Fic: Suspect, Weapon, Room (15/15)
Title: Suspect, Weapon, Room
Author:a_glass_parade
Beta:idoltina
Artist:gwladus
Word Count: 43,000+
Rating: R - people die, it's a murder mystery!
Characters/Pairings: Blaine Anderson, Brittany Pierce, Finn Hudson, Quinn Fabray, Noah Puckerman, Rachel Berry, Kurt Hummel, Santana Lopez, with cameo appearances galore!
Warnings: People die. Repeat: people DIE. People you like die. This is an AU based off of the murder mystery movie 'Clue'. So...people die. Just...letting you know. Also warning for slapstick humor and terrible jokes.
Summary: Mysterious invitations have been sent to certain notorious citizens of the Chicago area, asking them to gather at creepy Dalton Manor for a dinner party with an unknown host. Blaine Anderson, masquerading as humble butler Wadsworth, must exert all his considerable efforts and charms to keep everything under control and solve a significant problem when guests, servants and unexpected visitors start to turn up dead by various means! A modern riff on the 1985 cult classic film 'Clue' finds our beloved McKinley misfits reluctantly banding together to try and escape dinner with their lives.
Chapter Fifteen - But Here's What Really Happened!
“Turn the damn lights back on, Mighty Mouse.” Having the distinct bad luck to be standing right next to Ms. Scarlet when she let fly with her angry screech, Kurt wondered if he'd ever be able to hear clearly again. As it was, his ears were still ringing when Wadsworth flipped all the lights back on and came out of the cellar.
“Sorry,” he apologized, looking sheepish as he emerged. “Didn't mean to scare you.”
“You're a little late for that,” snapped Colonel Mustard, turning to Ms. Peacock in a search for solidarity. “Man, I hate it when he does that.”
“Anyway.” Wadsworth cleared his throat and began to pace the hallway. “Then there were three more murders.”
“But who did it?” Ms. Scarlet's impatience almost snapped and crackled off of her like electricity. “Do you even know how to tell a short story?”
“No,” was the sneering reply as the butler's pacing picked up in speed. Kurt was getting dizzy watching him. “Let's consider each murder, starting with Mr. Boddy.” He whirled to face Professor Plum. “You knew he was still alive. Even a lifeguard with minimal training in first aid can generally tell the difference between a person with a pulse and a corpse without one. You shot at him in the dark and missed, so you pretended he was dead, planning to finish the job later when we weren't around to see you do it.”
Mrs. White's head jerked up. “Of course. He was missing when we first got to the kitchen, I just realized.”
“Convenient,” growled the Professor, but he did look awfully nervous.
Still. “He was in the billiard room with us when we found Yvette screaming,” Kurt pointed out with extreme reluctance. “If that's when the cook was killed, how did he do it?”
“Fuck no, I didn't do that,” protested Plum, jumping to his feet. Ms. Peacock snorted.
“Do you actually expect us to believe that?” she asked, shaking her head with mock sympathy on her face. “Deluded.”
“Him or you, Ms. Peacock?” The smirk on Wadsworth's face was almost diabolical in its satisfaction. “Because I would expect you to believe it, if only to get someone else to take the fall for you murdering the cook.”
Her eyes were round with horror. “Why would I...I would never...”
“Oh, you would. Because she was your cook. The one person who could inform on you to Mr. Boddy about your collusion with Hormel, and you knew it. Follow me.” He strode into the dining room, beckoning for everyone to come along. Kurt gladly did, if only for another momentary glimpse of that adorable butt. When they were all gathered, Wadsworth pointed to the chair Ms. Peacock had occupied at dinner. “You made one mistake at dinner when you let us all know we were eating your favorite dish.”
Ms. Peacock crossed her arms and huffed, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. “So?”
Wadsworth watched her carefully. “It's not every cook who has the experience and expertise to cook pork chitlins well. She was the best in Chicago at it.”
“Chitlins?” Oh, God. Kurt thought he was going to be sick, and none of the other guests looked much better.
But Wadsworth got their attention again before anyone could think too hard on what they'd eaten. “Back into the hallway, please. Colonel Mustard - when we were at the door with the motorist, you took the opportunity to steal the key to the weapons cabinet out of my pocket.”
The Colonel looked like he'd just been caught passing a Silent But Deadly. “Uh...”
“Then you made the suggestion that we all split up, giving you the perfect opportunity to kill the motorist.” Stepping into the lounge, Wadsworth came back out with the wrench. “While Ms. Scarlet was searching the cellar, you sneaked upstairs, got the wrench, used the secret passage between the conservatory and the lounge to gain access to the locked room, and killed him with one good blow to the head.”
“I'm not gay,” Colonel Mustard objected.
Wadsworth rolled his eyes. “I mean you hit him.”
“Oh.”
Mrs. White was shaking her head, an admiring smile on her face. “This is incredible.”
“Not as incredible as what happened next!” His grin was so wide and manic and somehow knowing that it wiped the smile right off of Mrs. White's face. “Because then we split up again, and let's not forget that you were on the ground floor. You saw that the cabinet was open and that Yvette was coming down the stairs. It was nothing for you to get the rope and slip into the billiard room behind her.”
Already pale, Mrs. White didn't need the sudden rush of blood from her horrified face. “I...”
“You were jealous that your husband had been sleeping with her,” Wadsworth accused. “That's why you killed him, too!”
“I...” All at once, she shook herself and straightened up, chin in the air. “All right, fine. Yes. I did it. I killed Yvette.” She seemed not to notice the fury that colored Ms. Scarlet's face, or the anger in Wadsworth's eyes - in fact, Kurt thought, she didn't really notice anything at all. “I...I hated her. So...so much...I...flames?” Her hands came up and curled into claws, flexing with every breath she took. “Flames...on the sides of my face. Heavi...heaving? Breaths? I...”
“Sooooo while you were in the billiard room,” Wadsworth interrupted, backing slowly away from the woman having the nervous breakdown, “Ms. Scarlet decided the time was ripe for her to get her own dirty work done, so she got the lead pipe and took down Officer Figgins.” He cast Scarlet a sidelong glance. “True or false?”
She seemed oddly delighted. “True! Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?”
“Please, even I'm not that gay,” Wadsworth snorted.
Colonel Mustard spoke up. “So Mr. Green got the singing telegram chick, right?”
“What?” The sound of his pseudonym being linked with murder shocked Kurt to the core. “No! I didn't kill anyone!”
“But there's no one else left,” Colonel Mustard insisted, walking over to glare down at him. “It had to be you.”
“But I didn't!” Panic knotted in his throat. “I didn't - wait!” It hit him with a flash of blinding realization as he spotted the empty table. “Yvette left the gun over there. It's gone now, someone has it! Whoever has it killed the girl!”
“Fine.” The unexpected admittance came from Professor Plum, who pulled the weapon from his coat pocket and aimed it at Wadsworth. “There you go. You got me. I killed April.”
“You!” Everyone was surprised, but it was Ms. Scarlet who gasped out in shock. “Why?”
“Duh, she sold me out, man.” The Professor rolled his eyes like it was obvious. Well, Kurt thought, in retrospect, it sort of was, even if he didn't agree with it being done. “I am not a forgiving kind of guy.”
“You snuck downstairs when you realized Yvette was gone from the attic,” Wadsworth surmised. “You probably thought she was the killer and you were going to take care of her. But Mrs. White did that for you, and then when the doorbell rang and you saw who it was, why pass up the chance?”
“I had to get out from under the blackmail.” Professor Plum shrugged. “Couldn't take the chance that she wouldn't keep it up after Mr. Boddy died, and like I said - I don't forgive easy.”
Wadsworth chuckled. “Of course, that assumes you killed Mr. Boddy.”
The Professor blinked. “Yeah, I did. His body's right there in the study. And this time he really is dead.”
Kurt felt a creeping chill go down his spine. Oh, no...
“You never met Mr. Boddy until tonight,” Wadsworth pointed out, a somewhat insane grin spreading out across his face and growing wider by the second. “None of you did. So why assume it's him that you killed?”
It was too horrible to contemplate, but what else could it be? “It's you,” Kurt groaned, a sick feeling in his stomach. “You're Mr. Boddy.”
Wadsworth's grin grew even wide. “Well done, Mr. Green.”
A collective gasp went around the room this time. “But who did I kill, then?” asked Professor Plum, half in anger, half plaintively.
“A colleague of mine from the Piven Theater Workshop,” was the surprising explanation. “He needed a job. He thought it would be a scream, and oh how right he was.” Rubbing his hands together, Wadsworth all but cackled as he strolled over to Professor Plum and plucked the gun from his hand like he was picking a flower. “He was expendable. Just like all of you. Don't get me wrong, I'm still pissed about Yvette.” A thunderous expression crossed Wadsworth's face as he began backing carefully away. “But maybe it's for the best. Loose lips sink ships, after all.”
“You really did this because you're jealous that we're famous?” Mrs. White had snapped out of her catatonic trance and stalked forward, pink spots of anger high on her cheekbones. “Seriously?”
“And rich,” Wadsworth replied with a cheeky grin. “I really am a butler and a struggling actor. I can't catch a break, the student loans are real, and I owe my worthless agent fees like you wouldn't believe. If you think I'm a heartless blackmailing shark, you ought to meet Vivian.” But as his gaze met Kurt's, the cocky grin faded away, leaving only apprehension behind.
It felt as though they were the only two people in the room. Everyone else left Kurt's focus as he stared in disappointment at the handsome butler. “So now what?” he finally asked, taking in a long breath. “The police will be here soon. No one's getting away with any of what they did.”
“No one called the police.” Wadsworth's face softened into something like pity. “We're all free to go. Stack the bodies in the cellar, leave quietly, pretend none of this ever happened. An elegant solution.”
“And you'll go on blackmailing us all.” Kurt knew it even as he said it.
A careless shrug. “Why not? Like I said, I need the money.”
As much as he hated to do it - “And I need to stop you,” Kurt replied. Before he could think too hard about it, he reached into his own pocket and pulled out the pistol that had been there all night.
He was faster than Wadsworth. His shot caught the butler right in the hand, forcing him to drop the gun and collapse to the floor howling in agony. “My hand!”
“Yeah, sorry, I was aiming for your arm. I'm a lousy shot,” Kurt confessed, walking over to drop his handkerchief by the butler so the man could wrap his hand up.
Mrs. White stepped up, touching Kurt's shoulder. “Are you a plant?”
“No, I think they call me a fruit,” he joked, but he was the only one who laughed. Oh, well. Kurt sighed. “Yes. I'm a plant. This was a sting operation coordinated by my father and my old cheerleading coach. That call from Ann Coulter was really for me. And obviously was not Ann Coulter.”
Wadsworth frowned up at him from the floor. “A sting...but how?”
“You made the mistake of blackmailing a friend of mine,” Kurt informed him, the sight of Chandler's desperate face still burned indelibly in his mind. “The 'real' Mr. Green that was supposed to be here tonight is Chandler Kiehl. We went to design school together. And he really does use actual fur in his work. I was the only other person who knew.”
“So you took his place,” Ms. Scarlet realized, nodding.
“I did, after I took him to my father. Dad's a U.S. Senator, you see,” he explained. “I figured he could pull some strings. He did, and he got Coach Sylvester involved because...” Kurt frowned. “Actually, I'm not sure why. I think she has FBI connections. Or is the FBI. Nothing would surprise me.”
Ms. Peacock frowned. “I've worn Chandler Kiehl's designs. I've been in his studio for fittings. You don't look anything like Chandler Kiehl.”
“No, he's way better looking than Chandler Kiehl,” Wadsworth volunteered. “I assumed Kiehl had just sent a really hot assistant in his place.”
“It's one of the perks of being a reasonably well-known designer that has never granted interviews or gone to Fashion Week,” Kurt replied, regarding them all coolly. “I prefer to let my work speak for itself, rather than have it be eclipsed by my deadly charm and stunning good looks.”
“Wow, and I'm the one with the ego?” mumbled Ms. Peacock with a scowl.
Kurt ignored her. “At any rate...” He paced over to the door and threw it open. “Time's up.”
FBI agents swarmed the hall, apprehending everyone they could see. “Good work, Porcelain,” congratulated the tall blonde woman that he knew as Sue Sylvester, ripping her long wig off and tossing it aside as she strode forward. “You did well.”
Wadsworth's eyebrows shot up. “Porcelain?”
“It's his Secret Service nickname,” explained Coach Sylvester, her face looking fixedly bored.
“It's not...I'm not...I don't have...” Kurt shook his head hard and gathered his thoughts. “It's just your nickname for me.”
“And I'm with the Secret Service,” she countered.
Kurt tilted his head. “Really?”
“As far as you know.” Coach Sylvester winked. “So. Who did it?”
He looked around at his dinner companions, all of whom were in various stages of being apprehended. “All of them,” he replied, sweeping his hand in a broad gesture. “But I want it noted that I got Mr. Boddy. In the hall. With the revolver.”
The glare Coach Sylvester leveled on him would have crumbled Attila the Hun. “Are you really going there?”
Kurt felt his cheeks burn like fire. He tucked his gun away and twiddled his thumbs. “No, sorry,” he mumbled, staring at his feet.
An officer he didn't know hustled Wadsworth by, likely escorting him to a heavily guarded hospital room. “Mr. Green, wait,” the butler pleaded, digging in his heels until Kurt nodded at the officer to let him stop. “I know I'm a filthy criminal, but I'm not a murderer. And I know there was...there was a spark between us.”
Kurt lifted his chin. “So?”
“Will you visit me in jail?” His eyes were wide and pleading, as heart melting as the eyes of a kicked puppy. “Please? You owe me, for shooting me. It's only fair.”
“I don't know...” His father would kill him. And Chandler would probably be dramatically betrayed about Kurt visiting his blackmailer. But the guy was adorable and yeah, there had been that spark, and okay, he hadn't murdered anyone directly...
The decision was easier than he'd thought it would be. Leaning forward, Kurt cupped a hand around Wadsworth's ear. “You know earlier? In the shower?”
“Yeah?”
“The gun was in my breast pocket,” Kurt whispered. “I really was happy to see you. Coffee in the prison cafeteria next week?”
A grin almost split Wadsworth's face in half. “You're on.” He paused. “Um, I can't shake your hand, but, uh, I'm Blaine.”
Kurt smiled back. “Kurt.”
The officer tugged on the butler's arm and hauled him off, giving Kurt one last peek at that utterly pinchable rear end. You know, if it you don't count all the murders, he thought as he tucked his gun away, Kurt Hummel's had a pretty good night.
The End!
Author:a_glass_parade
Beta:idoltina
Artist:gwladus
Word Count: 43,000+
Rating: R - people die, it's a murder mystery!
Characters/Pairings: Blaine Anderson, Brittany Pierce, Finn Hudson, Quinn Fabray, Noah Puckerman, Rachel Berry, Kurt Hummel, Santana Lopez, with cameo appearances galore!
Warnings: People die. Repeat: people DIE. People you like die. This is an AU based off of the murder mystery movie 'Clue'. So...people die. Just...letting you know. Also warning for slapstick humor and terrible jokes.
Summary: Mysterious invitations have been sent to certain notorious citizens of the Chicago area, asking them to gather at creepy Dalton Manor for a dinner party with an unknown host. Blaine Anderson, masquerading as humble butler Wadsworth, must exert all his considerable efforts and charms to keep everything under control and solve a significant problem when guests, servants and unexpected visitors start to turn up dead by various means! A modern riff on the 1985 cult classic film 'Clue' finds our beloved McKinley misfits reluctantly banding together to try and escape dinner with their lives.
Chapter Fifteen - But Here's What Really Happened!
“Turn the damn lights back on, Mighty Mouse.” Having the distinct bad luck to be standing right next to Ms. Scarlet when she let fly with her angry screech, Kurt wondered if he'd ever be able to hear clearly again. As it was, his ears were still ringing when Wadsworth flipped all the lights back on and came out of the cellar.
“Sorry,” he apologized, looking sheepish as he emerged. “Didn't mean to scare you.”
“You're a little late for that,” snapped Colonel Mustard, turning to Ms. Peacock in a search for solidarity. “Man, I hate it when he does that.”
“Anyway.” Wadsworth cleared his throat and began to pace the hallway. “Then there were three more murders.”
“But who did it?” Ms. Scarlet's impatience almost snapped and crackled off of her like electricity. “Do you even know how to tell a short story?”
“No,” was the sneering reply as the butler's pacing picked up in speed. Kurt was getting dizzy watching him. “Let's consider each murder, starting with Mr. Boddy.” He whirled to face Professor Plum. “You knew he was still alive. Even a lifeguard with minimal training in first aid can generally tell the difference between a person with a pulse and a corpse without one. You shot at him in the dark and missed, so you pretended he was dead, planning to finish the job later when we weren't around to see you do it.”
Mrs. White's head jerked up. “Of course. He was missing when we first got to the kitchen, I just realized.”
“Convenient,” growled the Professor, but he did look awfully nervous.
Still. “He was in the billiard room with us when we found Yvette screaming,” Kurt pointed out with extreme reluctance. “If that's when the cook was killed, how did he do it?”
“Fuck no, I didn't do that,” protested Plum, jumping to his feet. Ms. Peacock snorted.
“Do you actually expect us to believe that?” she asked, shaking her head with mock sympathy on her face. “Deluded.”
“Him or you, Ms. Peacock?” The smirk on Wadsworth's face was almost diabolical in its satisfaction. “Because I would expect you to believe it, if only to get someone else to take the fall for you murdering the cook.”
Her eyes were round with horror. “Why would I...I would never...”
“Oh, you would. Because she was your cook. The one person who could inform on you to Mr. Boddy about your collusion with Hormel, and you knew it. Follow me.” He strode into the dining room, beckoning for everyone to come along. Kurt gladly did, if only for another momentary glimpse of that adorable butt. When they were all gathered, Wadsworth pointed to the chair Ms. Peacock had occupied at dinner. “You made one mistake at dinner when you let us all know we were eating your favorite dish.”
Ms. Peacock crossed her arms and huffed, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. “So?”
Wadsworth watched her carefully. “It's not every cook who has the experience and expertise to cook pork chitlins well. She was the best in Chicago at it.”
“Chitlins?” Oh, God. Kurt thought he was going to be sick, and none of the other guests looked much better.
But Wadsworth got their attention again before anyone could think too hard on what they'd eaten. “Back into the hallway, please. Colonel Mustard - when we were at the door with the motorist, you took the opportunity to steal the key to the weapons cabinet out of my pocket.”
The Colonel looked like he'd just been caught passing a Silent But Deadly. “Uh...”
“Then you made the suggestion that we all split up, giving you the perfect opportunity to kill the motorist.” Stepping into the lounge, Wadsworth came back out with the wrench. “While Ms. Scarlet was searching the cellar, you sneaked upstairs, got the wrench, used the secret passage between the conservatory and the lounge to gain access to the locked room, and killed him with one good blow to the head.”
“I'm not gay,” Colonel Mustard objected.
Wadsworth rolled his eyes. “I mean you hit him.”
“Oh.”
Mrs. White was shaking her head, an admiring smile on her face. “This is incredible.”
“Not as incredible as what happened next!” His grin was so wide and manic and somehow knowing that it wiped the smile right off of Mrs. White's face. “Because then we split up again, and let's not forget that you were on the ground floor. You saw that the cabinet was open and that Yvette was coming down the stairs. It was nothing for you to get the rope and slip into the billiard room behind her.”
Already pale, Mrs. White didn't need the sudden rush of blood from her horrified face. “I...”
“You were jealous that your husband had been sleeping with her,” Wadsworth accused. “That's why you killed him, too!”
“I...” All at once, she shook herself and straightened up, chin in the air. “All right, fine. Yes. I did it. I killed Yvette.” She seemed not to notice the fury that colored Ms. Scarlet's face, or the anger in Wadsworth's eyes - in fact, Kurt thought, she didn't really notice anything at all. “I...I hated her. So...so much...I...flames?” Her hands came up and curled into claws, flexing with every breath she took. “Flames...on the sides of my face. Heavi...heaving? Breaths? I...”
“Sooooo while you were in the billiard room,” Wadsworth interrupted, backing slowly away from the woman having the nervous breakdown, “Ms. Scarlet decided the time was ripe for her to get her own dirty work done, so she got the lead pipe and took down Officer Figgins.” He cast Scarlet a sidelong glance. “True or false?”
She seemed oddly delighted. “True! Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?”
“Please, even I'm not that gay,” Wadsworth snorted.
Colonel Mustard spoke up. “So Mr. Green got the singing telegram chick, right?”
“What?” The sound of his pseudonym being linked with murder shocked Kurt to the core. “No! I didn't kill anyone!”
“But there's no one else left,” Colonel Mustard insisted, walking over to glare down at him. “It had to be you.”
“But I didn't!” Panic knotted in his throat. “I didn't - wait!” It hit him with a flash of blinding realization as he spotted the empty table. “Yvette left the gun over there. It's gone now, someone has it! Whoever has it killed the girl!”
“Fine.” The unexpected admittance came from Professor Plum, who pulled the weapon from his coat pocket and aimed it at Wadsworth. “There you go. You got me. I killed April.”
“You!” Everyone was surprised, but it was Ms. Scarlet who gasped out in shock. “Why?”
“Duh, she sold me out, man.” The Professor rolled his eyes like it was obvious. Well, Kurt thought, in retrospect, it sort of was, even if he didn't agree with it being done. “I am not a forgiving kind of guy.”
“You snuck downstairs when you realized Yvette was gone from the attic,” Wadsworth surmised. “You probably thought she was the killer and you were going to take care of her. But Mrs. White did that for you, and then when the doorbell rang and you saw who it was, why pass up the chance?”
“I had to get out from under the blackmail.” Professor Plum shrugged. “Couldn't take the chance that she wouldn't keep it up after Mr. Boddy died, and like I said - I don't forgive easy.”
Wadsworth chuckled. “Of course, that assumes you killed Mr. Boddy.”
The Professor blinked. “Yeah, I did. His body's right there in the study. And this time he really is dead.”
Kurt felt a creeping chill go down his spine. Oh, no...
“You never met Mr. Boddy until tonight,” Wadsworth pointed out, a somewhat insane grin spreading out across his face and growing wider by the second. “None of you did. So why assume it's him that you killed?”
It was too horrible to contemplate, but what else could it be? “It's you,” Kurt groaned, a sick feeling in his stomach. “You're Mr. Boddy.”
Wadsworth's grin grew even wide. “Well done, Mr. Green.”
A collective gasp went around the room this time. “But who did I kill, then?” asked Professor Plum, half in anger, half plaintively.
“A colleague of mine from the Piven Theater Workshop,” was the surprising explanation. “He needed a job. He thought it would be a scream, and oh how right he was.” Rubbing his hands together, Wadsworth all but cackled as he strolled over to Professor Plum and plucked the gun from his hand like he was picking a flower. “He was expendable. Just like all of you. Don't get me wrong, I'm still pissed about Yvette.” A thunderous expression crossed Wadsworth's face as he began backing carefully away. “But maybe it's for the best. Loose lips sink ships, after all.”
“You really did this because you're jealous that we're famous?” Mrs. White had snapped out of her catatonic trance and stalked forward, pink spots of anger high on her cheekbones. “Seriously?”
“And rich,” Wadsworth replied with a cheeky grin. “I really am a butler and a struggling actor. I can't catch a break, the student loans are real, and I owe my worthless agent fees like you wouldn't believe. If you think I'm a heartless blackmailing shark, you ought to meet Vivian.” But as his gaze met Kurt's, the cocky grin faded away, leaving only apprehension behind.
It felt as though they were the only two people in the room. Everyone else left Kurt's focus as he stared in disappointment at the handsome butler. “So now what?” he finally asked, taking in a long breath. “The police will be here soon. No one's getting away with any of what they did.”
“No one called the police.” Wadsworth's face softened into something like pity. “We're all free to go. Stack the bodies in the cellar, leave quietly, pretend none of this ever happened. An elegant solution.”
“And you'll go on blackmailing us all.” Kurt knew it even as he said it.
A careless shrug. “Why not? Like I said, I need the money.”
As much as he hated to do it - “And I need to stop you,” Kurt replied. Before he could think too hard about it, he reached into his own pocket and pulled out the pistol that had been there all night.
He was faster than Wadsworth. His shot caught the butler right in the hand, forcing him to drop the gun and collapse to the floor howling in agony. “My hand!”
“Yeah, sorry, I was aiming for your arm. I'm a lousy shot,” Kurt confessed, walking over to drop his handkerchief by the butler so the man could wrap his hand up.
Mrs. White stepped up, touching Kurt's shoulder. “Are you a plant?”
“No, I think they call me a fruit,” he joked, but he was the only one who laughed. Oh, well. Kurt sighed. “Yes. I'm a plant. This was a sting operation coordinated by my father and my old cheerleading coach. That call from Ann Coulter was really for me. And obviously was not Ann Coulter.”
Wadsworth frowned up at him from the floor. “A sting...but how?”
“You made the mistake of blackmailing a friend of mine,” Kurt informed him, the sight of Chandler's desperate face still burned indelibly in his mind. “The 'real' Mr. Green that was supposed to be here tonight is Chandler Kiehl. We went to design school together. And he really does use actual fur in his work. I was the only other person who knew.”
“So you took his place,” Ms. Scarlet realized, nodding.
“I did, after I took him to my father. Dad's a U.S. Senator, you see,” he explained. “I figured he could pull some strings. He did, and he got Coach Sylvester involved because...” Kurt frowned. “Actually, I'm not sure why. I think she has FBI connections. Or is the FBI. Nothing would surprise me.”
Ms. Peacock frowned. “I've worn Chandler Kiehl's designs. I've been in his studio for fittings. You don't look anything like Chandler Kiehl.”
“No, he's way better looking than Chandler Kiehl,” Wadsworth volunteered. “I assumed Kiehl had just sent a really hot assistant in his place.”
“It's one of the perks of being a reasonably well-known designer that has never granted interviews or gone to Fashion Week,” Kurt replied, regarding them all coolly. “I prefer to let my work speak for itself, rather than have it be eclipsed by my deadly charm and stunning good looks.”
“Wow, and I'm the one with the ego?” mumbled Ms. Peacock with a scowl.
Kurt ignored her. “At any rate...” He paced over to the door and threw it open. “Time's up.”
FBI agents swarmed the hall, apprehending everyone they could see. “Good work, Porcelain,” congratulated the tall blonde woman that he knew as Sue Sylvester, ripping her long wig off and tossing it aside as she strode forward. “You did well.”
Wadsworth's eyebrows shot up. “Porcelain?”
“It's his Secret Service nickname,” explained Coach Sylvester, her face looking fixedly bored.
“It's not...I'm not...I don't have...” Kurt shook his head hard and gathered his thoughts. “It's just your nickname for me.”
“And I'm with the Secret Service,” she countered.
Kurt tilted his head. “Really?”
“As far as you know.” Coach Sylvester winked. “So. Who did it?”
He looked around at his dinner companions, all of whom were in various stages of being apprehended. “All of them,” he replied, sweeping his hand in a broad gesture. “But I want it noted that I got Mr. Boddy. In the hall. With the revolver.”
The glare Coach Sylvester leveled on him would have crumbled Attila the Hun. “Are you really going there?”
Kurt felt his cheeks burn like fire. He tucked his gun away and twiddled his thumbs. “No, sorry,” he mumbled, staring at his feet.
An officer he didn't know hustled Wadsworth by, likely escorting him to a heavily guarded hospital room. “Mr. Green, wait,” the butler pleaded, digging in his heels until Kurt nodded at the officer to let him stop. “I know I'm a filthy criminal, but I'm not a murderer. And I know there was...there was a spark between us.”
Kurt lifted his chin. “So?”
“Will you visit me in jail?” His eyes were wide and pleading, as heart melting as the eyes of a kicked puppy. “Please? You owe me, for shooting me. It's only fair.”
“I don't know...” His father would kill him. And Chandler would probably be dramatically betrayed about Kurt visiting his blackmailer. But the guy was adorable and yeah, there had been that spark, and okay, he hadn't murdered anyone directly...
The decision was easier than he'd thought it would be. Leaning forward, Kurt cupped a hand around Wadsworth's ear. “You know earlier? In the shower?”
“Yeah?”
“The gun was in my breast pocket,” Kurt whispered. “I really was happy to see you. Coffee in the prison cafeteria next week?”
A grin almost split Wadsworth's face in half. “You're on.” He paused. “Um, I can't shake your hand, but, uh, I'm Blaine.”
Kurt smiled back. “Kurt.”
The officer tugged on the butler's arm and hauled him off, giving Kurt one last peek at that utterly pinchable rear end. You know, if it you don't count all the murders, he thought as he tucked his gun away, Kurt Hummel's had a pretty good night.
The End!