Snowflakes fell like dying fireflies as the squad car headlights pushed through them. Christmas lights flew past in a multicolored blur through the foggy window.

              Jerry turned and looked through the black metal grate at the two other officers. They stared ahead, not daring to say a word.

              Jerry smiled.

              “So, I mean seriously, guys, do I have to ride like this every time we go somewhere?”

              Officer Garcia turned around in the passenger’s seat, the light from the onboard computer revealing the left side of his face.

              “Well, there are three of us and only two seats up front, so you’ve really got no choice. And I sure as hell ain’t going to let you sit on my lap.”

              Officer Hale laughed silently as he drove on.

              Jerry scowled.

              “No, I mean do I really have to ride like this.”

              He held up his hands and shook the handcuffs on his wrists.

              Garcia and Hale chuckled as they passed under a street light.

              “Oh, your hazing isn’t over yet, rookie. You’ve got to prove yourself,” Garcia said.

              “Great,” Jerry sighed, slumping back in his seat.

              Hale looked at him through the rearview mirror.

              “Aww, cheer up, Cinderella. You’ll get your chance.

“Maybe even tonight. You know, back in the day when I was a greenhorn, I proved myself on my first big crime. And it was a murder, just like this one.”

              Garcia grimaced and put his hand over his eyes as if he had a migraine.

              “Oh, c’mon Hale, not this story again, please.”

              Hale ignored him.

              “It was July fourth, nineteen-ninety-eight; at approximately nine o’ clock p.m. The deputy and I had just arrived at a stabbing incident at some teenage party. Not five minutes after we got there, I caught the killer, trying to sneak out the back; just like that.

              “’Moral of the story is, you never know when your break will come, but if you just wait patiently, you’ll be rewarded.”

              Jerry leaned forward.

              “You really think so?”

              “You bet”, Hale replied optimistically.

              Garcia rolled his eyes.

              “But,” Hale interjected, “Don’t get your hopes up. This is a different situation. These people that live out in the Hamptons, they’re a different breed. Yeah, they’re as rich and arrogant as they come, but they’re smart too. If the killer is one of them, this could be tricky, and dangerous. Don’t do anything stupid. Got it?”

              Jerry nodded.

              “Yeah.”

              But inside he knew that this was it. This was the moment that he would break free of the rookie shackles. This was the night that he proved himself.

They pulled up the long driveway towards the gigantic mansion, its lights glowing through the black skeleton-hand tree branches. White Christmas lights hung from the balconies and snaked down the pillars at the main entrance, illuminating the twenty-something cars lining the side of the drive.

              As the squad car crept up the icy pavement, Jerry’s eyes locked on the house.

              “What happened?”

              “Well, these rich people like to play those murder mystery games, like the game Clue,” Hale answered. “That’s what these people were doing. They came to the part where the lights are dramatically turned off and someone drops to the ground, pretending to be dead. The others would have to figure out who ‘killed’ him and how. Only this time, we really will. The poor guy was actually murdered.”

              They came to a stop behind an old Buick and got out. Officer Garcia came around and opened Jerry’s door.

              As he was unlocking the handcuffs, Jerry still stared up at the house.

              “You think I could get this guy?”

              Garcia shook his head as he put the handcuffs back on his belt.

              “I wouldn’t count on it.”

              The three of them went up to the front door and Hale rang the bell. A tall, middle-aged, and balding butler answered the door.

              “Good evening, officers,” he said in a gravely monotone voice.

              “Please come inside.”

              They all stepped inside the small room and the butler took their coats.

              Hale turned to the butler and asked, “I know this must be hard, but which room was he killed in?”

              The butler snapped as if he had been day dreaming.

              “Oh. I’m sorry, sir. What were you saying?”

              Hale eyed him. “Which room was this man murdered in?”

              “Oh, it was the ballroom.”

              Hale became annoyed.

              “Okay, pal, the murder mystery game is over. You don’t have to call it a ballroom anymore like this is some kind of dramatic radio soap opera.”

              The butler became taken aback and confused.

              “Sir?”

              “Can you please show us this ballroom,” Jerry asked to break the tension.

              The butler seemed relieved.

              “Yes. Yes, of course.”

              He gestured down the hallway, and they followed, walking briskly down the burgundy rug.

              Fake candle-holders with electric bulbs lit the evergreen walls that were lined with painted portraits of famous historic figures and long-dead relatives.

              Jerry stopped in front of a portrait of General Washington atop his horse. He laughed, making the others stop and turn around.

              Jerry waved his hand in front of the painting and chuckled. He turned grinning to face the butler.

              “Let me guess. As you walk by, the eyes follow you, right?”

              The butler smiled curtly.

              “Hmm.”

              As he turned back and continued walking, Hale glared at him. Garcia shook his head.

              They soon came to a set of double, oaken doors.

              Brilliant, white light blinded all of them as they entered the ballroom. A huge, sparkling, electric chandelier shone like the sun onto a snowy grey-white marble floor.

A multitude of silent people stood huddled away from the front of the room, each one dressed in elegant, dated suits and dresses of all styles and colors.

Each one wore an expression of fear, shock, or sorrow, except for one man leaning by the fireplace, who had one of complete boredom. He was a tall, young man, maybe in his thirties. He wore a modern pinstriped suit and held a glass of scotch, staring at the floor.

The butler stepped aside from the officers as they continued forward towards the nearly invisible chalk outline on the white floor. Garcia got down on one knee, looking it over. Jerry narrowed his eyes and turned to Hale.

“But wait, where is the body?”

Hale shook his head.

“No, you don’t understand, he died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

The woman standing near the young man by the fireplace, unnoticed before, made her presence known by sobbing uncontrollably.

The butler came to Hale’s side.

“That is the woman of the house,” he murmured solemnly.

“The man killed was her husband.”

“Why didn’t she go with him in the ambulance,” Garcia asked.

The butler stood up straighter.

“With my master’s killer still on the premises, I wouldn’t dare let anyone leave.”

Hale nodded.

“Good choice.”

He raised his voice so everyone could hear.

“Because until we find out who did this, no one is leaving this house.”

              The once silent dance hall was now full of conversation, as if their host was never killed. Side conversations traveled through the crowd like a breeze through a wheat field. Some men glared and shouted at the officers and by the fireplace, the wife and the young man accompanying her stared in shock at the people’s reactions.

              One old man wearing a purple velvet suit and a top hat spoke up.

              “This is ridiculous! You can’t just keep us here all night!”

              The other men shouted in agreement while the women continued to talk amongst themselves.

              Officer Hale held up his hands. “Alright, everybody, calm down and listen to me. You won’t have to stay here all night if you just cooperate. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get through this as quickly and painlessly as possible.” He turned to the butler and asked, “Where is the nearest closed off room.”

              The butler pointed to a door in the far right corner of the room.

              “That room over there, the dining room.”

              Hale nodded and turned back to the guests.

              “Ok, this is how this will all work. Officer Garcia and I will set up in the dining room and we will bring people in there, one at a time, for questioning. The rest of you will remain here with Officer Smith.” He gestured towards Jerry.

              There was another small uproar from the crowd that Hale ignored. He turned around and beckoned the other two officers in. They huddled together, like a three-man football team before the next play. Hale ducked his head low.

              “Let’s start rounding up some suspects. My bets are on the butler and the wife. Garcia, what do you think?”

              Garcia looked up for a moment towards the man by the fireplace. He was downing the last coppery dregs of his scotch when he made eye-contact with Garcia. His eyes grew, almost apprehensively. The officer squinted back.

              “Him,” Garcia murmured. “The man standing near the wife.”

              Hale turned his head around, stared coldly for a few seconds, and then turned back.

              Across the room, the man put his empty glass on the mantle and turned to the wife quickly.

              “Mother,” he whined, “Do you really think this is necessary? Why can’t this wait until tomorrow when everyone is rested and has had at least some time to cope?”

              His mother turned on him, fiercely, her eyes still stinging with tears.

              “Jeffrey!” She scoffed. “How dare you say something like that? Your father has just been murdered; show at least a little concern! Some time to cope. Why, you haven’t even shed a single tear…”

              He rolled his eyes and zoned out as her tirade picked up speed.

              “Jerry, who do you think,” Hale asked.

              Jerry scanned the crowd trying to make eye-contact with various guests. He lingered on a few pairs of eyes, but most were hidden from him, as many of the people were engaged in quiet conversation. But as he came to the end of the room he stopped, and stood up straighter.

              There, standing by the Christmas tree, was his prime suspect. He first noticed her because she was fairly attractive. She wore a long and red silk dress that accentuated her slender figure. Her skin was a light tan, some of which was covered up by her bright red hair. Her red lips were pursed and her hazel eyes flashed up to meet his, briefly, then back down.

              Jerry nodded in her direction.

              “She looks pretty suspicious to me.”

              Garcia chuckled and Jerry whipped his head in his direction.

              “Whatever you say, man,” Garcia laughed.

              “What is that supposed to mean?”

              Hale interrupted them, angrily. “That’s enough. Garcia, go fetch the butler so that we can question him first.” He made sure Garcia had left before he spoke again.

              “You stay here, and keep an eye on them.”

              “Ok.”

              “Not just her,” he added, half serious, half joking.

              A panicky laugh left Jerry’s throat.

              “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he called after Hale.

              The butler sat down at the long oak table. The brass chandelier above him cast an evil glow onto the oxblood walls around him. He glanced longingly at the door to the ballroom, where he should be. Then he turned to face the police, who were burning a whole in his head with their cold pupils. They were uncomfortably close; the butler sat at the head of the table with the officers sitting on the chairs immediately down either side. He made a weak attempt at his polite, brown-nosed smile. It didn’t work.

              Officer Hale linked his fingers together and tapped both hands on the table.

              “Now Chives, exactly how close were you to the host when the lights in the ballroom were cut?”

              The other officer began to loudly crack his knuckles. This was a habit that the butler found to be disgusting.

              “My name isn’t Chives,” he said irritably as he stared at Garcia’s bending, popping fingers. “It’s Charles.”

              “Oh, I’m sorry Charles,” said Hale with mock embarrassment. “Please answer the question.”

              The butler swallowed.

              “Well, if you must know, I was just coming down the stairs when Master Benson was murdered.”

              Garcia nodded. “And Mr. Benson was in the middle of the ballroom.” He jotted it down in a small notebook.

              Hale nodded also. “Charles, it seems unlikely to me that you are the culprit if you were standing on the stairs, because Mr. Benson wasn’t killed by a gunshot wound, and there were no projectiles found near his body that might have been thrown at him. Besides, your aim couldn’t be that good in the dark.”

              “That’s right,” Charles chimed in. He seemed immensely relieved, yet he began sweating at the same time. Garcia noticed this, and scribbled something in his notebook. Charles glanced at him with paranoia, and when they made eye contact, Garcia smiled curtly before going back to his notes. It seemed a suspicious gesture to the butler, almost like a child smiling at his mother to deceive her of the mischief he was about to make.

              “So tell me,” Hale went on, “What was your relationship like with your boss?”

              The butler hesitated. “Well, it was good, up until the last couple of months. He was in a very foul mood, due to a lot of things.”

              “Like what?”

              Charles lowered his voice a little.

              “He and the Mrs. started to have some marital problems. He began to drink like it was water, and he started treating me unfairly. I don’t understand why he took it out on me, but he did, and he stopped paying me a week ago. Not to mention he informed me that I was to work on Christmas. I want that time off to visit my family, and since Christmas is in three days, I decided to quit after tonight.”

              The two officers looked at each other.

              “When did you decide all this?” Garcia asked him.

              Charles sweated more.

              “A few-no-yesterday,” he stammered.

              Hale eyed him suspiciously, as he had done when they first came into the house.

              “Charles, I understand that you have spent at least a few years in this house, working for the Bensons. Do they have these kinds of ‘murder mystery’ parties that often?”

              Charles seemed a bit more relaxed now. “Well, they have them occasionally, as I see it. Usually they have one a few days before each holiday; New Years, Fourth of July, Easter, etcetera. But they’ve never had one before Christmas until this year. Mrs. Benson suggested it.”

              There was an eerie silence in the room, broken only by the murmur of voices out in the ballroom. In the distance someone was sobbing.

              Hale linked his fingers together again and closed his eyes.

              “I only have one more question for you. In these games, when the lights are turned off, about what time do they go off, typically?”

              Charles smiled slightly.

              “That is all up to the killer. He or she decides when they go off, and they flip the breaker switch themselves. After that, the rest of us spend most of the night trying to find out who it was. Then at midnight, the killer would reveal themselves. Most of the time, we would never be able to figure out who.”

              Garcia stopped writing. “I don’t understand. Who decides who gets to be the killer? Not everyone knows where the breakers are in the house.”

              “Ah,” said Charles. “That was Mr. Benson’s job. He would assign it to a guest about a week in advance and show him where the breakers are.”

              The two officers seemed satisfied. Hale thanked Charles and asked him to send Mrs. Benson in next.

              Jerry had been outside writing down notes as he talked to the woman in the red dress. He had just moved on to another question when he noticed the butler coming out, looking smug. Jerry hardly took any notice and turned back.

              “So where were you standing when the host was murdered?”

              Her eyes smiled. “I was actually standing right in front of him when it happened.”

              “Uh-huh…,” Jerry said as he wrote that down.

              “I didn’t kill him,” she added quickly, almost panicky.

              Officer Smith cracked his most charming smile as he looked up to her worried face.

              “Oh, no, I didn’t assume anything ma’am. But other than the lights going off, did you notice anything unusual, like movement or anything.”

              “No,” she said solemnly. “All I know is one minute he’s standing there talking to me about his favorite Merlot, the next minute he’s on the floor dead.”

              The crowd around them suddenly became quiet. Jerry and his suspect looked up to see the butler escorting Mrs. Benson to the dining room. As soon as she entered, the party went back to full swing again.

              Jerry looked around at the guests with disapproval.

              “Can you believe them?” He murmured. “It’s like they’ve forgotten completely about what’s happened.”

              The young woman nodded. “I know. That’s how these rich people are. Any chance to brag about their yachts and trust funds while sipping Crystal…” She drifted off, laughing.

              Jerry frowned.

              “What do you mean by ‘these’ rich people? Aren’t you one of them?”

              “Oh no,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m just an intern at Mr. Benson’s firm.”

              “Oh, ok. So, Ms.-“

              “Stuart,” she filled in.

              Jerry smiled. “Ms. Stuart, thank you for answering my questions. I need to go talk to some other people.”

              He was about to walk away when she gripped him, firmly by the forearm. She stared up into his confused, startled eyes, and then looked around.

              “Officer Smith,” she murmured, “None of these people killed Mr. Benson. I’m not quite sure who did, but I think I can help.”

              Mrs. Benson walked sluggishly behind the two cops into the dining room and sat down. But this time, Hale seemed oddly on-edge. He kept looking over at Officer Garcia, whipping his head at him sharply, and sending a signal that wasn’t received.

              “What?” Garcia voiced it in an annoyed statement, not really a question.

              “I can handle this. Why don’t you give the kid a hand out there?” He motioned toward the ballroom door.

              “Well, okay, if you’re sure…”

              “I am sure,” Hale urged impatiently.

              Garcia looked suspiciously at Hale. He thought that after serving with him for nearly six years, Hale’s unorthodox methods would be more understandable and predictable, but every new case gave him a new personality. It was like going to a masquerade ball with a schizo. Garcia looked at Mrs. Benson, who was staring off into space, drying her eyes with a soaked handkerchief. He turned and walked out.

              Hale was relieved to see him go. He turned to the widow with empathy painted in his eyes.

              “I just want to say first and foremost that I’m terribly sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

              “Of course you are,” she retorted bitterly. She refused to make eye-contact with him. Even if she wanted to, she felt she would need binoculars to even see his eyes.

              But he insisted on closing the distance. “I haven’t dealt with this kind of loss very much, but I can assure you that things will get better.”

              Mrs. Benson did look at his eyes now, but it wasn’t much better than when she didn’t look. “Ha! It’s funny how it takes the death of someone for you to show that you care.”

              “I’m not sure what you mean, Ms. Benson.”

              “Oh please. I know you better than that. You hate anyone who’s upper-class.”

              Hale closed his eyes. “That’s not true. You’re just jumping to conclusions like you think you know me. I don’t hate all of them. I even like some of them.” His hand slid disgustingly toward hers; pushing it back like two magnets facing each other with the same ends, repelling. His eyes locked; hers wouldn’t.

              Garcia had now joined the red-headed intern and Jerry over in the one dark corner of the blinding ballroom. It seemed that she was the key to this case; a crime scene messiah.

              “So as I was walking back from the upstairs bathroom, I noticed the master bedroom door was open,” she told them. “It wasn’t open before. I looked inside, and even though it was dark, I could just see the butler fumbling around in the safe. But the weird thing is he didn’t take anything. He slammed the safe door and stormed into the closet.” She stopped for a moment to let Garcia take notes, and then she went on; patiently impatient. “I ran downstairs, and I was about to tell Mr. Benson, but I knew that the butler would soon be down the stairs, so I had to just engage in normal conversation to stay inconspicuous. Then the lights went out, and you know what happened from there.”

              Jerry nodded. He looked across the room at the Benson’s son. He hadn’t moved an inch from the fireplace ever since the police had arrived.

Jerry knew that he had to talk to this man as soon as possible, so he told Garcia his thoughts.

              Ms. Stuart stood back a little, looking left out. Garcia didn’t care; he was nearly halfway across the room. But Smith saw her just as he was leaving, so he hesitated.

              “Um, you can come with us if you want to,” he said. Garcia looked back when he noticed that Smith wasn’t walking next to him. He made eye contact with Ms. Stuart and she smiled feebly at him as she walked up towards Jerry. A second later, Jerry made the same expression. Garcia swore under his breath and walked briskly toward the two of them.

              “Ms. Stuart,” he said as calmly as he could, “Why don’t you go on without us? I need to talk to Officer Smith in for a second.”

              “Sure,” she replied sweetly as Garcia gripped Jerry firmly by the shoulder and led him out of the ballroom into the hallway.

              He shoved Officer Smith into the dark hall, slamming the door shut behind him.

              Jerry seemed offended. “What is this all about?”

              Garcia stood no more than two feet away from him. “What the hell do you think you were doing back there?”

              Jerry shifted his eyes away and then back. “Um, what are you talking about?”

              “You know, I thought I was joking with you when you picked that girl out of the crowd for questioning, but now I see I was right. You can’t be pulling this kind of crap, Jerry; this isn’t a freaking blind date.”

              Officer Smith turned his head away laughing. “Aww, c’mon, Manny…”

              Garcia grabbed Smith by his jacket and pushed him backward into the wall, nearly knocking the nearest portrait off of its hook. Smith stared at him in genuine shock. Garcia pointed his finger right between Smith’s eyes.

              “I’m tired of hearing you complain about being a rookie, Jerry. So I’m going to tell you why you still are one. It’s because of this kind of stuff that goes on while you’re on a case. You want to be a cop? You want to solve this case? Then pull yourself together and act like one!”

              Jerry, being a little less afraid now, decided to defend himself.

              “Manny, listen; I think she may be able to help us.”

              “Do you really” Garcia asked skeptically.

              He spoke quickly. “Yes! She gave us the tip that Charles the butler was going through the safe in Benson’s bedroom. But who would give their butler the combination to a safe? And you told me yourself that he was going to quit after tonight anyways. Maybe he was trying to steal something from that safe. But someone had to have opened it before he got up there. The only two people who would be likely to know that combination were Benson’s wife and his son.”

              Garcia rolled his eyes. “And that has what to do with the murder?”

              “Think about it. We know the butler didn’t murder him because he was either upstairs or on his way down when the lights were shut off. The safe was opened on the day that they were going to play this game, and the day that Benson was murdered. It can’t be one big coincidence, it all fits together: whoever opened that safe had to be involved.”

              Garcia was nodding now, looking at Jerry Smith with respect for the first time since Jerry had joined the police force.

              “Not bad. Not bad at all. So I guess now we should question…”

              “The son,” Jerry replied.

              Garcia nodded, but then he looked sullen. “But there’s no way we’re going to get the info we need out of that kid with just a few questions.”

              Jerry looked at him seriously. “Then we have no choice. We’re going to have to use the ‘B.F. Method’.”

              Garcia laughed at him. “Are you crazy? You and I both know Hale is the toughest son of a bitch around, but he’d never let us do that. Even if we asked him, he’d have us kicked off the force in a week.”

              Jerry smiled maliciously. “Then we’re going to have to use our own jurisdiction.”

              Garcia smiled back.

                            Mrs. Benson stormed angrily past her son on her way out of the dining room. She had tears burning in her eyes, and her skin was a livid red.

              “What happened,” he called after her.

              “I need a drink,” she mumbled on her way to the staircase. Despite her rage and the way she walked, no one except the guests she had plowed through seemed to notice her.

              Hale came walking up to the young man and was about to take him back to the dining room, but Officers Garcia and Smith walked up just then, with Ms. Stuart in tow.

              Hale looked at them puzzled. “What seems to be the trouble, boys?”

              Garcia spoke, as they decided he would do all the talking.

              “Well, sir, we thought it might help if we had multiple interrogations going on at one time. We would like to question Mr. Benson.”

              Hale looked at them, somewhat confused. “Okay, but why do you think multiple interrogations are going to help?”

              “It might speed up the process.”

              Hale considered it for a second.

              “Alright, I guess we could do that. But I was going to question Mr. Benson, here.”

              Benson stared at them in mild curiosity. He was hoping to go with Officer Hale so that he could find out why his mother was so upset, but at the same time he wanted to go with Garcia and Smith.

              “No, no,” said Garcia casually. “We’ll talk to Mr. Benson and you can question Ms. Stuart here.” He gestured at the intern. She didn’t look so sure.

              “Its fine,” Jerry assured her.

              Hale looked at them, almost paranoid. “Well, okay, I guess we could do it like that.”

              So Hale escorted Ms. Stuart to the dining room while Garcia and Smith escorted the Benson’s son towards the hallway.

              As they were walking down the red carpet, Officer Smith asked him where the kitchen was.

              “Oh, it’s just a little ways further down the hall. I’ll show you.”

              They finally came to a large, swinging door and pushed inside. The kitchen resembled something that one might find in a modern restaurant.

Glittering stainless steel ovens, stoves, fryers, mixers, and blenders lined the walls. In the center of the room was a large, wooden cooking island with a black granite countertop. Above it was even more stainless steel- stainless steel pots, pans, knives, beaters, ladles, and spoons. The whole room could’ve passed for the inside of a UFO.

              The young Benson stood by the island smiling politely at the two policemen. This smile faded when he saw that Garcia had locked the door and was now stuffing some wet dish towels in the space between the bottom of the door and the floor.

              “So,” he said easily, “What questions do you have for me?”

              “What is your name?” Jerry asked walking towards him.

              “James,” he answered tensely. “James Benson.”

              The two officers smiled politely.

              “Pleased to meet you, James,” Jerry said.

              Suddenly, he lunged forward and punched James hard in the middle of the stomach. He uttered a muffled scream, gripping his torso and falling to the black tile floor, bug-eyed. He then lay there, rolling from side to side and whispering something, most likely swear words.

              Garcia now came over and stood towering over him. “This is for your own good, man.”

              James wheezed something that neither of them could understand.

              “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. What did you say?” It took a minute for James to catch his breath, and when he did, he opened his bloodshot eyes, glaring at the two other men.

              “Why are you doing this?” He demanded.

              Officer Smith got down on one knee near James’s head and looked him in the eye.

              “Well you see James, Officer Garcia and I are executing a form of interrogation that we like to call the ‘Brute Force’ method. It means exactly what it sounds like and it’s very simple. We know that you are involved in your father’s death, and until you tell us everything you know, the pain will not stop.”

              Benson narrowed his eyes weakly. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

              Jerry slapped the man hard on the side of his head.

              “The safe, James! We know that either you or your mother opened that safe today.”

              James looked bewildered. “How did you know about the safe?”

              “We’ll ask the questions, young man,” Garcia growled. “Were you or were you not the one who left the safe open?”

              “Alright fine,” James moaned. “So I opened the safe, you gonna arrest me now?”

              Officer Smith lifted James’s head off of the floor by his shirt collar, and then smacked it back down with a punch to the mouth. A sickening sound echoed off of the appliances around them.

              “What were you looking for, James? What was in that safe that was so valuable?”

              “The deed to this house,” he spat. “I was going to steal it from the safe and hide it as soon as I left tonight.” He pulled out a rolled-up document from inside of his jacket and flung it on the floor.

              Jerry picked it up and looked at it. Then he looked back at James confused.

              “So how can this be your alibi? Who’s to say you still didn’t kill your father?”

              He shook his head. “That deed isn’t my alibi. I am my own alibi because I was the mystery murderer of tonight’s game. I had to turn off the breaker, which is hidden inside of the fireplace in the ballroom.”

              Jerry sighed. “Do you have any idea who killed your father, then?”

              Suddenly, James broke down sobbing. There were tears welling in his eyes.

              “It wasn’t my fault!” He moaned. “It wasn’t my fault! He told me that it was just sleeping pills ground up, you know, enough to make him sleep for several hours, it would give us enough time…”

              “Slow down,” Garcia said as James sat up. “Tell us what happened.”

              “I was bought off! The man who my mother was having an affair with gave me some powder to put in my father’s food. It looked like just Ambien or something ground up and that’s what he said it was. He said it would give him enough time to convince my mother to run away with him, and he said I could have a share of the thirty thousand dollars in the safe and the deed to the house.”

              Jerry frowned. “But you said that you took the deed earlier today.”

              James swallowed. “I was impatient. I didn’t think…I didn’t think he was going to…” He drifted off.

              Jerry looked at Garcia who shook his head sadly. Jerry helped James to his feet and turned him around putting his hands behind his back. James began to sob.

              “James Benson,” he said as he clipped the handcuffs around the man’s wrists. “I’m very sorry, but you are under arrest for accessory to murder.”

              James nodded, sniffling. “You still need to know who the murderer is, right?”

              “Well, yes, of course we do.”

              James sighed and closed his eyes.

              “The murderer was Officer Hale.”

              Officers Smith and Garcia stared at each other in absolute disbelief and dismay. There was no possible way that they could even grasp the idea.

              “What do you mean,” Jerry asked quietly. “How can that even be possible?”

              “He came here just a few days ago and bought me off. He was the one who had an affair with my mother. I know now that his plan was to come here and pin the crime on me. I am the only possible suspect out of the people who attended the dinner party. He was going to get me to break down in the dining room and pin the murder on me. That’s why he was so hesitant to let the two of you question me. I only hope he hasn’t harmed that poor girl who he did interrogate.”

              Jerry’s head whipped toward the door. “Ms. Stuart! We have to go back now!”

              They ran to the door and flung it open, and took off down the hall with Officer Smith in the lead. They got to the ballroom doors and nearly kicked them open.

              For once, everyone in the room stopped dead silent in whatever they were doing. They knew that the case was about to be solved, yet they did not seem quite relieved that it was.

              “Where are Ms. Stuart and Officer Hale?” He panted across the room to the butler.

              Behind him, James leaned toward Officer Garcia.

              “Escort me through the crowd and over by the fireplace,” he murmured.

              “Why?”

              He stared coldly at the barely visible outline of his father on the floor. “Just do it. I have an idea.”

              Garcia nodded and did as James asked.

              Meanwhile, the butler came walking towards Officer Smith. “I’m sorry, sir, he is still in the dining room with Ms. Stuart.”

              Jerry pushed past him and stood outside of the dining room door.

              “Hale!” He yelled. “Come out of there right now!”

              The door opened. Ms. Stuart appeared, holding her hands above her head. Tears rolled slowly down her face. Hale was behind her, pointing his gun at her back. He smiled coldly as everyone in the room gasped.

              “I expect you solved the murder then. Congratulations.”

              “Let her go, Hale.”

              “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

              Out of the corner of his eye, Jerry saw James with his hand inside the fireplace. Then Jerry understood.

              “Very well then,” he said to Hale. “NOW!”

              The room fell into pitch black. There was the sound of a struggle, followed by a clatter on the marble floor. A gun shot pierced the silence with a woman’s blood-curdling scream. Then there was silence once again.

              The lights flicked back on, blazingly. The people gasped and covered their mouths, hid their eyes at the horror they saw.

              Ms. Stuart stood by the Christmas tree, shaking from head to toe with her arms wrapped tightly around her head. Officer Smith stood at the middle of the room, his gun raised. On the floor, in a pool of maroon, lay the dead body of Officer Hale, with a neat round bullet hole in his forehead. An expression of peaceful shock was carved into his face and his arm was frozen, reaching for his gun on the floor.

              Jerry’s hand shook his own gun out of his hand and onto the floor. He slowly pulled his eyes away from the corpse and looked around at all the wide, pale white marbles in a sea of multicolored clothing. Then he became calm.

              He closed his eyes and took off his badge, throwing it on the floor. Then he turned back toward the hallway to walk back out in the snow.