The night was dark and stormy. Rain pounded the windows. Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. Lights flicked on inside the mansion. Guests raced downstairs in a panic. In the foyer, they found the butler sprawled dead. His throat had been slit. Crimson pooled beneath him. Lady Ashton stood over the corpse, a dagger clenched in her white-knuckled fist. Her eyes blazed with fury and madness. "I did it!" she shrieked. "He had to die! That vile serpent, that thief! He stole my emerald necklace!" The guests gasped. Lady Ashton was known for her fiery temper and penchant for scandalous gossip. But murder? It was unimaginable. The butler, James, was a pillar of the community. Well-respected. Kind to orphans and stray dogs. Why would anyone want to kill him so brutally? Detective Reeves arrived on the scene, his trench coat soaked with rain. He surveyed the grisly murder tableau with a grim expression. "Madam, you have the right to remain silent..." he began. Lady Ashton cut him off with a maniacal cackle. "Oh, I'm quite finished being silent! I'll sing it to the whole world - I am a killer! A cold-blooded murderess! I'll be famous!" The detective sighed. Another perplexing case in a town that hid more dark secrets than the guests in this room. He would need to interrogate everyone and sift through the web of lies, resentments and motives. Who was James the butler really? And which guest harbored the deepest hatred for him, the one that finally boiled over into murderous rage tonight under the cover of a thunderstorm? The detective reached for his notebook with a heavy heart as Lady Ashton was dragged away in cuffs, still raving. The first step was separating fact from fiction. And the guests all had their own versions of the truth... and their own secrets to keep. The game was afoot.