A Meh-rathon Murder Mystery!

Eccentric billionaire steam mop mogul Dallas McAllen has been murdered! And in his own home, no less, while a great party raged on. With 30 suspects and clues galore (some helpful, others less so) only Sadie Dufresne–an Inspector of the Royal Knights order (shorthand: IRK), one of the highest ranking detectives in all the land–can be trusted to solve the mystery. But she’ll need your help. So, what do you say? Will you help IRK Dufresne crack the case?

“Erin Tibbins reported a sound from the next room, while she, her husband, and the groundskeeper were having their tryst,” IRK Sadie Dufresne tells Marge Roper, the former bracelet model and moreover former wife of one Dallas McAllen, albeit only for a week. “She said she could hear someone crying, and then a jangling noise.”

Marge Roper, still wearing her catering attire, grips her right wrist, replete with bracelets.

“Fine, it was me,” Marge Roper says. “Dallas was surprised to see me, and I’d asked if we could go somewhere private. He thought I was after his money, but all I told him was that I still loved him. I reminded him of the song we danced to after hastily tying the knot. He said I was being ridiculous. He said for me to wait there in the room we’d gone to, so that he could get his wedding ring–the one he’d bought that very night, when we decided, on a whim, to marry–so I could have it. He said then I’d know once and for all that there was nothing between us, and he went off to retrieve the thing, humming that same song I’d just reminded him of. But consider this: he kept it, didn’t he? The ring. If it was really nothing, he wouldn’t have kept it would he?”

“That’s not for me to say,” Sadie says.

“You’re right,” snaps Marge. “It’s not for anyone to say. Not for you. Not for Adam. Not anybody but me and him!”

“Adam told you you were being delusional, is that right?” Sadie says.

“If that was all, it would’ve been a blessing,” Marge says. “But he said much worse things, truly awful things. We’ve worked together a lot recently, you know? He knows how sensitive I am. He knows exactly what upsets me. Still, he’d been mean to me all day, saying all manner of things about me and Dallas you wouldn’t believe, things like…” but Marge trails off, her eyes glistening. She takes out a handkerchief, dabbing her eyes, her bracelets jangling softly.