I attended my first murder-mystery dinner over the weekend. I was a wealthy businessman with a drug problem and an illegitimate daughter, both of which I was trying to hide from the rest of them. Then there was the small matter of the dead body... the woman I had had an affair with thirty years ago, producing said daughter.
It was an enjoyable, if difficult, affair. Keeping track of everybody's secrets and trying to figure out who was genuine and who wasn't was nigh on impossible, especially as somebody kept on pouring vodka down my throat. A notepad would have been handy and perhaps a smaller crowd. I think thirteen people is a few too many for that kind of thing.
In the end none of us figured out who the murderer was, and, after I spent ten grand on cocaine from a South American drug baron, and slipped a woman from the orphanage some money to keep quiet about my dalliance three decades ago, I didn't have enough cash left to buy the crown at the auction like I was supposed to...