was ajar and the light was on. I hesitated outside the door for a moment and then slowly pushed it open. Dara Ingram was squatting over the toilet bowl moaning and gagging. When she stood up and wiped her mouth with a towel, she noticed me hovering in the doorway. "Oh, my dear, oh," she stammered.

"What is wrong?" I asked again.

"What's wrong?" she repeated, with a dumbfounded look.

"Yes, what is it? This is part of the game, isn't it?" I asked, hopefully.

Mrs. Ingram shook her head vehemently. "No, no, no," she muttered.

"Are you saying -?” I questioned, but could not finish the sentence.

Dara nodded.

I took a step backward.

Dara looked down at the floor absently. "What happened? Oh, what are we going to do?"

"Call the police and the paramedics," I said, quickly.

"Yes, could you please? And, please, don't tell anyone else just yet. You can use the phone in the kitchen. I'm -- I'm going to wait here."

"Of course," I said. As I walked to the telephone in the kitchen the thought suddenly occurred to me that the murderer had to be someone in the house. The thought sent shivers down my spine.

As I entered the dimly lit kitchen, I heard a thumping sound on one of the walls. This gave me quite a shock, considering what I had just witnessed. I was given even more of a shock when, suddenly, in front of me a young girl appeared. She looked pale and thin in the moonlight. This was too much for me. I took a few steps back and bumped into the refrigerator. "Who -- who -- are you?" I stammered.

"I live here," she answered, snidely (and who could blame her?) "I'm Jenna, the Ingrams' niece."

"Oh," I said. I was relieved at first, but then I realized that there would be another unpleasant scene when the current events were explained. I decided to leave that explanation to her aunt. My relief was extinguished with the thumping on the wall, which had just resumed.

Jenna and I both turned to the origin of the noise.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Sounds like it's coming from the wine cellar," Jenna said, as we walked over to the cellar door.

Jenna tried the doorknob. "That's odd. It's locked."

She walked over to one of the kitchen drawers and took out a key. She returned and, as she unlocked the door, it came flying open. Philip Marcack nearly knocked us over in his escape from the wine cellar.

"What?" I said, in surprise.

"I've been down there for about a half hour now," Philip sputtered.

Probably an exaggeration, I thought. I had last seen him in the drawing room and my tour had not taken half an hour.

"Who are you?" he said, turning to Jenna.

"I live here," she replied, dryly.

"Oh," was all Philip said in reply.

"What were you doing down there anyway?" Jenna asked.

"Mrs. Ingram asked me to get a bottle of wine. I guess I left it on the steps in my frenzy to get out of there."

"I understand," I said.

"I'm going back to the drawing room," he said.

I nodded and again tried to make the phone call.

"What are you doing?" Jenna asked me.

"I - uh - have to make a phone call."

"Oh," she said, pausing momentarily. "I hope you're not asking someone else out here."

"Why?" I asked, sharply.

"Because they won't make it out here for awhile."

"Why?"

"The bridge is closed. Truck spilled oil."

I’m sure that Jenna perceived my nervous agitation. "Really?” I asked.

"Sure," she said. "I just came from there on my way out of this joint. I was booted out of my own house, you know. My aunt Dara told me that she was having a party and that I should go."

"Oh, sorry."

"Don't be. Who wants to hang around this snooze fest anyway? No offense to you, of course. You're actually one of the rare young ones who would come out here."

"Of course, I take no offense." I noticed that Jenna was honestly blunt.

"Well, sorry about your friend. Guess he or she's not gonna make it."

I said nothing as I walked out into the hallway to tell Dara the news. As I passed down the hall, I also checked to make sure that the library door was closed. As it turned out, the door was locked. I found Dara in the study and told her the news. She was very upset. I'm not sure if she was more upset about the bridge being out or about Jenna being home.

I saw that I could do no more for her, so I left Dara deep in thought and sorrow, as I made my way back to the drawing room. As I entered the room, I tried to act as if nothing had happened. I knew that I had promised Dara that I would wait for the police and paramedics to arrive before I let out the news; however, I did feel comfortable about telling Jeremy, and so that’s what I did.

"Jeremy, I have to talk to you," I said, pulling him to one corner of the room.

He looked concerned. "What is it, Holly?"

"Something has happened."

He raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Well, as Dara was showing me around the house, we got to the library and -." I whispered the rest of the news in his ear.

Jeremy was shocked at first, but then it subsided and he broke into a grin.

"What?" I asked, in surprise.

"It's all part of the game. That's what they do. They make you think it's real."

"No, I don't think so," I said, skeptically.

Jeremy did not look convinced. "Maybe we should go see," he suggested.

We excused ourselves from the rest of the group and went out into the hallway to the library. As we came upon the library, I stopped in my tracks. The door was open, but I remembered that just a few minutes ago it had been locked. We slowly walked inside and found Jenna contemplating some books on the shelves.

"Oh!" I said, taken aback.

"What's wrong?" Jenna asked.

"I -- uh -- nothing -- it's just –well, uh -- the door was locked before, wasn't it?" I sputtered.

"I unlocked it," she said, eyeing me strangely.

"Oh, yes, of course," I said, as I retreated back to the hallway, with Jeremy following.

"See, there's nothing wrong. By the way, who is that girl?"

"That's the Ingrams’ niece."

"Oh, I didn't know she was here."

"She just came home," I said, absent-mindedly. "There's something not right about this."

"Well, it seems quite natural to me. This is a murder mystery party. You're buying right into it."

I gave him a look that let him know that I did not appreciate his condescension.

"As you should," he hastened to explain. "It's just a game."

"Is it?"

"Of course, it is," he said, with confidence. "Maybe we should talk to Dara if you're so concerned."

"Yes, maybe we should," I agreed.

We found Dara Ingram still seated in the study. I told her that I had informed Jeremy of the happenings. That did not upset her, but the next part did.

"What! Jenna in the library? But I locked it."

"She unlocked it."

"And no body -- my husband? But -- but --," Dara sunk down into a chair to steady herself.

"Mrs. Ingram, please tell Holly that this is all just part of the game. I think she's taking this a bit too seriously."

Dara shook her head, and Jeremy finally began to take our story seriously.

"Oh, the police have to get here soon," Dara kept saying.

"What would you like us to do -- about the others, I mean?" I asked.

"I guess -- I guess we must tell them. But you do realize," she paused and sighed heavily. “It must be one of them."

I nodded sympathetically, but my mind wandered back to Philip's encounter with Mr. Ingram, and his subsequent battle with the door of the wine cellar. He had opportunity and motive.

"What we need to do is think of who could have done this," she said. "And why take the body? Why?" she cried.

Jeremy and I remained silent.

Dara continued, "Please, leave Jenna to me. I'll break the news to her."

"Would you like me to get her for you?" I asked.

"No, just leave her be for now. Try to make sure that she doesn't hear it from anyone else. I need to think."

Jeremy and I nodded and left the room to go tell the others. Naturally, everyone was shocked by the news, but after the initial shock wore off, they reacted much in the same way that Jeremy had.

"Oh," Giles Sherman smiled. "This is the game, right?"

"I wish it were," I said, solemnly.

"No, it can't be true," Giles persisted.

"I'm sorry," Jeremy said.

"But then why --," Marcelina began.

We all turned to her and waited for her to finish.

"Why move the body?" she finished.

"Remember my getting locked in the wine cellar?" Philip said. "Perhaps to keep me from seeing something?"

"And where's Dara?" Giles asked.

"She needed some time alone. She's in the study," I replied.

After a few moments, everyone began to talk amongst themselves.

"This doesn't sound right to me," I said.

"Of course not," Jeremy said. "There's been a murder."

"What I mean is, the way that things have happened doesn't seem to make sense. First Philip is locked in the wine cellar, then Jenna returns home, after getting kicked out of her own home, because the bridge is closed. Then we find --.” I broke off at that point.

I sat down to think more clearly.

"What are you thinking?" Jeremy asked, after a few minutes.

"I'm not sure. Why would you hide a body? And where?"

"I don't know."

"It's all so strange."

"Do you think Jenna is in on this?" Jeremy asked.

"You mean -- you think --?”

"No, I mean -- if -- if -- it's just a game."

"I don't think this is a game," I said. "Although I wish it were," I added.

Suddenly, the drawing room door swung open and Dara Ingram stepped inside. She looked extremely distraught. Her face was pale and her hair was mussed. She had apparently decided that it was time to let everyone out of the dark.

"Charles is dead," she blurted out, unemotionally.

Everyone looked around.

"I say," Giles finally replied, "if this is part of the game, it's not funny. It's extremely unsettling and not a bit funny."

Dara did not answer his question. She merely slipped into the nearest chair and leaned her head on her hands. Morbid silence filled the room. I tugged on Jeremy's sleeve and dragged him out into the hallway.

"What --?" he began. "Come outside with me," I said.

We went down the hallway, through the kitchen, and outside into the moonlight.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I told you before that something didn't seem right."

"And? Of course, things are not right."

"No, things just don't add up."

"Well?"

"If you were a man pretending to be dead, but were claustrophobic, where would you hide?"

"I don't follow."

"Mr. Ingram -- or the body -- must be somewhere on the property still. No one could have moved him very far in the short amount of time in which they may have excused him -- or herself. And if he is still alive, I think he is still here."

"Well, what are you thinking?"

"He couldn't be in one of the upstairs rooms. You said that he can't even sleep with the door closed. And outside it's too cold to spend a long amount of time."

"There's the veranda," Jeremy suggested. "It's small, but there are lots of windows, which give the illusion of open spaces."

"Sounds perfect, and it's rather isolated from the rest of the house."

"Want to check it out, Holly?"

"I think that's a good idea."

Jeremy and I reentered the house and made our way towards the veranda. As we approached the door, we heard a faint murmuring. We quietly entered the room and found Dara sitting in one of the chairs. She looked up, startled to see us. She made an attempt to get up and usher us out, but we were too quick for her.

In the farthest, darkest corner of the room sat Charles Ingram -- alive and well.

A look of both anger and embarrassment crossed their faces.

"Mr. Ingram, so glad to see that you are all right," I said, with fake pleasantry.

Upon seeing the live Mr. Ingram, Jeremy went to the drawing room to fetch the others. I could hear him all the way down the hall announcing the news. Within seconds, the entire party was gathering on the veranda, including a much-confused Jenna.

Dara and Charles attempted to compose themselves.

"Well, so!" was all Giles could manage to say.

"What acting," Marcelina observed.

"What a strange game," Gina said.

"I'm not so sure that it was a game," I said. "I believe that the Ingrams fully intended to deceive us. Let me explain," I continued, noticing the confused expressions on the faces of the crowd.

"This was -- or almost was -- a very clever set up. It was almost perfect. A murder mystery party in which someone actually gets killed. It would seem as though one of the guests got a wicked idea and took advantage of a unique opportunity. And of course, there had to be a motive. Philip Marcack was perfect to play the criminal."

"Now, wait --," Philip interrupted.

"Just let me finish," I cut him off. "The plan was that Charles Ingram 'dies,' then disappears. The perfect man with the motive is just feet away -- locked in a wine cellar. Trying to give himself an alibi? Possibly that's what we were meant to think. Then there is the matter of Jenna. I'm sorry to have to bring you into this," I addressed her, "but I must. Kicking your niece out of her own home? But why? Privacy? I don't think so. I think you wanted to spare her from seeing or hearing anything about her uncle's 'death' until things were settled. And finally, there was the hiding place. Where could a 'dead' man hide until the bridge reopens? Or shall I say where could a claustrophobic man hide? Some place warm, yet open. On the veranda."

"You think you've got it all figured out? It's preposterous! In your warped view of things, why do you think we would stage such a charade?" Dara challenged me.

"It's so simple. Your husband was being accused of embezzlement -- perhaps not unjustly. How do you get out of prosecution? Die, frame the accuser with murder, and then disappear."

"Well," Philip sighed.

"How clever!" Dara said, enthusiastically.

There were murmurs of incomprehension.

"You solved the puzzle!" she explained, while her husband looked on in wonderment.

"Then you mean that this was all a game after all?" Giles asked.

"Well certainly!" she exclaimed.

"Well it's a little too real for me," Philip grumbled.

"It's just a bit of fun," Dara said, dryly.

"I don't buy it," I snapped. There were some gasps among the group.

"I don't believe it," I repeated.

"I don't really care what you believe," Dara said, viciously.

"You can't get away with this," I said.

"It's just a game."

I shook my head. "No, it wasn't."

"Can you prove it?"

I was silent. I had no answer and I had no proof.

Dara shrugged her shoulders. "Thank you all for coming," she said.

We recognized that her words were a dismissal, and the party began to disperse.

As Jeremy and I got into his car, he said to me, "Some first date, huh?"

"Eventful," I acknowledged.

"I brought you to a murder -- or attempted murder -- party and you solved it. At least it's over."

"Over? I’m not so sure about that. There are some very dangerous people in that house..."