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Murder on the Mountain Wagon
A Play in Three Acts by the Seal Cove Auto Museum
Cast of Characters
Francis (Frank, or F.E.) Stanley (does not appear)
A businessman, artist, and inventor who patented the first photographic air brush, which he used to colorize photos. He opened a thriving photography studio in Lewiston in 1874, at the age of 25, where his twin brother Freelan eventually joined him. They were frustrated by the quality of photographic dry plates, and together – in 1883, age 34 – they patented a machine that coated mass quantities of dry plates, and started the Stanley Dry Plate Company. Francis is also talented at calligraphy and drawing, and had already created the Stanley logo by age 15. He is more hard-headed than his brother Freelan, and more independent and energetic. After the brothers sold their dry plate company to George Eastman of Eastman-Kodak, they turned their inventive talents to the engineering and manufacture of steam cars, and together founded the Stanley Motor Carriage Company.
Freelan (Freel, or F.O.) Stanley, age 69
An inventor, teacher, entrepreneur, hotelier, and architect who made his fortune in the manufacture of photographic plates with his twin brother Francis. Both Francis and Freelan learned to carve violins by age 10 from their grandfather Liberty, and continued to carve into adulthood, claiming a high price for their finely crafted instruments. As a young man, Freelan started a manufactory of mechanical drawing kits, which burned down. After the fire, he joined his brother at his Lewiston photography studio, and profited when they sold the rights to the dry plate process to Kodak. After a tuberculosis diagnosis over 10 years ago, Freelan started to split his year between Maine and Colorado. The Rocky Mountain air helped cure him of tuberculosis, and he remains fond of the area. He built the illustrious Stanley Motel in Estes Park, Colorado, and returns every year.
Flora Stanley, age 71
Freelan’s wife. Teacher and pianist. In 1899, she accompanied him in the first car that climbed Mount Washington (it was a steamer, of course).
Chansonetta Stanley Emmons, age 60
Francis and Freelan’s younger sister. She is a talented photographer who uses the airbrush – invented by Freelan – to colorize lantern slides. Her husband died when he was 41; her brothers supported her financially after his death.
Dorothy Emmons, age 27
Chansonetta’s daughter, Francis and Freelan’s niece. She drives her mother across New England to take rural and urban photographs, sometimes modeling for her.
Fred Marriott, age 46
Former chief mechanic at Stanley Motor Carriage Company. Broke the land speed record in 1906 while driving the Stanley Rocket, winning the Dewar Trophy for the Carriage Company.
Raymond Stanley, age 24
Francis’s only son. He studied Automotive Design at Harvard University and designed three Stanley models. One proved so dangerous that, after the steering broke for the second time, his father had it dismantled.
Archibald Lewis, age 45
A writer of several novels, none of them successful. He received some acclaim for a biography of explorer Robert Peary. Lewis lives on Mount Desert Island and rents a seaside cottage with his lover, Loretta. Archibald’s personal vehicle is a steam car, and when he discovered that the Stanley Brothers were from Kingfield, Maine, he knew he had to write a biography.
Additional Roles
Deputy Clark
Deputy Hanson
Bartender
Sheriff Ward Wescott
In addition to identifying the murderer, guests are invited to discover three historical inaccuracies in the script.
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It’s spring 1918 on Mount Desert Island.
Community members enjoy dinner at a local eatery after months of social distancing.
Act 1
NARRATOR: Welcome, folks. It’s nice to get together, isn’t it? To provide fellowship and strength to each other during these hard times… After all our terrible isolation and incredible losses.
This Great War that is upon us is unlike anything we have ever seen. Over in Europe, our boys are sitting in the trenches, fighting to keep the world from evil. Here at home, millions of us fall victim to influenza, our great fevers taking us in the night. I feel like it’s been ages upon ages since I’ve seen you all.
It’s strange, isn’t it – Seeing the streets so empty? Most folks have stayed away this summer, and last summer, too. Everything’s different with the war going on, and trying to flatten out that influenza curve. Keeps you from wanting to read the newspapers.
1918 has sure been one helluva year. That’s why we have to stay together.
The Stanley family, too, are circling the wagons…
They arrive in town for a family reunion, and to tell their stories to a local biographer. He’s writing a book about the Stanley brothers, the famous designers of Stanley Steam cars and founders of Stanley Motor Carriage Company.
Narrator exaggerates a deep voice.
On a dark and steamy night in Southwest Harbor, Frank Stanley, always the vibrant host, meets his family as they disembark from their boat.
Narrator, embarrassed, coughs into his hand and returns to normal voice.
Everyone climbs aboard his Stanley Mountain Wagon, and he drives them from the harbor to the hotel.
They’ve had about an hour to freshen up, and should be arriving here any moment. Frank said he’d meet them here, after he gets back from the harbor with another group of family and friends.
Let me tell you about Frank – he’s quite something. Both he and his brother have minds full of ideas. If they don’t like the way something is made, they engineer a better way to do it. And if they dream it, there is a mighty good chance they will bring it to life. In this age of the electric washing machine, the vacuum cleaner, and the iron lung, the Stanley brothers’ one-two punch of intellect and innovation has enabled their success.
Frank and Freelan have been in business together since they were 10 years old, when they decided to turn maple sap into syrup to make some money. That was the humble beginning of a long story of collaboration.
Frank attended Western Normal School and studied teaching for a few months, but quit after his teacher challenged his integrity. The teacher had asked Frank to draw the United States from memory, but after Frank pulled off a brilliant illustration, the teacher doubted Frank could have done so without cheating.
Even though he only had a few months of higher education under his belt, he was locally famous for completely ciphering through Benjamin Greenleaf’s 1862 The National Arithmetic. Because of this, North New Portland hired him to be their teaching principal.
He taught for several years after that, but realized that teaching was not a profitable enough profession. He decided to tap into his creative talents and try to make some money out of his knack for mechanics.
He invented a photographic airbrush and opened a photography studio in Lewiston, where he was well respected for his airbrushed portraits. Luckily, Freelan had been a teacher in Mechanic Falls and knew a thing or two about the papermaking business from the local paper mills. They combined their talents and formed the Stanley Dry Plate Company in Lewiston.
Freelan designed the dry plate coating machine, which increased production of dry plates from 60 plates an hour to 60 plates a minute.
That was the start of it all. Business boomed and they amassed incredible wealth – grossing nearly $1 million a year at the turn of the century. They eventually sold the Dry Plate Company to Eastman of Eastman-Kodak in 1903.
By then it was all about steamers. Frank had designed a steam-powered motor carriage so he and his wife could ride side-by-side. He tried to get Freelan excited about steamers, too, but it took the public’s intense interest following the Boston automobile show for Freelan to jump on board.
It’s been fairly good living for the Stanley brothers since then. Lately they’ve been talking about selling the Stanley Motor Carriage Company and moving on to something else.
Ah – It seems the Stanleys have arrived.
They enter as a group, all except Frank.
FREELAN: Frank will likely be late. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took off for a fast joy ride up the Seal Cove Road before picking up the rest of the group.
Come on in, everyone. Sit down, sit down.
Freelan gestures to the rest of the group to take seats around the table.
Frank said we should all introduce ourselves to Archibald Lewis, and tell him some stories, if we’d like. Mr. Lewis, good of you to join us.
Archibald Lewis nods and gently waves to all around the table.
FREELAN: He is the biographer writing about Frank and I. We don’t need Frank present to proceed, do we, Archibald?
ARCHIBALD: Please, sir, call me Archie. Go ahead and start off the introductions. I’m happy that we’ve met, but I know so little about you. You’re half the story, after all.
FREELAN: Well, I’m Freelan Stanley.
ARCHIBALD: Yes, sir. Thank you for having me. Please, tell me about yourself.
FREELAN: I’d have thought you’d have done your research, Archie.
Chansonetta, sitting next to Freelan, nudges him. He stares at her apathetically. Chansonetta, exasperated, sighs.
CHANSONETTA: Hello, Mr. Lewis. I am Chansonetta, but you can call me Netta. My brother Freelan doesn’t like to talk about himself, not like Frank does. Freelan believes actions and lives speak for themselves.
These twin brothers of mine have always been quite the pair – probably since the day they were born. I have four other brothers, too, but for some reason or other, they couldn’t join us this evening.
DOROTHY: Dead – or dying like the rest of us.
CHANSONETTA: Dorothy, dear. Must you be so dramatic?
Dorothy and Raymond, obviously a little inebriated, snicker to each other.
CHANSONETTA: When we were all children, we lived in QUITE an interesting home. Our parents cared very deeply about the fine things in life, like mathematics, poetry, and education. Frank, Freelan, and I all took a turn at the Western Normal School, studying to become teachers.
ARCHIBALD: Did you attend at the same time, Mrs. Emmons?
CHANSONETTA: No, no. The twins are nearly a decade older than I am.
Anyway, we all left the Normal School early, for one reason or the other.
Freelan became a teacher in Mechanic Falls. At one point during his teaching, he noticed many of his students were sorely lacking affordable mechanical drawing tools. He made this really charming drawing set and started up production with verve. But, sorry for poor Freelan, the factory burned to the ground. After that, he moved to Lewiston to join Frank’s photography business. They’re naturally good together, these two, so it was an obvious inclination.
ARCHIBALD: Is there anything Mr. Francis and Mr. Freelan don’t do together?
CHANSONETTA: Frank and Freelan share a lot of common talents, but Freelan is the brilliant architect. He built a beautiful hotel in Estes Park, Colorado, called the Stanley Hotel. And that mountain wagon we rode here in? He designed that.
Archie raises a glass.
ARCHIBALD: Here, here!
CHANSONETTA: Don’t even bother offering Freelan a drink, he won’t take it. When we were children, our father’s business partner drank their partnership into horrible debt, and my brothers took temperance to heart. Maine’s been dry for over 60 years, and my brothers are fine with that. I’m surprised they even agreed to meet in an establishment so…
Chansonetta looks around, eying the glasses of beer.
CHANSONETTA: …radical.
Freelan won’t even smoke a cigar, for Pete’s sake! You’d think he’d be healthier than he is. Wouldn’t it be a hoot if they found out cigars were actually the key to health? Poor Freelan, missing out.
Is that enough for now, Mr. Lewis?
ARCHIBALD: Is there more?
CHANSONETTA: I’ve only barely scratched the surface! He also carves these incredible violins. He loves that violin shop of his. I feel total peace when I go in there and see him in his element. He can hear the music in any piece of wood you set in front of him. He is quite picky and selective, and every violin he makes is something extraordinary.
ARCHIBALD: Talk about “accomplished.” I didn’t realize I would need a violin chapter!
CHANSONETTA: Really, if you write a chapter about Freelan, it should be titled “Family Man.” You should see the way he spoils his nieces and nephews. He put my daughter Dorothy here through Wellesley College as an art student, and now she’s creating posters for the war! Raymond, too, has seen benefit from Freelan’s kind nature. Freelan treats his nieces and nephews as if they were his own children. It’s a shame Freelan and Flora never had children of their own…
Freelan looks over at Chansonetta and waves at her to stop.
CHANSONETTA: Well, enough about that.
Freelan and Francis are not only my big brothers, they are my dear friends. They have been so very helpful to me ever since my husband James died. They give me the most wonderful cars, and I wouldn’t be able to ride around taking photographs if it wasn’t for them. Dorothy is able to come with me, too. It’s a treasure, our time together.
They’re such good men. Stanleys that they are, they even buy me Fords because I want them to.
Chansonetta laughs.
ARCHIBALD: Ma’am, you didn’t really mention too much about yourself.
Chansonetta sighs again, shy about herself.
CHANSONETTA: Oh, right! Here, I am, talking on and on about those Stanley brothers and not about myself. Isn’t that always how it goes?
Okay, so, more about me… I grew up the only girl among six brothers. I wanted to be a teacher, too, but after one art class in college, I changed my mind and devoted myself to the arts.
I began with sketching and painting, and taught students in New Portland and Kingfield. After I moved to Lewiston, I learned how to use an airbrush and started to color my photographs.
DOROTHY: It’s a whole new world, her photographs. They are surreal.
CHANSONETTA: Thank you, dear.
ARCHIBALD: And what of Dorothy’s father?
CHANSONETTA: I married a shoe store owner named James, but he died from blood poisoning when he was 41. Since then, it’s just been Dorothy and myself and our art.
Photography is not just a hobby for me – it’s my way of life. I commit myself to each photograph, posing common domestic scenes that require hours to shoot.
ARCHIBALD: What kind of subjects do you choose?
CHANSONETTA: Whatever I want. I’ve taken photographs of peasants in European market places, children among their cows, cityscapes and architecture – The Singer Building, the Flatiron, the Empire State Building.
My brothers may design the equipment, but I know what to do with it.
Growing quiet, Chansonetta tugs on Dorothy’s arm.
DOROTHY: I’m Dorothy. I model sometimes for my mother. We travel together taking photographs. It’s kinda what I’ve got going on right now.
CHANSONETTA: Come now, dear – say a little more.
DOROTHY: I like to drive. My mother and I have taken some really great trips. As much as I love the scenery, and the photographs she takes, the best part of it is the driving.
CHANSONETTA: You’d think it’d be spending time with your mother.
DOROTHY: Mother, we’ve been doing this for years. I think it’s implied that I enjoy spending time with you. Otherwise, I’d have just left you behind in one of those parlors, posing old ladies near their spinning wheels, and told one of my uncles to go collect you.
CHANSONETTA: You see? We are an inseparable pair.
Chansonetta tenderly fiddles with Dorothy’s dress and hair.
FLORA: She could use a husband!
Chansonetta and Dorothy roll their eyes.
ARCHIBALD: And who are you, ma’am?
FLORA: If I could get a word in edgewise, I’d have told you already. I am Flora, Freelan’s wife. We met when we were both teaching in Mechanic Falls.
It was he and I that climbed Mount Washington first, in that steamer back in 1899. We still have the old clunker. Can’t seem to get rid of it. I even made up a pillow for the backseat and I embroidered on it in bright red thread, “This car climbed Mount Washington.”
ARCHIBALD: It must have been a beautiful sight, ma’am.
FLORA: It sure was, though I did close my eyes a few times on the drive down. We had to drag a log behind us to help us brake. It was terrifying, I have to admit – but I quite enjoyed the thrill.
Since then, we’ve particularly loved mountains.
ARCHIBALD: That explains your summer home in the Rockies.
FLORA: Exactly – we feel at home there, and I think we should just stay in Colorado year-round. If Freelan and Francis would just sell the company already, we wouldn’t even have to come back to Maine.
And, Dorothy, dear, I hear there’s a whole platoon of good naval men over at the Otter Cliffs Radio Tower – 150 of them! Maybe one of them would be willing to marry you.
Dorothy is nonplussed.
Raymond clears his throat and adjusts his shirt. He is clean-cut and well-kempt.
RAYMOND: My name is Raymond. I’m Frank’s son. My mother regrets missing tonight’s event. She sent word that she might be down with influenza. She sends her love. She said, “Tell them Gusti would send kisses if they weren’t so full of germs.”
ARCHIBALD: We will keep your mother in our prayers.
RAYMOND: Thank you, sir.
ARCHIBALD: Now, what about you? Frank is your father?
RAYMOND: Yes, sir. We get along rather well. Always have. I grew up with him building things around me, and I’ve been bit by the bug for designing stuff, just like him.
He designed his first steamer because of a promise to my mother. He tried to get her into bicycle riding at one time, but – after she fell off – she vowed to never ride one again. He promised her he’d make her something they could ride in side by side. I love that story. My father’s always been good to his family.
ARCHIBALD: Sounds like the twins had that in common as well.
RAYMOND: Yeah, my father always paid attention to us, and listened to us. He even let me design my first car when I was 16. It had a lot of steering problems, and wouldn’t drive properly. But he let me try again, and design another one.
ARCHIBALD: How’d that pan out?
RAYMOND: It was all going along fine at first. I was out with my buddies, and we were driving along when the steering wheel made a pop sound and spun around in my hands like it had nothing to grab onto.
ARCHIBALD: That must have ended badly.
RAYMOND: We crashed alright, but none of us were hurt. Not too long after that, my father dismantled the car without telling me. I guess I don’t blame him. He didn’t want me to kill myself.
I told him, though, he better not think I’m going to fail at everything. And I’ve been showing him that, day by day. He says I’ve made a lot of progress in these last few years.
ARCHIBALD: How’s that?
RAYMOND: I’ve been quite busy lately. The government has asked me, my father, and Uncle Freelan to design and build a single-unit steam-powered railcar, and we’re up to our ears in that project right now.
FREELAN: That’s an understatement.
RAYMOND: I might be more optimistic than my uncle.
ARCHIBALD: Did you serve any tours overseas?
RAYMOND: Believe it or not, I’m using my drawing skills to serve my country. I wanted to be a pilot – I enlisted in the Naval Aviation Corps a few months ago, but they discharged me once they found out I was colorblind.
FRED: Colorblind, can’t design a car, what next?
RAYMOND: Shut up, Fred! I’m still serving my country. I illustrate flight manuals for other pilots. And last year, I patrolled the coastline of Boothbay Harbor in my own boat, in a non-combat security role. I would do more if I could, but they just won’t let me.
ARCHIBALD: Are you still designing cars?
RAYMOND: I earned a degree in Automotive Design from Harvard, and since then I’ve started designing a condensing car. It’s quite stunning, if I do say so myself.
Fred Marriott is noticeably annoyed, and Raymond seems the cause.
FRED: I’ll tell you what’s stunning. Driving at 127 miles per hour on land, boy. That’s stunning.
RAYMOND: Don’t call me boy!
FRED: That’s what you are. Daddy’s little boy. Anything you want, you get. Didn’t matter what I was working on, I had to drop it at all for little Raymond’s flights of fancy. Not like I had anything important going on, right?
Anyway, I’m Fred Marriott. I used to be the head mechanic at Stanley Motor Carriage Company, and I drove the Stanley Rocket that broke the speed record for steam cars. I won the Dewar Trophy for that, though I never got to keep it. Why they hand it over to the car manufacturer, and not the driver, is beyond me.
RAYMOND: The only reason they chose you to drive was because you were the only bachelor around. No one to cry over you if you died.
FRED: I’d have plenty of women crying over me, boy. Especially once they see what I’ve got going on now. Tomorrow morning, I’m heading up north to the speed flats in Limestone. I’m going to break my own record. 128 miles per hour, here I come! But this time, I’m not driving a Stanley – Frank won’t be able to take the credit!
ARCHIBALD: Thank you, all of you, for introducing yourselves. I am Archie Lewis, and I have the humble honor of writing the incredible story of the Stanley brothers.
Dorothy coughs.
DOROTHY: And sister!
Archie stops short and blushes. He’s obviously very uncomfortable.
ARCHIBALD: Ms. Dorothy, hopefully one day someone will write a story about your mother, but that’s not why I’m here today. I drive a Stanley Steamer – designed by your two uncles – and it’s my pride and joy. I bought it back in 1911 – a Model 63. Still outdrives most of the cars in town, even the newer ones. The only reason I could afford it was because my book had sold quite well – you may have heard of it: Master of the Arctic: Robert Peary’s Exploration of the Great North.
FLORA: Can’t say that I have, Mr. Lewis, and I read a hundred books a year. When was it published?
ARCHIBALD: About 8 years ago. After Peary reached the Pole.
FLORA: I was told you wrote novels. Novels that didn’t sell.
ARCHIBALD: Novels, yes, I’ve written a couple. But the Peary biography – that was well received!
FLORA: Have you read Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie?
ARCHIBALD: No.
FLORA: The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins?
ARCHIBALD: No.
FLORA: Surely you’ve read The Time Machine, by H.G. Wells?
ARCHIBALD: Afraid not.
FLORA: Well, Mr. Lewis, that’s your problem right there. You can’t write good novels unless you read good novels!
ARCHIBALD: But the Peary biography, ma’am. Everybody loved that story! And, like Peary, Francis and Freelan Stanley are Mainers and true models of—-
Archie is interrupted by two deputies bursting through the door.
RAYMOND: Everybody hide your drinks!
BARTENDER: No, no – that’s not necessary. These cops are friends of Herlihy’s. They won’t bother you.
RAYMOND: Who’s Herlihy?
BARTENDER: Daniel Herlihy. Runs the Woodbine Club, among other things.
DEPUTY CLARK: Folks, I’m not here about the booze…. I have some terrible news.
Clark removes his hat and holds it awkwardly, passing it back and forth from one hand to the other.
RAYMOND: Is it the war?
DOROTHY: Is someone sick?
DEPUTY CLARK: Mr. Francis Stanley has been killed in an automobile accident.
Gasps and cries.
FREELAN: God…..no!
Freelan sets his head down on the table.
CHANSONETTA: What happened?!?
DEPUTY CLARK: He crashed his car, ma’am, into a woodpile on the side of the road.
Everyone says “What?” “But how?” “No!”
FLORA: He was always going too fast! We told him again and again to slow down.
DEPUTY HANSON: I wouldn’t be so sure it was his fault, ma’am.
Freelan raises his head back up.
DEPUTY CLARK: Shut up, Hanson!
CHANSONETTA: Wait! What does that mean? Was something wrong with the automobile?
DEPUTY HANSON: Well…
DEPUTY CLARK: Hanson! Stop it!
CHANSONETTA: Did somebody muck about with the mountain wagon? Mr. Hanson, was he murdered?
Clark turns to Chansonetta and speaks in a soft tone.
DEPUTY CLARK: We can’t say anything else about it, ma’am.
CHANSONETTA: Where have you taken him? We need to see him.
DEPUTY CLARK: We need you all to stay here until the sheriff arrives.
DOROTHY: Why?!?
DEPUTY CLARK: We just do. Please stay calm.
FREELAN: They must think one of us murdered him!
FLORA: But how could that be?
FRED: That man Hanson said it wasn’t his fault that he died. And the car was working fine on the way here, so someone must have interfered with it after we got to the hotel– sabotaged it – and murdered him!
FLORA: He said it MIGHT not be his fault. He didn’t say any facts.
FRED: Then why can’t we leave?
They all turn to the deputies barring the door.
Freeze.
NARRATOR: Good question. Let’s take a break and give the family a moment of peace.
10 minute intermission
Act 2
Everyone starts protesting: “I want to get out of here,” “Let us leave!”
FRED: They must think one of us is the murderer if they won’t let us leave.
RAYMOND: Why would anyone want to murder my father? He is a good man! He doesn’t have any enemies.
FRED: It’s not always enemies that kill. Sometimes it’s friends, sometimes it’s family members.
Fred glares at Raymond.
RAYMOND: Are you implying I killed my father? Why would I do that? I love my father!
FRED: I also know you love money and the great cars it can buy. How much money are you going to inherit now that your father’s dead? He’s worth a fortune! He’s been raking it in for over 40 years!
DOROTHY: Raymond would never kill Uncle Frank! He was a great father to him – He was his hero!
FRED: Don’t you think a man can kill his hero if he’s properly motivated? I’ve heard it’s happened many times.
FLORA: Perhaps it was all an accident! Doesn’t Raymond have problems with all the cars he touches? He might have thought he was doing something helpful, but what if he broke the vehicle by mistake? Isn’t he a curse to steering wheels?
RAYMOND: That’s just awful of you to say! I was with Dorothy ever since my father dropped us off. She’ll tell you, Aunt Flora. I didn’t touch the car. I didn’t kill my father.
Raymond is red-faced and teary-eyed. He points a finger at Flora and raises his voice.
RAYMOND: And a man’s failures shouldn’t follow him through life!
CHANSONETTA: Why are you being so hard on dear Raymond, huh, Flora? Don’t think I don’t remember what you told me not one month ago in a letter – that Frank said he knew your secret, and you had begged him not to tell Freelan.
FLORA: Netta – don’t! I told you that in confidence. I trusted you!
CHANSONETTA: Oh, come now, Flora. Isn’t it a little suspicious? Something happens to Frank as soon as he’s in the same place as you and Freelan? Were you worried he would take this opportunity to share your secret with his brother?
FREELAN: You back off, now, Netta. I love you dearly, sister, but I won’t allow you to besmirch my wife’s reputation. How would Flora even sabotage a vehicle, anyway? She doesn’t know the first thing about cars.
CHANSONETTA: If a lack of mechanical knowledge removes one as a suspect, then half of us are no longer eligible.
FREELAN: I’d say just Flora.
CHANSONETTA: I wouldn’t know what to do, and Dorothy wouldn’t know either. Certainly you can’t expect us to know how to interfere with such a thing as a steamer. What would we do? Pull a plug? Drain some water?
FREELAN: You can’t tell me Dorothy doesn’t know anything about cars. Frank and I have bought you several, Netta, and she’s driven them all over the countryside, taking care of them all the while. Suddenly she doesn’t know cars? That’s nonsense.
And Raymond told me earlier this afternoon that he had been teaching you a few things when you come to visit. You said to him you were worried Dorothy might find a husband and you’d be left to fend for yourself.
CHANSONETTA: We drive Fords, Freelan, and you know it. Model T’s are a far cry different from steamers.
DEPUTY HANSON: I have a Model T myself, and I wouldn’t have known what to do with that mountain wagon. What was done to it, required knowledge of steam.
DEPUTY CLARK: Hanson, I swear to God… I am going to fire you before the night is over.
ARCHIBALD: If I may be so bold to say, Mr. Freelan, I highly doubt Chansonetta killed her brother, even though she might know more about autos than she’s letting on. Frank expressed to me how deeply he cared for his sister – he said they’d always been close.
FREELAN: You may know some of the facts of my family, Mr. Lewis, but you don’t know them all. Frank and I have been helping our sister out for many years now, so she could be a photographer and not worry about making a living. I’ve never minded giving her the money. I liked to think about her out there, taking photographs, being an artist.
DOROTHY: Don’t sound so condescending!
FREELAN: Please, Dorothy, don’t be offended.
Freelan addresses Archie, gesturing toward Chansonetta.
FREELAN: She and Dorothy would send along these wonderful photographs of them sitting in motor carriages, or picking blueberries in a field. We wanted that for her. We didn’t want to her to have to shoot commercially, like we had to at first. She hates portrait sittings, and it’s a much more natural fit for her to ride around freely, taking photographs of whatever catches her eye.
FLORA: She does take some beautiful photographs. I have one framed above the commode.
CHANSONETTA: Thank you, Flora. So gracious.
FREELAN: When we started giving her money, we had plenty to spare. We’ve always been fairly conservative – we didn’t overdo it. But lately, Frank has felt like he should start keeping better track of his pennies. He told Chansonetta that we were going to reduce her monthly income. At her age, she might have panicked at the news.
ARCHIBALD: That’s a harsh accusation.
CHANSONETTA: Freelan, I can’t believe you would think that of me. Or my daughter.
BARTENDER: Please, pardon my interruption. I don’t believe Ms. Dorothy was responsible. I’ve been tending bar here all afternoon. I saw Mr. Francis drop off everyone at the hotel, and most everyone went inside, except Ms. Dorothy and Mr. Raymond Stanley. They came in here and visited my bar during happy hour.
Chansonetta gasps.
CHANSONETTA: Dorothy!
DOROTHY: Oh, come on, mother. Raymond is my cousin. We had some catching up to do. Nothing breaks the ice like cheap drinks.
BARTENDER: They left the bar a few minutes before you all arrived as a group, I assume so that you wouldn’t know they’d – what should I call it?
Bartender air-quotes.
BARTENDER: “pre-gamed”
FRED: Fair enough, fair enough. Even if it wasn’t Dorothy, that doesn’t exclude Chansonetta as the culprit.
DEPUTY HANSON: It wasn’t Chansonetta.
Clark yells.
DEPUTY CLARK: Hanson! What is your problem?
DEPUTY HANSON: It couldn’t have been her, right, Clark? Why can’t I just say that?
DEPUTY CLARK: One – one! – more word out of you, and I will harm you, Hanson.
Physically.
DOROTHY: How do you know it wasn’t my mother?
Hanson puts a hand over his mouth.
DEPUTY CLARK: We can’t say anymore more, Miss Dorothy. We have already said far too much.
CHANSONETTA: They know it wasn’t me because I would never harm my brother. Family is everything. Family wouldn’t do this to one another.
Freelan gestures around.
FREELAN: The odds are against that….We’re all family, Chansonetta.
DOROTHY: Not all of us. Not him.
Dorothy points to Fred.
FRED: Why would I kill Frank? He and I have known each other for years. He was always good for a laugh. I have nothing to gain from him being dead.
DOROTHY: You sure sounded a little miffed earlier about the Dewar Trophy, saying something about it going to the auto manufacturer instead of the driver, and how this time Frank wouldn’t get the credit. Some bad blood between you?
Or maybe you just wanted to frame Raymond here, since you two can’t seem to be in the same room together without setting it on fire?
FRED: That’s a mighty fine tale, Dorothy, but there isn’t any truth to it.
DOROTHY: And wouldn’t you have the tools to sabotage Uncle Frank’s car? Considering that you drove here in your own steamer and probably have a tool bag in the back?
FRED: That’s ridiculous. Driving your own car is not a crime.
ARCHIBALD: I had the pleasure of looking at Mr. Marriott’s car this afternoon before Mr. Francis dropped you all off. Quite a car! I did notice a leather tool bag in the backseat, now that you mention it.
FRED: Of course I carry tools with me! What decent driver doesn’t? I bet every car out there has a tool bag in the backseat, even yours, Mr. Lewis.
I couldn’t have interfered with Frank’s car, anyway. I was predisposed the whole time the Mountain Wagon was here. I was on the telephone with Murray Rogers, my lead guy up in Limestone. We had some details to go over before tomorrow’s big run.
DOROTHY: And how long was that telephone conversation?
FRED: Nearly an hour, I’d say. Call up Murray, ask him – he’ll tell ya! Or check with the operator. Maybe it’s the same girl as earlier – she’d know.
BARTENDER: Hold on, I’ll check.
Bartender picks up phone.
BARTENDER: Hello?
Yes, Evelyn!
Did you put a call through earlier from Mr. Fred Marriott to Mr. Murray Rogers in Limestone?
You did?
Do you know how long the call was?
Oh…
Thank you, Evelyn. You’ve been helpful.
Goodbye.
Bartender hangs up the telephone.
BARTENDER: She can confirm the call, but not its duration.
ARCHIBALD: Interesting.
FRED: That doesn’t mean it wasn’t an hour, Mr. Lewis.
ARCHIBALD: You’re right, it doesn’t prove anything. But – might someone be trying to frame you, Mr. Marriott? Did Mr. Francis have any enemies? Anybody he might have upset in his business ventures? Any patent disputes? What’s he been working on lately? Someone outside of this room could have orchestrated everything, some mastermind.
RAYMOND: He didn’t have any enemies. Lately, the only arguments he’s had are with me – over the nose on my new condensing car – and with Uncle Freelan, over the money they were losing at the Motor Carriage Company.
FRED: I heard about that. This war is hard on everyone, what with the rationing and all, but sticking to steam might have done you in.
FREELAN: I don’t want to get into all that now. We’re no longer managing the place. Frank’s son-in-law and our nephew are taking up the reins. They’ll do a good job of it.
ARCHIBALD: So what was next for you two?
FREELAN: We were getting into this railcar project – we had problems to solve, and we wouldn’t rest until we’d solved them. Things are like eager tin cans huffing all wobbly down a track.
RAYMOND: It’s not that bad, Uncle Freelan.
FREELAN: Yes, it is, Raymond. Trust me. You want to fix the problems early. Acting like you haven’t seen them? Doesn’t help anybody.
And, Mr. Lewis, we weren’t really arguing about the company, we were discussing it. We’ve always been honest with each other, and it’s worked for us since we were boys. We wouldn’t have gotten to where we are if we’d killed each other for disagreeing.
CHANSONETTA: I can attest to that. They’ve said it straight to each other, and it seems to keep things running along smoothly.
FREELAN: This is all very tedious, Deputy. My brother is dead, and you don’t seem to be doing much about it. Where is this sheriff you mentioned? Get lost on the way here? End up in Eden? Or – what is it called now – Bar Harbor?
Hanson starts to speak, but Clark holds up a hand to silence him.
DEPUTY CLARK: It won’t be long now, folks – the truth will be exposed soon enough.
Freeze.
NARRATOR: What IS the truth? Who murdered Francis Stanley?
Was it his son, Raymond, who would gain an inheritance, potentially millions of dollars? Or did Raymond accidentally sabotage the car while tinkering with it?
Was it Fred Marriott, who might enjoy framing Raymond after a contentious rivalry, and who had bad blood with Frank over the Dewar Trophy?
Was it Flora, who might have murdered Frank so he couldn’t tell Freelan her secret?
Was it Chansonetta or Dorothy, who might be afraid for their financial security?
Was it Freelan, who may be downplaying his disagreement with his brother over their interests in the Stanley Motor Carriage Company?
Or is there something else going on? Is someone being framed? Who is framing who?
During this next intermission, write down your guess of the murderer’s identity. We will return shortly.
Act Three
NARRATOR: Welcome back, everyone. You’ve all had a chance to ask the suspects some questions and, hopefully, you’ve selected your prime suspect.
I’d like to hear some of your theories.
Narrator randomly selects guests who look interested in guessing the murderer’s identity, and prompts them to provide an explanation for their guess.
Sheriff Wescott enters and approaches the narrator, whispering in his ear.
NARRATOR: It seems we have an announcement. I’d like to introduce Sheriff Ward Wescott.
SHERIFF WESCOTT: Good evening. I want to express my deepest sympathies and regrets. I am sorry you have lost a loved one. I’m also really sorry that we had to sequester you while we worked out the identity of the murderer.
FREELAN: So you know you murdered Frank?
SHERIFF WESCOTT: Yes, we do, Mr. Stanley, and we have Mrs. Emmons to thank for it.
CHANSONETTA: What? What are you talking about?
SHERIFF WESCOTT: When we arrived at the scene of the accident and discovered signs of tampering on the Mountain Wagon, we immediately returned to the last place Mr. Francis had been seen. Clark here, while on his rounds in town, had noticed Mr. Francis dropping all of you off at the hotel, so we moved directly to that area. Clark said he’d also seen Mr. Francis park the Mountain Wagon and bound in the hotel like he needed to grab something. Clark drove on, and saw the Mountain Wagon was gone by the next round.
We thoroughly assessed the location, and noticed that, peeking out from one of the hotel windows, was a camera.
Chansonetta gasps.
CHANSONETTA: My camera!
SHERIFF WESCOTT: Yes, ma’am. Your camera faced the spot where Mr. Francis parked the Mountain Wagon. We hoped it captured something, even if it was a blur. Anything could help. We were lucky, ma’am. The photo captured him, alright.
Clark and Hanson step up behind Archie Lewis and handcuff him. Perkins hands around the photograph. When it reaches Chansonetta, she holds it in her shaking hands and stares at it, shocked by the miracle.
CHANSONETTA: I was experimenting with time lapse photography. I wired my camera to my stopwatch so it would make the shutter release after ten seconds. Then I wired my shutter so that its release action rewound the stopwatch and reset the timer. I can’t believe it worked!
DOROTHY: That’s great, Mother!
FREELAN: Wait a minute – Why on earth would Mr. Lewis kill my brother?!
SHERIFF WESCOTT: I don’t know too much about old Archie Lewis here, but I do know he’s not the best at selling books. Seems like he could use a bestseller, and I imagine nothing sells like murder. A Stanley brothers biography where one of the brothers is murdered by a member of his own family? Sounds like solid gold, doesn’t it.
Archie hangs his head in shame. The deputies drag him out.
FLORA: Wow, Netta. You caught the killer. And it wasn’t me. Imagine that.
FREELAN: Now, now. Let’s put that all behind us. We know each other’s failures, yes, but we know each other’s triumphs as well. I think no less of any of you, though I admit I’m curious about that secret, Flora, and we should probably have a talk about that.
For now, let’s go. We have a funeral to plan.
They rise and exit.
NARRATOR: And now for The Truth of what happened: Francis was killed while driving one of his automobiles – he swerved to avoid an obstruction on a mountain road and plunged down an embankment near Ipswich, Massachusetts. However, authorities did not suspect foul play.
Let’s hear what you’ve come up with for our historical inaccuracies.
Narrator asks the audience.
The first historical inaccuracy was the mention of the iron lung, which was 10 years away from being invented.
The second historical inaccuracy? Chansonetta said she took photos of cityscapes and skyscrapers, including the Empire State Building, which was only completed in 1931.
And the third historical inaccuracy was Flora’s mention of Murder on the Orient Express. This bestselling mystery by Agatha Christie was still 16 years away from publication.