FIREPLACE
A grand brick fireplace is built into the wall here. You remember noticing the chimney from the outside, just before entering the house. The allure of the fireplace draws you closer, your mind envisioning cozy nights filled with the warmth of a hearty fire – a stark contrast to the cold, bitter air of the house you’re in now – which feels unnaturally thick with trepidation. On top of the mantle is a handbag and a small book of matches. An eerie portrait hangs above.
The firebox of the large brick fireplace is full of half-burned chunks of wood and debris from the house. It would appear as if there’s been no shortage of trespassers come to cause mischief, as among the debris are various items of modern day trash. You do notice what appears to be an unscathed photo stuck in the rubble.
The fireplace has a few pieces of half-burned wood inside it already, as well as some trash. If you have something to light it with, you can input the ID here:
You pick up the matchbook. There are a few matches inside, but they appear damp.
You glance at the portrait above the mantle. An imposing man stares past you, taking careful consideration of the house before him, yearning for an answer to the mysteries it holds. His eyes ache with the search for a solution, and his mouth appears to want to open, as if to shout an accusation and demand that justice be done. You recognize the man as a young Charles McDermott.
As you’re preparing to turn away, your eyes are drawn to a section of the portrait where the paint is starting to peel away.
Teetering on the edge of the mantle is an old handbag, deep black with gold trimmings. You carefully remove the handbag to investigate its contents, but it’s locked. You’ll need a key to open it. If you have it, you can enter the ID here:
As you inspect the handbag, something moves out of the corner of your eye. Ashes from the fireplace begin to swirl about, filling the air with a dusty haze before molding itself into the shape of an elderly woman.
“A detective? Just the person I was looking for, I’d like to report a crime.”
You recognize her as the neighbor, Birdie.
“How can I be of assistance?”
“You must arrest these people at once! There’s been thievery, a consortium of criminals, and MURDER! Not to mention atrocious hot cocoa.”
“I was out for an evening stroll through my garden, just down the road there, when I noticed one of my garden gnomes had been stolen! I knew right away that it was one of the McDermott children, they’re always stealing things from my home, caught them red-handed a few times even. They can afford to live in such a wonderful house but can’t afford to teach their children manners? It’s appalling! Anyway, I grabbed my bag and headed over to confront them about their brazen thievery. No one was home when I got there. It started to storm and I was getting wet, so I let myself in with the key they kept hidden beneath a flowerpot to wait for their return. Not really illegal, detective, you see my father built this house and I used to live here. I had a chill from the rain, so I warmed the cocoa pot on the stove. Just then, I heard them arriving. They burst through the door like raging bulls, Vera, Virgil, Jane, that uncouth vagabond of theirs, and a strange man who looked like a sleazy car salesman. I could scarcely get in a word! They seemed suspiciously concerned about something. That must be when I was murdered, as I don’t remember much at all beyond that point!”
“Please, Detective. They are crooks through and through. Not only did they swindle me out of this house that belonged to my family, but they are rude, crass, and their children have no respect for my property! Look there what they must have done to the window, and just look how they’ve let this place fall apart! I’m not sure what sordid dealings they were on about that night, the only regrettable outcome was that I got wrapped up in it all!”
“Well, I know that marigolds are poisonous and one shouldn’t eat them, but why would one want to do such a thing anyway? I have no doubt that it was some sort of poison that did me in, that’s for sure, it was all Mr. McDermott could talk about as he stomped about my house all hours of the day, raving about the murder of his daughter. Typical McDermott, neverminded the innocents in all of this! Neverminded Birdie!”
The fireplace has a few pieces of half-burned wood inside it already, as well as some trash. If you have something to light it with, you can input the ID here:
You pick up the matchbook. There are a few matches inside, but they appear damp.
You glance at the portrait above the mantle. An imposing man stares past you, taking careful consideration of the house before him, yearning for an answer to the mysteries it holds. His eyes ache with the search for a solution, and his mouth appears to want to open, as if to shout an accusation and demand that justice be done. You recognize the man as a young Charles McDermott.
As you’re preparing to turn away, your eyes are drawn to a section of the portrait where the paint is starting to peel away.
Teetering on the edge of the mantle is an old handbag, deep black with gold trimmings. You carefully remove the handbag to investigate its contents, but it’s locked. You’ll need a key to open it. If you have it, you can enter the ID here:
As you inspect the handbag, something moves out of the corner of your eye. Ashes from the fireplace begin to swirl about, filling the air with a dusty haze before molding itself into the shape of an elderly woman.
“A detective? Just the person I was looking for, I’d like to report a crime.”
You recognize her as the neighbor, Birdie.
“How can I be of assistance?”
“You must arrest these people at once! There’s been thievery, a consortium of criminals, and MURDER! Not to mention atrocious hot cocoa.”
You recognize her as the neighbor, Birdie.
“How can I be of assistance?”
“You must arrest these people at once! There’s been thievery, a consortium of criminals, and MURDER! Not to mention atrocious hot cocoa.”
“I was out for an evening stroll through my garden, just down the road there, when I noticed one of my garden gnomes had been stolen! I knew right away that it was one of the McDermott children, they’re always stealing things from my home, caught them red-handed a few times even. They can afford to live in such a wonderful house but can’t afford to teach their children manners? It’s appalling! Anyway, I grabbed my bag and headed over to confront them about their brazen thievery. No one was home when I got there. It started to storm and I was getting wet, so I let myself in with the key they kept hidden beneath a flowerpot to wait for their return. Not really illegal, detective, you see my father built this house and I used to live here. I had a chill from the rain, so I warmed the cocoa pot on the stove. Just then, I heard them arriving. They burst through the door like raging bulls, Vera, Virgil, Jane, that uncouth vagabond of theirs, and a strange man who looked like a sleazy car salesman. I could scarcely get in a word! They seemed suspiciously concerned about something. That must be when I was murdered, as I don’t remember much at all beyond that point!”
“Please, Detective. They are crooks through and through. Not only did they swindle me out of this house that belonged to my family, but they are rude, crass, and their children have no respect for my property! Look there what they must have done to the window, and just look how they’ve let this place fall apart! I’m not sure what sordid dealings they were on about that night, the only regrettable outcome was that I got wrapped up in it all!”
“Well, I know that marigolds are poisonous and one shouldn’t eat them, but why would one want to do such a thing anyway? I have no doubt that it was some sort of poison that did me in, that’s for sure, it was all Mr. McDermott could talk about as he stomped about my house all hours of the day, raving about the murder of his daughter. Typical McDermott, neverminded the innocents in all of this! Neverminded Birdie!”