Pete's Expert Summary
My human, bless their simple, opposable-thumbed heart, has acquired a box of papers they call a "Murder Mystery." From my observations, it's a collection of scented papers and glossy squares depicting stressed-looking humans, all spread across my favorite mahogany sunning spot—the dining table. The purpose seems to be for them to stare intently at these items and make loud, incorrect assumptions for several hours. For me, the appeal is not in their amateurish theatrics, but in the materials themselves. The thin, crinkly newspaper articles have an excellent mouthfeel, and the smaller photographs are of a perfect weight for batting under the sofa. While the mental stimulation is clearly designed for a species that can't even hunt its own food, the box itself presents a promising new napping dimension, and the scattered papers offer a satisfyingly disruptive landscape to traverse.
Key Features
- An immersive realistic mystery game
- Solve a 20-year Murder: Unveil the chilling mystery that has haunted Napa winemaker Cary Underwood's disappearance for two decades. In the aftermath of the Napa earthquake, his murder was exposed, but his killer remains at large.
- Immersive Murder Mystery Kit: Dive into a thrilling narrative with realistic evidence, including victim and suspect photos, crime scene photos, newspaper articles, other case evidence, online hints and solutions.
- Crack the Case Like a Detective: In Murder Mystery Party Case Files, investigate motive, means, and opportunity to solve the murder, mirroring a real detective's approach.
- America's Beloved Mystery Game: Discover Murder Mystery Party, a favorite among true crime fans since 1985. Perfect for a dinner party with friends and family or even solve the murder on your own!
- Watch our video to see the game in action!
- Check out our entire collection of Murder Mystery Party Games!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The affair began on a Tuesday, a day typically reserved for a deep, soul-cleansing nap in a patch of afternoon sun. Instead, my human chose to desecrate the dining table with this… *dossier*. The scent of old ink and cheap cardboard filled the air, an olfactory offense. I watched from the arm of the chair, my tail twitching in irritation as they laid out photographs of a vineyard, a cellar, and a man with tragically uninteresting facial hair. They called him Cary Underwood. I called him an obstacle to my comfort. I allowed them their foolish babbling for precisely twelve minutes before I decided a proper investigation was in order. A silent leap, a landing as soft as a whisper on silk, and I was on the scene. The humans made cooing noises, misinterpreting my professional assessment for affection. Fools. My first order of business was to conduct a thorough scent analysis. I sniffed a crime scene photo—the sterile tang of police tape, a faint, lingering note of stale wine, and beneath it all, the metallic ghost of fear. Humans, with their pathetic noses, would miss this entirely. I moved on, gently patting a "witness statement." The paper was stiff, unyielding. The words smelled of deceit and coffee. My investigation led me to a photograph of a woman with sharp eyes and a sharper smile. The humans were chattering about her alibi. Amateurs. I lowered my head, my whiskers brushing the glossy surface of her face. And there it was. Faint, almost imperceptible, but undeniable to a being of my refined senses: the scent of water. Not from the nearby Napa River, but the distinct, mineral-heavy smell of the old well at the edge of the Underwood property. A scent I knew she carried on her shoes in another, smaller photo they had overlooked. She was there that night. It was so obvious, it was almost boring. Having solved their little puzzle, I rendered my verdict. I walked directly across the entire layout, my paws a statement of supreme indifference to their delicate arrangement, and tapped the guilty woman's photograph with a single, pristine white claw. "Oh, Pete, you crinkled the main suspect!" my human cried. They saw an accident; I had delivered the truth. My work here was done. The "game" was a passable stage for my brilliance, but ultimately, the most satisfying part was the nap I took atop the now-disorganized evidence, dreaming of a world run by more competent detectives.
