Murder Most Foul by Julie Miller
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Nothing spoils a meal quite like a lunatic bursting into the room, spewing forth vitriol at total strangers. … unless it’s the aforementioned psycho returning 10 minutes later with blood gushing from a stab wound, knife still embedded firmly in his guts as he collapses into a crumpled, oozing heap and gurgles his final, tortured breath.
Now that’s an appetite killer.
“Is this for real?!” asks one of my companions incredulously as the staff at the Mercure Castle in Windsor, England, launch into crisis mode, deftly dragging out the bleeding corpse and apologising profusely to horrified guests. Meanwhile, our local guide Trudy has dissolved into tears, and the hotel representative, who had been hosting our dinner, sits quivering in shock.
No one loves a good whodunnit quite like the British. And as the mayhem clears, we are all relieved to discover that we have been unwittingly dragged into an elaborate hoax, all in the name of entertainment. The trail of blood on the carpet is fake (and washable); the dead body belongs to an actor; and the detective who has appeared suddenly on the scene is no other than Joy Swift, the creator of the original Murder Weekends.
Our mission, Swift explains, is to help solve the murder of Nick Oliver, abuser, kidnapper, thief and Beef Wellington spoiler. And as we are presented with clues in the form of cryptic messages, newspaper clippings and illustrations, it appears someone in our group may not be as innocent as they appear…
When Swift created her first murder mystery in 1981 during her career in hotel marketing and sales, she thought the event would be a one-off, a bit of a laugh and a creative way of increasing ‘bums in beds’. Twenty-seven years, an MBE for services to tourism and 99 murder plots later, Swift acknowledges she has created a marketing phenomenon, one that has been imitated – but never bettered – all around the world.
Today, Joy Swift’s Original Murder Weekends are held exclusively for Mercure Hotels, with seven properties in southern England sharing the load of at least two events a month. The host hotels – such as the grand and gracious Mercure Queen’s Hotel in the Cotswolds city of Cheltenham and the Mercure Brandon Hall Hotel and Spa in Coventry, a former shooting lodge set in 17 acres of woodland – are all historic and quintessentially English, creaky floorboards, four-poster beds and rabbit warren corridors all contributing to the Agatha Christie-like atmosphere.
Unlike our abridged introduction to the concept, the events are usually held from Friday evening to Sunday, with several murders and complicated storylines engaging guests over the course of the weekend. The amateur sleuths – many of whom are ‘murder junkies’ returning time and time again to experience Swift’s thrice-yearly plots – gather together over cocktails on the first night, forging friendships and establishing characters as the first of several ‘deaths’ occurs. From thereon, the action is continuous, the cast staying in character the entire time as clues unravel. By lunchtime on Sunday, guests are asked to submit a questionnaire detailing ‘whodunnit’ and why, and the identity of the murderer is revealed.
According to Swift, the key to the success of a Murder Weekend is realism – guests have to believe that the plots are plausible and the characters real, with credible motives for their behaviour. No detail is spared in making the crimes as graphic as possible; there are arguments galore, drama and intrigue, and blood and guts as cast members fall victim to splatterfests worthy of Hitchcock. Not only does the hotel staff play along, but also local ambulance services who are called in, complete with flashing lights and emergency equipment, to deal with each crisis.
Of course, things do not always go according to plan. In her book ‘The Joy of Murder’, Swift recalls the time a hapless chambermaid, who spoke little English and hadn’t been properly briefed, found a bloody prop chicken discarded in a hotel bin; and thinking she’d stumbled across a dead baby, ran screaming from the hotel. On other occasions, new guests checking into hotels have come across corpses lying prone on stairwells - one, a doctor, responding professionally with mouth-to-mouth only to discover his so-called patient trying to suppress a giggle.
Therein lies the other key to this incredible phenomenon – laughter. Camaraderie is a big part of each weekend, with guests bonding as they put on their thinking caps and join forces in solving crimes. Both social barriers and inhibitions are broken down as guests throw themselves into the spirit of the game, interrogating characters, eavesdropping and spying, all in the name of fun. And because participation is mandatory, it’s great for both singles and groups, including corporations who use the weekends as team building exercises.
So who killed Nick Oliver, the raving looney whose untimely demise had ruined our perfectly civilised meal? After much pondering and discussion – and indeed a great deal of laughter – the finger was finally pointed at the hotel representative who, after the initial interruption, had managed to slip out of the room and thrust a knife into the victim’s chest.
Why? Well, it seems our not-so-innocent host had (according to Swift’s devious plot) been involved in a torrid three-way affair with not only the murder victim… but also with our tour guide, Trudy. As it turned out, this woman – who had been so convincing in her distress – was not a guide at all, but rather one of Swift’s regular cast members, thrown into our mix as a red herring. She certainly had me fooled – down to the notes I’d enthusiastically scribbled as she’d sprouted (mostly false) facts about Windsor!
Therein lies a valuable lesson – don’t take anyone at face value, particularly in this neck of the woods. You never know who might stab you in the back…