Page 19 of Seven Reasons to Murder Your Dinner Guests
That conversation carved a path out of the hell Melvin had endured. Before then, he’d seen himself as stuck. But Janet spelled it out for him—he just had to be honest. And so, last week, he casually suggested a post-work drink to Christian, who nodded happily. Melvin took his courage in both hands, opened his mouth to let his feelings out, but then Christian jumped in. First he apologized in case Melvin might find his words “inappropriate” (he looked so adorably vulnerable when he said that word) and then he told him that he’d had feelings for Melvin for months. Melvin was elated, and he hadn’t even needed to broach the awkward subject himself. Together, they planned out tonight. Melvin would cook Mary his legendary lasagna, pour them both a large glass of red, and serve up the truth to Mary: Their marriage cannot continue because he is gay. Last night, he called Christian once Mary had gone to bed to go over the final details.
“I’m taking you out on Sunday,” Christian cried, his voice thick with happy tears. Melvin hung up the phone and slumpedback on their old sofa. His whole body was starting to feel lighter, as if shackles on his wrists and ankles were starting to slowly loosen. Soon, he’d be free of his old life. Free to be with Christian. He hadn’t felt this happy in years. He just wishes he didn’t have to see Janet again; she clearly isn’t the most discreet sort.
“Here we are, ladies and gentlemen.” The waitress appears with two bottles of champagne, shadowed by a waiter carrying six champagne flutes.
“I thought we should say goodbye to Stella in style,” Janet says. “After all, she wasdeadstylish.”
Melvin’s eyes meet Vivienne’s as the comment hits home, while Janet just smirks and holds up her glass until it’s filled to the top. She downs half the contents in one go and lifts it again for a top-up.
Once all the glasses are filled and the waiters step away, silence settles across the table once more. Stella’s envelope is still there, daring one of them to open it. Gordon hasn’t even looked at his champagne; he’s just fidgeting in his seat. Matthew finished his drink quickly and is now staring into his empty glass. Vivienne takes small eager sips from hers while reading from her notebook. Tristan holds his drink in his left hand and chews the nail of his right thumb. Janet’s lipstick-stained glass sits between her and Stella’s envelope.
“Let’s look at the facts,” Gordon says, in full lecture mode now. “Janet opened her envelope at the dinner party, which explicitly stated she would die at forty-four. And what age are you now, Janet?”
She takes another large gulp from her glass and looks from Gordon to Matthew and then Melvin, who shrugs his shoulders.
“As you know, I’m forty-four,” she says, her voice croaky. She clears her throat and adds: “It’s my birthday in July.”
“Gordon, I’m not sure this is helping anyone…” Melvin says when he notices Janet’s glass shaking in her hand.
“Mine was fifty-three,” Gordon says, holding his palm up toward Melvin. “Did anyone else open theirs?”
“My envelope’s gone missing,” Vivienne admits. “It was in my bag after the dinner party, but I seem to have mislaid it since then.”
“Mine’s probably still in my jeans pocket at home. I haven’t opened it,” says Tristan. “Forgot all about it, to be honest.”
“No idea where mine got to,” Melvin says with a shrug.
They all look at Matthew, who is glaring at his empty champagne flute.
“I must have left it at Serendipity’s. I didn’t open it.” He shrugs, then reaches for the second bottle and tops up everyone’s glasses. Melvin watches as Matthew accidentally spills some bubbly on the table.
“Sorry, it’s an emotional day,” he says, color rising in his cheeks. “Anyway, here’s to beautiful, stylish, mischievous Stella.”
They clink glasses, lost in their own thoughts.
Gordon clears his throat, clearly keen to get back to business.
“So if the number inside this envelope is twenty-three, then we’ll know for sure—”
“We’ll know what for sure?” Janet cuts in. “What exactly are you implying, Gordon? That some godlike figure has seen into our futures and knows when we’ll all die?”
“No, I’m a scientist,” Gordon huffs. “I do not believe inGod—or godlike figures, as you put it.”
“Then what?” Vivienne snaps. “A serial killer giving us all fair warning of our murders?”
“Now stop right there, everyone. I’ve read the police report. The girl fell in front of a tube train. It was an accident. There’s no suggestion at all of foul play,” says Melvin.
“But there were no witnesses, no CCTV…” Vivienne counters.
“Even if the card does say twenty-three, it could still be a coincidence,” Matthew mutters, his voice strained.
“He’s right,” says Tristan.
The table falls quiet as six pairs of eyes rest on the envelope.
“Let’s see, shall we?” Gordon says, and, quick as a whip, he grabs the envelope and yanks the card out.
Janet gasps and covers her eyes. Gordon peers at the card and then looks up at Janet and blinks slowly.
