Vera Sloane
Sings like a knife in velvet. Owes the club more than money.
A speakeasy hidden behind a florist on West 46th
The champagne is cold. The piano player is not.
It is the last Friday before the Vesper closes for good, and the piano player is dead in the champagne cellar with a glass of the good stuff beside him. Eleven people had reason to want the song to end. A story of debts, jealousies, and one very bad bottle.
Last Call at the Vesper plays in three acts with a dinner break the script plans for. Times below assume a 7pm start; every kit includes a version for a later table.
Guests are greeted by name at the flower shop door and handed their booklets. Introductions turn into a small public scandal when the club ledger is found to be missing a page.
The body is discovered below the bar. Three sealed clues are opened on cue, and each one points at a different guest with a different reason to be downstairs.
Dinner is served while alibis quietly collapse. The host reads the solution aloud and invites the guilty party to confess before the last toast.
Six to 12 roles are written; the kit scales down by folding the smallest parts into the host. Each character arrives with a public face and a private problem.
Sings like a knife in velvet. Owes the club more than money.
Smiles at everyone. Keeps a list of who smiled back.
Built the Vesper out of a florist's back room and a grudge.
Reviews the club by night and the police by morning.