Clue: The Story Behind the Slaughter

Prologue

It was a dark and stormy night, and Ms. Scarlet pulled her wrap closer around her as the rain slammed on Mr. Green's roof. She sipped her tea and shivered, not quite because of the storm, but because of the distant footsteps softly thumping towards her.
"Robert?" she called softly, slightly worried that the footsteps might not be his. The footsteps stopped and the door to her left swung open.
"Yes, love?" Scarlet cringed at the endearment, an unearned term she was supposed to get used to. She stood up and adjusted her slip.
"Robert, don't. You know I can't stand you calling me that when—"
"Don't." Ms. Scarlet rolled her eyes and strolled towards Mr. Green, into the hallway. A white letter lying on the floor caught her eye. She picked it up and glanced at the sending address.
"Robert, do you know a Mr. Anthony Pratt?" she asked, sliding a nail under the flap and pulling out the single leaf inside.
"No, why?"
"He has invited you to a party."
•••••••••••••••
It wasn't dark or stormy in the White household, and no one was alone either. Three foot-high children sprinted through a steam-choked kitchen as Mrs. White threw a handful flour in their general direction.
"-AND STAY OUT!" Mr. White strolled into the kitchen and kissed his wife on the cheek.
"Don't worry your pretty little head, those kids will be gone soon," he flirted. Mrs. White hit him with her rolling pin.
"Oh, so sorry darling, I didn't see you there," she falsely sweet. Her older son shuffled in, wearing a faux-fur leopard-print jacket that Mrs. White barely approved of.
"Mom, there—there's a letter for you," he stumbled as he handed it to her. She opened it with a butter knife and slid out the note. She raised an eyebrow.
"Honey, when was the last time Mr. Pratt talked to you?"
"Uh...I don't know...last year?" Mrs. White rolled her eyes and scanned the rest of the note, pondering to herself.
"A party?"
•••••••••••••••
Mrs. Peacock laid the needle down on the record player and settled in an worn-down armchair. She leaned back and closed her eyes, the skipping track still bringing her back to swaying in her first apartment, flashes of ruby and small bursts of laughter bringing heat to her cheeks.
"Oh, Vivian," she sighed as she stood to change the record. She stopped as a simple white envelope slid under the door. Lifting the letter, she noticed the black wax seal closing it off. She peeled it back with the letter opener she got from her dad on her 16th birthday. Shaking away the memory, she tugged open the note and skimmed it.
"Oh, Tony, what have you done now..."
•••••••••••••••
Colonel Henry Jack Mustard was polishing his gun when his young attendant handed him a silver platter, on which laid a single white envelope. He dismissed the boy and carefully laid the revolver in its glass case, smiling slightly as he carefully slid the panel closed.