The First-Ever Malik ***-Mystery Extravaganza

Louis calls her Canary because she’s always wearing yellow.

There is also the fact that, despite knowing Louis for exactly four months, nineteen days, and six hours, she refuses to tell him her real name.

(“At least tell me what it starts with.”

“No. Quit asking.”

“Why? It’s just a name. You know mine.”

“Everyone knows yours. I’d hardly use that as an example of friendship.”)

Even though she drives him crazy, Louis invites her to a party a few days shy of Halloween. His mates have recently gotten into the habit of throwing themed parties, though Louis doesn’t understand the appeal, and he’s unsure of what to wear for The First-Ever Malik Murder-Mystery Extravaganza. It’s a stupid name and Louis thinks so wholeheartedly, but it isn’t enough of an excuse not to attend.

Zayn lives in an expansive mansion in the country. He tired of city life easily and found the middle of nowhere more inspiring. He spends his days writing comics and drawing characters and no one bothers him. However, even the biggest recluse gets lonely eventually, and this is typically when Zayn decides to throw parties, like the one he’s throwing tonight. He has just finished reading Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood so he’s in the mood for murder. Louis cringes upon hearing his mate’s explanation.

Canary is impressed by the size of Zayn’s home. She isn’t sure how much comic book artists make annually, but apparently it’s quite a lot. Inside, she shrugs off her coat by the door and hands it to a man that reminds her of Tim Roth in both stature and appearance before Louis blindly reaches for her hand and pulls her toward the center of the house.

A chorus of “Lou!” erupts when Louis enters the dining room. Canary greets everyone with a smile, not recognising a single one, and heads for one of the two empty chairs that are left. She smoothes her dress beneath her as she takes a seat, rolling her eyes discreetly at Louis’s insistence of pushing her chair in for her. She’s lost count of how many times she’s told him she isn’t helpless, but he insists on being chivalrous. He drives her crazy.

As a servant comes around and pours everyone a glass of champagne, Canary wonders just how well-off Zayn is. Lou had mentioned once that Zayn was hoping to start his own publishing company by the end of the year, and Canary assumes he’d gotten a head start. He’s certainly the wealthiest graphic artist she has ever met.

Zayn taps his flute twice with the side of his fork and the animated conversation quiets immediately. “So, em, I sort of lied when I said this was much of a party,” Zayn says. He rubs the back of his neck with a scrunched-up expression. “It’s more of, er…a game of sorts.”

“What kind of game?” Lou asks.

Zayn glares. “If you’d wait a bloody second, I’m getting to it.”

A lad sitting across from Canary tries to stifles his laughter but it comes out more like a snort. Zayn glares at him, too, before he picks up a piece of paper, turned up at both ends from where it’d been folded, and reads: “The owner of this house, Mr Waddington, has been murdered. Someone in this room is the culprit, and it is the responsibility of the party to figure out who it is—”

“How’re we supposed to know who done it, then?”

Zayn looks ready to burst a blood vessel. “For god’s sake, Haz, I’m gettin’ to it.”

“Oh,” Haz replies with a cheeky grin. “Go on, then.”

Rolling his eyes, Zayn asks aloud if there are any additional questions. No one pipes up so he continues. “As I was saying, it is the responsibility of the party to figure out the identity of the murderer. You will find clues throughout the house. Approximately two hours after the investigation begins, everyone must return here and announce who they believe to be the suspect, what they believe the murder weapon to be, and in which room they believe the murder took place.”

Zayn looks pleased as pie as he finishes reading, but his expression sours immediately once he looks around and realises no one is sharing his excitement. “Wha?” he asks.

A bloke with white-blond hair says what everyone is thinking: “Well, it’s just that…like, none of it really makes sense, mate.”

“How’s it not make sense?”

“Well, yer didn’ answer Haz’s question, for one.”

“If you would’ve listened and waited like I told you,” Zayn snaps. “Anyway, at the end, I’ll open an envelope with the answers inside it. Someone’s been chosen at random to be the murderer and it don’ make any difference who it is, so long as someone guesses correctly.”

Haz raises an eyebrow. “What if I’m the murderer and I don’ wanna be?”

“Then you can leave,” Zayn answers.

“But if it’s your party and it’s your envelope, don’ you know who it is already? I think you’re a cheat.”

Canary is sure Haz is about to be strangled. Equally, Zayn looks ready to commit murder. “I’m not a cheat, you pillock. All I did was write your bloody names on the scraps that went into the bowl. I’ve no idea what the envelope says because I didn’ pick out the answers.”

“Whatever, mate,” Haz huffs, “I still think you’re a cheat.”

Ignoring him, Zayn picks up another paper. “Regardless of what the dickhead formerly known as Harry Styles thinks, I don’ know who the murderer is. Now, if we’re all ready, I’ll call out the pairs and we can start investigating.”

Lou’s arm shoots up. “Wait a second. Isn’ this just a live version of that Cluedo game?”

Due either to his mates’ lack of enthusiasm or their repetitively dumb questions, Zayn answers with a very monotone, “Aye, that’s exactly it,” before he announces the pairs. Much to his dismay, Harry is partnered with the host; Lou and Canary are together, of course; and the remaining two — Canary learns they’re called Liam and Niall when Zayn says so — are put together. Zayn hands everyone a checklist and a plastic stopwatch to keep track of time. He counts down from ten, and once he reaches zero, everyone scatters off in different directions.

Louis is grumbling as he and Canary stop in the kitchen first. “This place is bloody massive,” he complains. “There’s no way we can do this in two hours.”

Canary ignores him. “D’you see any clues, Lou?”

She’s going through all the cabinets as she asks. Louis is on the other side of the kitchen, looking through the fridge. “Just in case,” he says when Canary scolds him. His search is in vain, however, as he finds nothing of note.

Just as he’s about to suggest they check another room, Canary lets out a quiet, “a-ha!” Louis rushes over to where she’s stood at the island, observing a rather large and fear-inspiring knife. There’s fake blood on the tip and Louis knows they’ve found the murder weapon.

“Did Zayn give us a set of the rules?” Canary asks, looking to Louis with a mischievous smile.

“I don’ think so. Why?”

She shrugs and makes her way over to the sink. “Jus’ wonderin’ if there’re any rules against sabotage is all.”

As she rinses off the blood, Louis pops his head out of the room to make sure no one is coming. The coast is clear, and with a bit of giddy excitement, Louis hurries her to put the knife back where she found it. He’s thinking up excuses in his head as they make their way to the next room.

“Tha’ was brilliant,” he says. “D’you think it happened in the kitchen, then?”

Canary shakes her head. “Nah, that’d be too easy. We should make sure to check thoroughly for blood stains, though. S’not like anyone can wash them out.” She pauses for a moment, recalling all the crime shows she watched in her lifetime. “Well, not easily, I reckon, and I doubt anyone here’s smart enough.”

Louis doesn’t argue. He knows how to remove grass stains from clothing — he is a professional footballer, after all — but he doesn’t know a thing about blood. He has never had to remove that from anything.

They head into the downstairs study, which is full of dark wood, crimson drapes, and shelves of books. Literature is right behind comics as Zayn’s second love, and Louis’s stomach sinks hopelessly at the thought of a clue being hidden between the pages of a book.

“You don’ think—” he begins, only to be cut off by Canary.

“Look for the one that don’ belong.”

“It’s a library; they all belong.”

Canary rolls her eyes and scans the shelves. There must be close to a thousand books and Louis is right: not a single one looks out of place. Still, she assigns herself the right side of the room and instructs Louis to inspect the other.

Zayn is meticulous at best. The shelves are divided by categories: Read, Haven’t Read, Read Again, Read For Inspiration, and they keep going endlessly. In the corner closest to the window, there’s a category with only one book in it: Read For Answers. Plucking the book off the shelf, Canary shuffles through the pages quickly. Between pages 129 and 130 lies a single note: GUILTY IS THE STRONG-WILLED IRISH WARRIOR.

Returning the book to the shelf, the clue safe once again between the pages, Canary asks how much time is left. “About an hour,” Lou answers.

“A’right, we’ve just gotta find the room.”

Lou’s eyes widen. “You found the clue?”

“Aye. Which room should we check first, d’you think?”

Louis shrugs as he heads into the hallway. Both are keen enough to realise finding two clues on the same floor was sheer luck; surely the final one would be upstairs. No commotion is heard from anyone else. They hadn’t heard anyone downstairs, either. Canary briefly wonders where everyone is.

Instead of asking that, she poses another question. “Are you really leaving?”

Louis glances at her briefly before ascending the large staircase. “What’s that mean?”

“I don’ know,” Canary says, following behind him. “I just heard a rumor, is all.”

As they reach the second floor, Louis ducks into the first room they pass. He isn’t quite sure what it is or what it’s used for. There’s a large canvas hung on the wall to the left but there isn’t anything on it, but there’s no other furniture to be seen. “Can’t imagine there’s anything in here.”

“Check behind the canvas,” Canary says, mostly because she doesn’t want to leave without knowing for certain and partly because of gut instinct. Louis does as she says only because he doesn’t want to argue with her.

“Anything?” she asks. Louis shakes his head.

Back in the hallway, Canary realises just how huge Zayn’s home is. There’s doors to rooms everywhere, narrow hallways that lead to more, and when they reach the end of one, they have trouble remembering which way they came. Zayn is the only person on earth who could navigate the place without trouble, and Louis grumbles at the unfair advantage.

“Haven’t you been here, like, a million times?” Canary asks as they reach another dead-end.

Louis grumbles some more, turning around the way they came. This time, he takes a left instead of a right. He turns to face Canary with a triumphant look on his face, as if he’d been joking about spending the last seven minutes lost, and ushers her into Zayn’s studio.

It’s breathtaking. Canary has never seen anything like it. There’s a large partition in the center of the room that divides it in two. On one side, paint-splattered sheets line the floor and more canvases hang on the wall. These have actual art on them, and Canary’s eyebrows raise. She knows Zayn is an artist, but she’d never bothered to find out what kind. Judging from the looks of the room, he’s every kind. On the other side of the room, a large workstation takes up an entire wall. To the right of the desk is a wall made entirely of cork. Half-finished designs are stuck to it with thumbtacks. Some are painted, some aren’t, and Canary finds herself transfixed on them.

“Where’d you hear that rumor?” Louis asks quietly. Canary almost hadn’t heard him.

She shrugs, her gaze still fixed on Zayn’s half-existent characters. “I get breaking news alert sent to my mobile. One said there were talks of you being sent to Manchester.”

Even though she can’t see it, Louis pulls a face that lingered somewhere between disgust and shock. “Manchester’s comprised entirely of knobheads. I’d tie bricks to my feet and jump in the bloody Thames before I played for that lot.”

Realisation hits Louis like a speeding truck then, and he appears on the other side of the partition, startling Canary. “Wait, why’re you getting alerts sent to your mobile?”

“I get sent the match scores, too. The away ones, when I can’t watch on the telly.”

“You watch my matches?”

Canary shrugs, now holding up every design to look for clues behind them. “When I can. I was a football fan before we met, you know. Granted, I’d rather be found guilty of murder than cheer on your rubbish team, but I’m managing. Tough life, this is.”

Louis is shaking his head when he crosses the partition again. There’s a loud crunch, the two share a look, and they know immediately what that means. Louis lifts up the sheet to find a pile of crushed glass.

“How much time?” Canary asks, furiously jotting down notes on the back of the checklist Zayn gave her.

“We’ve three minutes and…twenty-four seconds to get downstairs and put in our vote.”

They’re both unsure if three and a half minutes is enough time to navigate the maze that is the upstairs of Zayn’s home, but they take off immediately. Louis finds the staircase first, shouting Canary’s name loudly so she can find him. He’s checking the stopwatch obsessively as they stumble down the stairs and through the entrance. They’re disappointed to find everyone else has beaten them.

“Took you long enough,” Niall boasts. “Me and Liam had it figured out in an hour tops.”

“Doesn’ mean you’re correct,” Harry fires back. “Didn’t your mum ever read you the story of the tortoise and the hare? Slow an—”

Zayn looks murderous once again. “Please, for the love o’ god, can you shut your gob for five fuckin’ minutes?” Harry feigns offense and Zayn continues, too indifferent to care. “All righ’, who wants to go first?”

Liam’s and Niall’s arms shoot up and immediately start wiggling. “We think she’s the murderer,” Liam says, pointing to Canary, “an’ that she whacked ‘im in the kitchen with a pipe.”

“Rubbish,” Louis says as soon as Liam’s finished. “Completely wrong.”

“What’s your theory, then?”

Louis looks to Canary, who speaks on their behalf. “It was Liam. He stabbed Mr Waddington in Zayn’s studio. With a knife, obviously.”

Liam and Niall scoff, having obviously formed an alliance that not even murder could break. Harry’s looking smug as he digs his and Zayn’s checklist from his pocket. “Too bad we’re about to make you lot look like asshats. Louis did it in the study with a candlestick.”

“Piss off!” Louis cries. “What is this, ‘pick on the obviously superior team’ day?”

Zayn looks exasperated as he makes a show of opening the envelope. He reads it over before he reads it aloud, much to everyone’s dismay, and his face falls once he reaches the bottom. “I don’ believe it,” he says. The slip of paper inside moves away from his face and he stares at Canary in awe. “How’d you know?”

“She was right?” Liam shrieks, ripping the paper from Zayn’s hands.

Niall and Harry jump out of their seats to read over his shoulder. “She’s a cheat!”

Canary huffs. “Wasn’t the whole point to look for clues? What’d you lot spend two hours doing, having a wank? Me and Lou did real detective work!”

Louis looks pleased as punch. He holds out his hand, motioning for Liam to hand over the paper. “Thanks, mate, I’m gonna hang this on my wall. Where’s our prize, Malik?”

“The bragging rights that come along with being the champion of the First-Ever Malik Murder-Mystery Extravaganza.” He shoots Lou a look that clearly says are you a fucking moron, mate? “There’s no prize. It’s just a game, is all.”

After taking a moment to digest their victory, Louis gathers his and Canary’s coats and says his goodbyes. Canary isn’t too keen on saying goodbye to Liam and Niall — they accused her of murder, after all, and Liam was actually guilty of it — but she hugs them regardless and wishes them a good evening. She thanks Zayn for hosting such a fun and quirky party-that-isn’t-really-a-party and consoles Harry when he pouts over losing.

As they reach Louis’s car, he opens her door for her but gently grabs her wrist before she gets in.

“This was a lot of fun,” he says. He’s all breathy words and awkward pauses. “Thank you for coming with me.”

Canary smiles. “Of course. Thank you for inviting me.”

Deciding to take a risk, Louis asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Deciding to take an even bigger risk, Canary says, “Yes.”

Louis drives the winding roads back to Canary’s flat in the heart of the city. He doesn’t tell her he denied the trade to Manchester so he could stay closer to her. He doesn’t tell her doing so cost him a three-million pound raise. He doesn’t tell her much of anything, really, just enjoys her company and the chill of the October air.

“How’d you know it was Liam?” is all he asks.

“Liam is an Irish name. It means ‘strong-willed warrior’.”

“How d’you know that?”

Canary smiles despite trying to fight it off. “I spend a lot of time fussing over names, I s’pose.”

“And yet you still won’t tell me yours?”

“Not a chance.”