Whodunit?

Next weekend, the singles class at my church is having a murder mystery dinner, which can best be described as a live-action version of the game Clue. Everyone attending gets the profile of character they must play. Once at the dinner, you find further instructions about which other characters you should talk to, specific information you must provide if asked, and pieces of evidence to keep an eye one.

I had a blast at the one I attended one last summer. We arrived at what was supposed to be a wedding banquet and began mingling and eating. Then, about halfway through the night, the lights went out, there was a scream, a bang, and when the lights came back on, we discovered the bride had been murdered (pretend-like, of course). The rest of the evening, we the banquet-goers sought to uncover who among us was the culprit based on what information we could obtain from other characters and other pieces of evidence found in the room.

It's even more fun than it sounds. If you ever get the chance to participate, don't pass it up.

Problem is, I can't attend this next one. That evening I'll be across town at the rehearsal dinner for one of the 78 weddings I'm attending this year. At best, I might be able to show up about two-thirds of the way through the mystery dinner, precluding me from playing any of the established roles. But then I thought to myself: What if I just created my own role, and then crashed the party halfway through?

This plan is flawless.

The theme for the upcoming mystery dinner is a poker tournament in the wild west, circa 1880--a believeable murder scene to say the least. As much fun as it would be to be a part of it, it might even be more fun for me to introduce a new, unexpected character into the middle of the story and just see what happens. Since no one knows any information coming in except for their own part, they may not even realize that I'm an unauthorized addition to the show.

I just have to narrow it down to the best idea. Here's what I've got so far:

1. Classic slacker entrance. Walk in, still putting on my cowboy costume and loudly proclaim, "Hey, sorry I'm late. I'm supposed to off somebody when the lights go out. Did anybody else have those instructions or was it just me?"

(1b) Modified slacker entrance. "Okay, so I got a little confused on the directions, and so I apparently didn't realize I was at the wrong party for over an hour. The main thing is I made it. But...if an officer shows up asking something about a maniac firing a cap gun at some kid's birthday party down at the skating rink, you know nothing.

2. "The plot thickens" approach. Burst through the doors dramatically, in full garb, with a fake blood stain over the front of my shirt denoting a bullet would. Clutching my wound, stagger around the room and bring the proceedings to a screeching halt with an obscenely loud, melodramatic soliloquy on the philosphical implications of dying as part 35-minute death scene that involves several instances of falling momentarily into a nearby character and asking them to do something (ridiculous) for me after I'm gone. Having crossed the room several times, collapse onto the middle of the floor, screeching, then go motionless. Wait five seconds. Wake up abruptly, say "Oh, by the way, Joe's the killer," then return to being dead.

3. Emmitt "Doc" Brown. Come in standard cowboy outfit plus trenchcoat, add platinum white mad scientist wig, and barrell in with my best Christopher Lloyd impression. Which is not that great. I'll run from one partygoer to the next, screaming "Have you seen Miss Clayton?!" and "The flux capacitor won't remain operational all evening! We've got to get the locomotive up to 88 miles per hour!" This would be helped by an accomplice who at least somewhat resembled Michael J. Fox, wearing that ridiculous getup from the beginning of BTtF Part III. I'd grab him by the vest and shake him as I pointed to the dead character's corpse: "Did you do it? Did you?!? Marty, you've altered the past! This is terrible! He was my grandfather! Great Scott!!"

4. Arrive as the Ace of Spades. As in, find a costume resembling the human playing cards from Alice in Wonderland. Look at everyone suspiciously. If someone comes near you, flinch overdramatically and run away.

5. Come as Batman. Saunter around. Randomly grab someone by the shirt collar and bellow, in an indecipherable growl, "Did you do it?" Push them away. Go to refreshment table. Chug punch while scowling. Repeat.

6. Come dressed as a clown with a bomb, complete with comically oversized digital countdown display, strapped to the front of my chest. While grinning maniacally, walk in one door, cross the room slowly, and exit the other side. Say nothing.

7. Train a Jack Russell terrier to sprint around the room, holding a nutcracker figurine in his mouth. Come in dressed as a pirate, covered in what appears to be remnants of a wedding cake. In a fit of rage, pursue the dog around the room while menacingly wielding a rubber snake as a whip. Knock people over if necessary. Repeatedly curse the dog in French. If possible, exit through one door, then return, holding the nutcracker, as the dog pursues me with the rubber snake in its mouth. Yell expressions of terror in Spanish. When asked later, swear I recall neither seeing nor orchestrating any such display.

8. If nothing else... Put on best dark suit, hair perfectly coiffed. Carry around a martini glass. Wink at the women. Do the fake finger gun-point at the men. Smile insincerely at everyone. Wear "My Name Is" sticker that reads: "Red Herring."

That's all I've come up with so far. If you have any suggestions, feel fee to post them below. And if it's one that provides significant payoff with little effort or preparation (e.g. training a dog), I just may do it.

If so, I'll give a full report next weekend.