Sebastien Vaan Der Miles took another swig of scotch and straightened his turtleneck. He seemed nervous, almost as if weighed down by an unbearable secret. He leaned on the bar and thought about the world as he pulled out a small mirror and snorted a single rail of cocaine.
“I love you honeypie,” murmured his Fiancée Kendra Von Puter as she popped a single Xanax to dull the feelings inside of her.
Sebastien spun around, “Well I don’t love you, Kendra,” he screamed as he pulled out a mortar and pestle and began to crush up tablets of oxycodone into a fine powder.
Kendra laughed and slapped Sebastien in the face.
“I don’t care if you love me,” she whispered, laughing maniacally, “You need me.”
“It’s, you,” screamed Powell Van Der Miles, Sebastien’s father, as he dropped a glass full of sherry mixed with Valium.
“I recognize you!” screamed Powell Van Der Miles, pointing to the masked man or woman accosting him.
“I know exactly who you are and I understand the circumstances as to why you are here,” explained S. Powell Van Der Miles I, “I just don’t need to say your name out loud because it would be redundant.”
The masked man or woman nodded. He or she was well aware of who he or she was so there was no need for someone to say it out loud. He appreciated Powell Van Der Miles’ commitment to brevity.
“Don’t-“ Powell Van Der Miles began before being cut off by the sound of bullets firing.
Sebastien was so shocked by the sound of bullets being fired that he dropped the spoon he was using to cook his crack-cocaine. He spun around and immediately began to become suspicious that Kendra was nowhere to be found. Neither was the butler, Kreezy. Or any of the waiting staff or the mysterious masked man or woman Sebastien had been dancing with earlier. Sebastien was also more confused, as he couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t fired the gun himself. Everyone was a suspect.
“What was that noise!” yelled Sebastien’s gay hispanic lover Manuel as he ran into the large atrium of Sebastien’s family’s Napa estate, where Sebastien and Kendra and Manuel were vacationing along with Sebastien’s family and a dozen or so other guests, all of whom had no alibi for the shooting.
“Manuel, you beautiful fool, don’t you know the sound of gunfire?” crooned Sebastien as he began to embrace Manuel.
Meanwhile, from behind the eyeholes of the inauspicious falcon painting in the corner of the room, Sebastien’s evil twin brother Miles watched in shock as the two men embraced many times in several different positions, starting with missionary.
“Oh Miles, I don’t love him,” Kendra screamed in joy as the two embraced.
I don’t love you either, thought Miles.
The entire family as well as the eight or so guests (none of whom had alibis) rushed into the east wine room where they had heard the gunshots some hours ago.
“Oh no!” screamed Sebastien’s mother Helga Matterhorn Van Der Miles as she saw her husband Powell bleeding dead on the floor.
“Who did this?!” screamed Sebastien as he cradled his father’s head.
“I love you, papa,” Miles whispered at his father’s corpse.
“I luh you papi,” Manuel murmured discretely, also at the corpse.
I don’t love either of you, thought Powell Van Der Miles from beyond the grave
“So your parents didn’t have any problem naming you Miles Van Der Miles?”
“Naw,” Miles whispered sexily.
“This is a murder most fowl!” screamed Nolan Tracktenburg, one of the guests as he took his turn in line to cradle Powell’s head.
“Somebody call the inspector!” screeched Stacy Puterpott, another one of the guests, as she sultrily cradled Powell’s pelvis.
Suddenly the door burst open and the smell of codeine wafted in. A short, grey-haired man entered and bellowed, “I’m the goddamn inspector!”
Inspector Bryan Mantis began to roll up his sleeves and scream, “And as far as I’m concerned, everyone is a suspect!”