The dusty black mansion envelops the lid of the “Clue” game box. As the game is opened, the characters come to life, Professor Plum, Mr. Green, and Colonel Mustard stretch out the aches from their malleable joints while Miss Scarlet smoothes out the ruffles in her plastic cocktail dress. “What a relief to walk over these tiles without the roll of a dice!” Miss Peacock huffed, toying with her curls “I was even able to change out the old rose in my hair.” 

Suddenly Ms. White burst out of the library, “Mr. Boddy is dead!”, the once tumbled over figurine now a character lying beside a pile of books, limbs splayed and blood trickling down to the puddle on the floor. A gasp echoed through the hallway of the 6 characters, now tasked to find the murderer in the Boddy Mansion. They each split up, holding their case file cards which host all the information they need, except what is most important: the location, murder weapon, and killer’s identity. 

Miss Scarlet always goes first. She walked up to Mr. Boddy and looked at his wound. She noticed the occipital fracture patterns, specifically the absence of an entry wound or bone beveling, and determined that the cause of death could not be sharp or projectile force trauma. Observing the lines of contusions on his head that match the small fracture distribution underneath, she inferred that this trauma was caused by a small object. Miss Scarlet looked at one of her case file cards: “Cause of death: Blunt force trauma to the back of the head.” 

Professor Plum and Mr. Green followed soon after. Toying with the cuffs of his violet blazer, the Professor whipped out his case file envelope, and inspected the dark ink of the page; “PMI: 12 hours”. The two men scrunched their eyebrows in confusion and looked at Mr. Boddy again, this time catching the reddish-purple tinge of livor mortis wrapping around his torso beneath his untucked shirt. 

“You can see the blood— can’t ya Professor?” 

“Yes Reverend, with no circulation in his vessels, he’s been dead long enough for gravity to take the wheel”. 

“But the library hasn’t been open since we came to life— this means” the two men made eye contact, finishing each other’s sentences. 

“Mr. Boddy didn’t die in the library.”

Professor Plum and Mr. Green circled the body, frantically reading through their case file cards, and scavenged the area for a clue. They decided it would be best to confer with their dear friend, Colonel Mustard. 

The Colonel was in the conservatory, looking for any clues. And noticed the spatial distribution of the scene, even with the pots seemingly arranged in perfect order, he noticed chips on some and the usually white tiles had a browner tinge than usual. He dove into his case file envelope and pulled out the Taphonomy card. “Scene indicates damage to surrounding objects in a circular perimeter, the taphonomic analysis concludes evidence contamination.” Scouring the floor once again, the Colonial now noticed the dirt-tinged tiles formed a path leading out of the conservatory. He rushed to the library to meet with Mr. Green and Professor Plum. 

“Colonel, we discovered something! Mr. Boddy didn’t die in the library.” All three eyes widened in shock as Colonel Mustard nodded in affirmation. He donned a pair of gloves and bent down to examine the victim’s hand, lifting the arm caused a pack of Saracennia seeds to fall out of Mr. Boddy’s pocket. 

“Just as we thought,” Mustard mused, noticing the dirt underneath his fingertips, “Mr. Boddy died in the conservatory.” 

The last to investigate was Mrs. Peacock and Ms. White, they were roaming the kitchen, nerves high. “Oh my goodness these stupid red petals are everywhere!” Ms. White exclaimed, peeling one off the bottom of her stiletto, “Couldn’t they have done some housekeeping while we were figurines?” Mrs. Peacock shrugged and continued her search, noticing a wrench in the sink, they both gasped and rushed back to the library, the dried red tinge of blood on the tips grew more obvious with each bound towards the victim. 

With the other four characters already beside the body, Ms. White noticed more about the perimortem trauma of Mr. Boddy’s wound. It formed a bull’s eye injury with a pale center and a darkened petechial silhouette, mimicking the curves and points of the wrench in Mrs. Peacock’s hand. 

They each took their information and conferred, sizing up their cards and trinkets collected along the way, not noticing the slight smirk on one of their faces at their unsuspecting comrades. Reluctantly they reached an agreement. 

Information inconclusive. 

Whodunnit?