You Don’t Need to Care About Who Did It
In response to my posts about mystery roleplaying I got often the feedback of people who say they don’t like solving mysteries.
Going against what it is normally advisable, I will go out on a limb and try to do a bit of amateur psychoanalysis. I believe most people who say they don’t like mystery scenarios aren’t really reacting to the genre. What they are reacting to is the workload and the feeling of being tested.
They imagine an evening of note-taking, clue-tracking, and logical deduction when what they actually want from roleplaying is interaction, tension, and story. To them, the “mystery” sounds like homework: gather facts, compare alibis, with an exam at the end: did you reach the correct conclusion?
You didn’t? Oh poor you.
Nobody likes to feel tested.
But the mystery is never just what makes a cozy mystery work. A good one isn’t (just) about solving a puzzle; it’s about the interacting with people. Eccentric, contradictory, and emotionally charged people, find their quirks, their manias, their secrets, watch how your own character behaves among them. The mystery gives you a reason to talk to everyone, but the real pleasure may lie in those conversations themselves.
The Social Pleasures of Investigation
Every mystery begins as a social web: the innkeeper who’s a little too nosy, the nervous schoolteacher with something to hide, the war veteran who drinks too much and talks too loud. You may be asking about motives or timelines, but what you’re really doing is exploring personalities. The investigation gives a structure and a goal to what would otherwise be a collection of unrelated dialogues.
Even players who don’t care who the culprit is will often find themselves caring about someone: the wronged lover, the overworked constable, the child who saw too much. Once you start engaging with the characters, the mystery may even become secondary. The investigation turns into a map of human relationships. And each interview becomes a chance to reveal not only what happened, but who these people are and what makes them tick. And not only them, but also the players’ characters, because by interacting with these different NPCs different aspects of the player characters will surface.
The Foundation: Strong, Interconnected NPCs
In my previous article, I emphasized how crucial it is for the scenario itself to do the heavy lifting. Cozy mysteries only work when the NPCs are vivid, well-fleshed out, and connected to each other by strong relationships.
The trick is to populate the setting with people who have inner lives and recognizable contradictions: someone kind but cowardly, proud but insecure, loyal but afraid. Each of them should have their own agenda, their own little orbit of relationships and tensions with other NPCs. When that groundwork is there, even players who have no interest in deduction will find themselves immersed. They’ll talk, improvise, and react because the fictional world feels alive.
When the characters are strong enough, every conversation matters; not (just) because it brings you closer to the answer, but because it reveals more of the social and emotional landscape you’re exploring.
Roleplay as Exploration
A cozy mystery gives players a perfect excuse to act. It’s a genre built on conversation: every scene is a chance to stay in character, to respond to suspicion or charm, to press or retreat. There’s an intimacy to it. You’re not fighting monsters or deciphering runes; you’re discovering people.
That requires empathy, intuition, and curiosity, which are all central skills in roleplaying. The joy of play doesn’t come from “solving” the case but from living it: the hesitant politeness of an amateur detective, the irritation of an efficient policeman dealing with local gossip, or the warmth of a friend trying to comfort the accused. The investigation becomes a mirror for the player’s own temperament and emotional intelligence.
The Joy of Performance
Cozy mysteries are inherently theatrical. They invite characters who are just a bit too much: the gossiping widow, the melodramatic artist, the sanctimonious vicar with the heavy sermons. This is where players can really shine: the table becomes a stage for small acts of drama, humor, and revelation.
For the Game Master, it’s a chance to showcase operatic NPCs. For players, it’s an opportunity to perform, to react, to build rapport. Even the smallest details, how a suspect pours tea, or how their voice wavers when they mention the deceased, can become hooks for improvised storytelling.
When everyone synchs into that rhythm, the scenario comes alive. And hopefully there is one of the players that is invested in figuring out the mastery… but what is really the problem if that is not the case?
Emotional Closure Over Logical Closure
The payoff of a good cozy mystery isn’t just the revelation of the culprit. It’s the understanding that emerges of why people act as they do, what they fear, and what and why do they lie.
It’s not about being right. It’s about feeling that moment when justice and empathy pull in opposite directions and realizing that both matter.
Thus, as a game master, you don’t need to worry whether players will or will they not figure out the mystery. You don’t have to infantilize clues if they don’t get it immediately. Just get them involved in the lives of the NPCs and if possible, in conflict with them.
As a player, feel free to, for once, play the incompetent sleuth or the police investigator who would rather be an opera singer.
A cozy mystery is often more of a chance for empathy than a test of intellect.
So really, don’t get worried if you don’t feel like finding who the culprit is.
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