Death at the Carmichaels

"She’s dead!”

Those aren’t the words one wants to hear upon arrival at a rancid old mansion surrounded by forest to meet the people you loathe the most. Still, here I am, standing inside the broken-down door of a bedroom, staring at the glazed-over eyes of Aranetha Carmichael, lying in a pool of her own blood.

My first instinct is to run! Leave!

Of course, I’m forced to stay by Leman herding us downstairs and into the parlour, where we drape ourselves over the furniture like yesterday’s dirty laundry, glaring at each other in suspicion.

Aranetha’s room was locked, with no way in or out except through the door!

I hear now that she drank too much, and her new assistant helped her to her bedroom a couple of hours before I arrived. While the assistant was making snacks in the kitchen and the others were scattered around the mansion, avoiding each other, Aranetha was heard sporadically ranting and complaining all alone in her room.

She suddenly screamed, and they all rushed there. The men broke down the door, and that’s when they made the gruesome discovery and formed the tableau I was welcomed with upon my arrival at the Carmichael Mansion.

I listen to the others throwing around accusations, glad that, as usual, I’m being ignored. Leman tells Dawson that he knows how much he hated Aranetha since she broke off their affair, and he knows that Elsbeth, knew about their deceit.

Dawson sucks on his asthma pump as if it contains a magical way out of this horrible situation while his wife alternates between pretending to faint and stuffing her three chins with the tuna canapés left by the assistant.

“What about you, Leman?!” Elsbeth huffs. “We all know she cheated you out of the CEO position at Carmichael Holdings. You have more of a motive than I do. She only had an affair with Dawson to manipulate the idiot into giving her his vote. I’m surprised you didn’t kill him too!”

“What... about... Suzanne?” Dawson wheezes, blasting two more puffs from his inhaler into his lungs. His expression is growing increasingly distressed.

“She just arrived, you idiot!” his wife snaps, and it’s true. I did. “If you cannot contribute some... some...” Elsbeth’s words die on a choke as she gags, and it is quite terrible to see hives on her flabby arms. Her eyes bulge as she struggles to breathe until she collapses to the floor in full-scale anaphylactic shock.

“I guess that wasn’t tuna,” I remark. “Didn’t Aranetha warn her assistant about Elsbeth’s severe shellfish allergy?”

“Where’s... her purse?!” Dawson shouts, getting to his feet. His breathing sounds as laboured as his wife’s, and his lips are a startling blue. “I need... to find... her EpiPen!”

We rush around, searching every surface and I finally locate it under the couch.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask Dawson, watching his face turn purple as he puffs and puffs unsuccessfully with his inhaler.

“Give me the bloody EpiPen, Suzanne!” Leman roars, kneeling by Elsbeth’s side, holding his hand out to me. “Go call Aranetha’s useless assistant! We need more help over here!”

“Yes, we do,” I agree, stepping over Elsbeth to squat beside Dawson when he collapses, lying near his wife. I watch in horror as he convulses.

“The EpiPen will not help him! Give it to me! Elsbeth is barely breathing now!”

“You’re right, it won’t,” I agree, “and Elsbeth is already dead.”

“What?!” Leman snaps, looking up at me, sitting beside Dawson, holding one of his clutching hands. His eyes widen in shock as he gazes into the barrel of the gun I took from the purse - my purse - wearing rubber gloves and wrapping Dawson’s fingers around it. “Suzanne! I can explain!”

“So can I,” I tell him, pulling the trigger with Dawson’s finger and watching with some satisfaction as a section of Leman’s face disappears. He topples over, landing on Elsbeth as if he’s embracing her. Funny, they were never that close when they were alive. “But I’m not going to.”

“Please,” Dawson gasps, his fingers convulsively curling around the now-empty weapon.

“Sure, you can have it. No need to beg,” I tell him, letting the gun go and rising to my feet while I watch the life drain from his eyes. He knows why he died; they all know. They stole my share of my father’s company out from under me when he died. Leman, Aranetha, Elsbeth and Dawson, my brother, sisters and brother-in-law.

“What a friggin’ crappy family we are!”

Crossing to the sideboard, I pour myself a stiff drink from the bottle of cognac Aranetha gave me as a small token of appreciation. She convinced me to wear a wig and glasses, pretending to be her assistant tonight. It was part of her plan to steal our siblings’ inheritance, and in exchange, she would split it with me.

All lies!

To start her plan, she pretended to be drunk and asked me to take her upstairs. As usual, I was supposed to do the dirty work. That is when I stabbed her, left the iPod with perfectly timed recordings playing by her side and locked the door.

It saddens me that nobody recognised me... as expected.

When they all ran upstairs, I left the snacks, stashed my purse containing Daddy’s old gun under the couch and met them upstairs as myself. Their newly arrived, invisible sister.

I swapped Dawson’s asthma pump with a doctored one when the trauma caused him to take it out, and I bumped into him, making him drop it.

Aranetha’s plan worked perfectly. I was never here, and she created my waterproof alibi.

Soon, the guard at the gate will wave at her unknown assistant, driving off in her car. The only suspect, vouched for by Aranetha herself.

Dizziness washes over me, and my vision blurs, the glass slipping from my fingers and smashing on the floor. I turn to glare at the bottle of cognac.

Only I drink that!

My lungs are burning, fighting for air, and as my stomach starts to cramp and I collapse into darkness, I wonder what poison she used.

“Aranetha! You bitch!”

Winner of a January Prompt Challenge - Mystery/Thriller on WattPad