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Lorenzo sighed as he and his wife approached the party, they were tailing the excited ten year old girl who was dressed in a soft pink gingham dress. "Snow Rabbit, slow down please." Called Chi, who was dressed in an emerald green cocktail dress. Lorenzo however was just in his normal Tux for these events.

Istas froze when her mother told her to slow down. Standing there her hands smoothing her little white apron. "But mom.... It's a Museum." She replied pointing at the sign. No one really explained to her it was a murder mystery though the family arrived in time to watch the starting theatrics. It seemed to suddenly bust Istas' bubble. "You mean we don't get to look at the cool stuff?" She asked frowning looking around to see who she knew. Granted she couldn't really see much of anything being so small, even in her tiny rocking horse platform heels.

"We'll come back some other time sweetie." Her father replied without taking his eyes off the crowd and finger pointing. Lovely reactions, all of them. He had been informed of the event via a client, so he was here because of a business presence. He sighed, having thought he'd explained that well to the child.

"Oh Look, there's a boy that looks about your age." Chi pointed out towards the bar, where Peter was standing.

"That's just Peter, he's weird." Istas said with a small frown, considering the fact he had an iPhone and was trying his hardest to get a connection at camp. However, Istas was shooed over in that direction in hopes it'd keep her out of the way and occupied. Granted the child was glad she brought coloring books and what not 'cause it seemed like it was going to be a while before anyone paid her attention. She stopped near Peter. "I see you got your phone to work." She said softly looking back towards where the man had fallen out of the machine.

The machine rumbled with the awesome power of its staged malfunction. Every surface, every face, was bathed in a menacing red light. It filled the room with a dark sort of promise, set everyone on edge, and provoked just the right mood.

Jack watched that bright stain of what appeared to be blood as it seeped through the fallen man's otherwise pristine shirt, and felt proud. He had to hand it to Dr. Spekter where he lay motionless on the museum floor. The man was nothing short of an artiste.

The reactions of the crowd, as Jack saw them, were at once appropriate and satisfying. He sucked wordlessly on the end of his cigar, brown eyes flooded with excitement, and started pushing his way through the crowd.

It was difficult, to keep the smile off of his face. Jack bit the inside of his lip to tame his expressions.

Detective Stark arrived at the body shortly after Paris, ignored his plaintive cries, and stooped at once to examine the fallen doctor. Jack made an impressive show of his own importance, and snapped at an elderly lady when she bent to collect the little glass that Paris had dropped.

"Don't touch that! It's evidence!"

Really, it wasn't. But Jack was in the zone.

He hung his head, pretended to check Dr. Spekter's pulse, and then looked up and locked eyes with the nearest person.

"This man is dead," Jack announced gravely, as though everyone in the room hadn't already figured it out.

It could have been an accident. Dr. Spekter was a scientist, blinded by his own ambition. All anyone knew was that he'd stepped into the machine alive, and tumbled out of it dead. Possibly the procedure, whatever it was, just wasn't foolproof. Possibly Dr. Spekter hadn't been able to account for everything.

Except. Jack knew this was a murder, because his script told him so.

"Ladies, ladies," Detective Stark addressed both Morgan and Paris, and raised his voice in order to be heard over the anxious murmurs of the crowd. There was an authority inherent in it. Whether or not anyone actually listened to him was up for debate. "Calm yourselves. We'll get to the bottom of this."

The comforting hand Jack placed on Morgan's shoulder wasn't all a part of the act. What could he say? He liked pretty girls. That slinky red dress was simply to die for, and Jack was nothing if not an opportunist.

As things unfolded, a pair of caterers - tonight's stagehands, apparently - draped the "corpse" in a sheet and lifted it onto a cart. A chalk outline appeared in its place moments later.

The actors in this evening's festivities migrated towards their assigned positions, and each guest was given a small notebook listing each suspect and where in the museum they could be found. And now it was only a matter of putting the clues together.

Who was guilty for this heinous crime against science?



You will have until 11:59 PM EST (subject to possible extension) to ask as many suspects as many questions as you like. Voting will begin at midnight and continue until tomorrow evening.