Murder in the Great Hall

[LadyGriffin]

THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF

Mr. Jamie Panache, Moderator

Well, all my illnesses have finally caught up with me as I told you they would. I have been taken from this life too soon but that just may work out to my associate’s advantage. I’m sure you’re happy that I’m dead because it means you get my money – or so you hope.
Therefore, I, Jamie Panache, being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath my estate to the following:
To my dear partner, Ms. Pleater, I leave absolutely nothing because you’ve given absolutely nothing all your life—you’re only good at taking. That is unacceptable to me. Besides, I know my money would be wasted on you—spent on the booze that you so love more than anyone or anything. Sober up, or not. It makes no matter to me to see you drunk and poor.
To my second partner, Mr. Livingston, I leave the sum total of fifty cents. You’d do anything to make a buck except work hard for it so I’m not about to make it any easier for you. Besides, you already took your rightful inheritance when you embezzled from me. Moreover, I’m fully aware of your gambling losses. I hope the villains you borrowed from teach you and that assistant of yours a lesson. You’re as immoral, corrupt, and self-centered as they come - and your assistant is no better. That’s what you get for associating with someone from the wrong side of the tracks. Spend the money wisely.
To Mr. Wompet, now that I’m dead you can kiss any delusions you have about me goodbye and you’ll get nothing more from me. Arlen showed me your true colors and it’s a good thing because if he hadn’t opened my eyes to the lunatic you are, you’d be sitting pretty with all my money. I can see the hysteria and dramatics building—and I’m laughing here on the other side.
To Mr. Clockwork, my EX-employee, I leave you an old copy of the “The Highland Inquirer” gossip rag. After all, you’ve made a small fortune by selling secrets about my life to them so why not enjoy the result of your cloak and dagger acts now that you’ll have all this free time on your hands. Everyone, I would advise keeping your skeletons in your closet or they will soon be found on the front page of the Highland Inquirer.
To my dear friend and assistant, Mr. Dove, I leave you with my very best wishes, heartfelt thanks and the sum of $5,000,000. You’ve always been there for me, unlike the rest of my so-called friends, ready to help with anything I needed. That kind of friendship and loyalty is truly priceless. You shall reap the rewards of such loyalty. Know that I will always be close by.

[LadyGriffin]

To my lawyer, Ms. Griffin, you’re already wealthy in your own right, being my lawyer all these years, so I leave you my cherished bowling ball in its genuine Naugahyde case and my VIP membership to Peetie’s Pub and Pins. Remember what I always told you, “If you want to meet a man with real class, you’re sure to find him in a bowling alley!”
And finally, to my youngest associate, Arlen, I leave the bulk of my entire and immense fortune. If it weren’t for you, I’d have been trapped by my sympathy for that crazy fool Wompet. I’m surprised to see you were able to prove yourself a man. I would have done the same thing if I were in your situation. Be happy, Arlen, for everything I have is yours—for as long as you shall live.
Of course, when Arlen dies, my remaining estate will not go to Arlen’s wife, Unaspencia, whom I never did understand much less like, but to Mr. Livingston, the most dependable of my former partners. Upon Mr. Livingston’s death, my remaining fortune will be split equally between my other two partner’s, Ms. Pleater and Mr. Wompet.
By the way, this Will is irrefutable so contesting it legally won’t do any of you much good. Just ask my lawyer. You will just have to creatively deal with your dissatisfaction amongst yourselves in whatever ingenious and backstabbing way you can.
I know you all want my money. Arlen’s it—for today. Let the games begin.

Signed: Jamie Panache

Witnessed: D. L. Griffin, Attorney at Law

[LadyGriffin]

*slams papers down on desk disgustedly*

You all happy now? All I got was his Bowling Ball, and after all I did for him. Hrumph!

Can't change it either. He is right. I'm too good for my own good, it appears.
Ah well, anyone want to sue each other for anything? I'm sure I can help you think of something.

For now, I think I will jsut sit back and watch. This should be fun.

*pours herself a stiff Scotch and sits by fireplace facing everyone else*

[Pleater]

Well it would solve a lot of problems for me if Livingstone gave Arlen and Wompet a lift down the mountain,

Grins broadly at the mental image of a car hurtling out of control towards a precipice.

though I'd like to check for any small print. There can be nasty little clauses in wills about beneficiaries having to survive for a time after the demise...

I must say that he writes a very good will, and treats the feelings of everyone he was associated with in exactly the same way.

[Wompet]

What?! Nothing at all? That can't be right!
Nothing to me - his mentor, who made him the businessman he was; his friend, his companion - no, no, Jamie was always loyal to me; he would never treat me this way. Even when he tossed me over for that redheaded strumpet (gestures with biscuit at the F.H.C.A.G.) he treated me better than this ...
Wait! That's it! This will is a fake, a forgery, a counterfeit!! There's no way that Jamie would leave nothing to his family - his beloved children and homewrecking wife!
(Turning on Arlen)
Everything to you, eh? "If it weren’t for you, I’d have been trapped by my sympathy for that crazy fool Wompet." What lies did you tell him to put me in the doghouse? I made him the man he was, a man who could afford to patronize the likes of you, and you get me thrown out like a stray in the night?
Wait, that will held a bit of truth - "prove yourself a man" it said. You're a lapdog, Arlen.
(Glaring at Unaspenser)
But you - you hold his leash, don't you? You're the cause of this. You got Arlen to fill Jamie's head with lies, and got me (and his family, of course) out of the will!

[Clockwork John]

Scribbling in my notebook and talking to myself, Powerful Moderator gets the last laugh with surprise will.

[Livingston]

Great, JUST what I need, $0.50. That will go a long ways. And of course, Arlen is such a young man. hmmmm.. I bet he could use some help managing those funds.

Too bad about Jamie. I had so hoped we could work together again.

[Coemgen]

"Wrong side of the tracks"?!?! My friends and family "villains"!?!?!

He continues, apparently addressing the late Mr. Panache, all the while gesticulating wildly

You bloody puffed up arrogant self engorged greedy vain stingy ungrateful bowl of fetid dingo's kidneys! I'll have you hung, drawn and quartered, and whipped, and boiled until you've had enough! And then I'll do it again! And when I'm finished, I'll take all the little bits and I will jump on them, until I've thought of something really nasty to do to you!

He goes on for a bit, his speech slurring into an indiscernible babble, concluding with a loud:

SO THERE!

Coemgen slumps into a chair, exhausted, but satisfied.

[Arlen]

Could everyone PLEASE be quiet!
Our beloved Panache done what he saw fit. He always had such good judgment and such wonderful taste.

In his memory, I would like to recite a poem in his honour. It will, of course, be in my new book coming out as soon as possible.
Here is the cover, by the way. My dashing and completely historically accurate outfit is a dedication to Mr. Panache's tutelage!




Would anyone like to see the picture of my beloved wife and muse in her 'interprative dance' outfit I am putting in the dedications?

Yes? Certainly, I'll show you just as soon as I am finished this recitation!!






Ode to Panache. A poem by Arlen.

Stomp the orange, stomp the orange.
Postage stamps increase rage.
My dear, dead Panache.
Stomp the orange, stomp the orange.
Goats and pygmies dance
In the light of neon.
Stomp the orange, stomp the orange.
My dear, dead Panache.
Pink cats and giant peas argue
Over my friend, decomposing.
Stomp the grapefruit, stomp the grapefruit.
A monster with seeds.
My dear, dead Panache.
Stomp the grapefruit, stomp the orange.
Confusing as the postage stamp of rage.

[Livingston]

Coemgen, <mumble, mumble> the only way <mumble, mumble>