Twelve Courses, One Body

[SFX: Restaurant ambience. Cutlery clink; champagne cork pop]

NARRATOR: Vesper served twelve guests at one table and charged them enough to expect immortality. On the eleventh course, municipal inspector Adrian Pike died face-first in a bowl of smoke. Everyone had eaten the same menu. Only Pike had been poisoned.

BEA HOLT: Nobody clears a plate. Especially not the ugly ones.

CHEF LUCA VENN: You are a critic, not police.

BEA HOLT: Tonight I am the only person here who documents ingredients for a living.

MINA ROSE: The dessert smoke is dry ice and rosemary. It cannot poison one guest.

TOMAS GREY: His wine was poured from the same bottle as yours.

ELLEN WARD: And the inspector arrived unannounced. Nobody could prepare a personal dose.

[SFX: Metal lid lift. Ceramic bowl break]

NARRATOR: Pike smelled of bitter almonds, a theatrical clue too obvious for Bea's taste. His spoon bore no poison. His napkin carried a faint oily square and the embossed number twelve, though Vesper used unnumbered linen.

BEA HOLT: The killer did not personalize the food. Someone personalized his place setting.