I've been really enjoying reading all the Fantasy Christmas Dinner Party posts this week and tonight I have something a little different for you from Jackie Baldwin, author of the DI Frank Farrell series.
As I am a crime writer and a huge Cluedo fan, I decided it would have to be a Christmas murder mystery dinner. I invite five of my favourite authors who all have to come in character as one of their own fictional detectives. The Guest list is as follows:
Jackie McLean (DI Donna Davenport)
Mike Craven (DI Avison Fluke)
Graham Smith (DI Harry Evans)
Aline Templeton (DI Marjorie Fleming)
Caro Ramsay (DI Costello)
Me. (DS Mhairi McLeod)
The house which I rented for the occasion, (no expense spared!), is a gothic mansion designed like an escape room. As soon as the guests arrive all the exits lock at the touch of a button. The authors have been told that whichever detective solves the crime will have their first novel made into a film and be given their very own reality TV show of the process. As they sit down to the first course of tomato soup with blood red orange, a peal of thunder rings overhead. A demonic cackle rings out. Wait! That was me. I told you parties make me nervous.
As Graham Smith slurps the last of his soup, a shout rings out followed by the sound of something heavy falling. The detectives race for the door, shoving and pushing as they all get jammed in the entrance. With such high stakes, egos clash and punches are thrown. There is some ankle nipping. The body of a young man is discovered in the library and a sheet of paper floats to the floor from a stack on the desk. It reads:
Top Secret Book Auction
Debut Crime Thriller predicted to smash all records.
The crime authors get distracted and start quarrelling and grabbing at the pages until they are reminded about the crime they have to solve. They examine the scene from every angle, making notes which they take care to hide from each other. They know that the murderer is in their midst.
A gong sounds. They file back in for the main course which is haggis, neaps and tatties. As the whisky flows, tempers fray even further. They leap to their feet and start pacing around, their meal forgotten. Each of them is determined to solve the crime. I press a button on a small device and the large Christmas tree suddenly bursts into flames. All of a sudden they round on me. I’ve been rumbled. They realise that this whole thing was a set up and I got them here under false pretences. There is no Hollywood film contract or reality TV show. The mood has turned ugly. They advance towards me. Suddenly, I know with absolute certainty that I’m not getting out of here alive…
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