How to Survive a Killer Seance (25 page)

The detective frowned. “Why would he be worried about Lyla?”

I shrugged. I didn’t want to incriminate Jonathan more than I had.

“Parker,” the detective said, “I’d sure like to know how you’re involved in this.”

“I just told you,” I said. “Now can you tell me what happened to Zachary?”

“Police business,” he said, and popped the toothpick back into his mouth.

“Well, what about George Wells—the supposed suicide at Hella-Graphics?”

“Supposed? Where did you get that idea? You been communicating with the dead for real?”

“No, I was talking with Teddi, George’s wife, and she doesn’t think he killed himself.”

“Nobody ever wants to believe their loved one committed suicide. If they did, they’d have to face up to the fact that their relative wasn’t happy and they didn’t see it coming. They often think it’s their fault—that they caused their husband or wife or whoever to do it. Denial is typical when it comes to 801s-suicides.”

I wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. “Well, it’s been great chatting with you, Detective, as usual. If you’re done with me, I have things to do. You know the party business. It’s not all clowns and balloons.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t know how you’re mixed up in this, Presley, but if I find out you’re not telling me everything, we’re going to have another little chat.”

“Looking forward to it, Detective. And good luck with finding Jonathan,” I said, giving him a smirk.

He smirked back. “What’s the matter, Presley? Your police scanner not working?”

His words wiped the smirk off my face. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t hear?” His smirk grew bigger.

Oh God. Something had happened to Lyla. My heart skipped a beat.

“No, what?”

“Jonathan Ellington’s been arrested. He was hiding at his father’s care facility.”

 

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned. I blurted out my first thought: “Then Jonathan couldn’t have murdered Zachary. And he probably didn’t kill the others, either.”

The detective’s smirk turned into a crooked smile. “That’s faulty logic, Parker. We only caught him an hour or so ago. By the looks of things, Zachary was killed sometime during the night. And I’m guessing Ellington has no alibi.”

“But . . . if he was staying at the care facility, couldn’t his dad vouch for him?”

“Biased witness. Wouldn’t hold up in court.”

“It sounds like you’ve already made the judge’s decision for him.”

Brad appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on out here? I’m trying to work, you know. How am I supposed to clean up with you two squawking in the background?”

The detective made a show of checking his watch. “Gotta run,” he said to Brad, giving him a light punch on the shoulder. “Catch you later, Matthews.” To me, he said, “Gotta go interrogate a suspect.” Then he winked. I felt myself blush.

I turned to Brad, furious at Melvin’s cocky attitude. But instead of sympathy, Brad gave me the stink eye.

“I
told
you that if you came along, to make yourself scarce! God, Presley, I can’t take you anywhere.”

He turned away, looking disgusted, and disappeared into the room where he’d been working. I thought about leaving, calling a cab for a ride, so as not to annoy him any further, but curiosity got the better of me. I peered into the room where Brad was working.

“Same MO?” I said, showing off my TV cop show skills.

Brad grunted.

“I’m going to take that as a yes. Grunt twice for no.”

Brad sat up from his hands and knees position on the floor and sighed. He knew he wouldn’t get any work done until I was finished asking questions. “All right. Basically, it looks like the same guy could have done it. Most likely he sneaked up behind Samuels and hit him over the head.”

I glanced around the floor. No candlestick in sight. “With what?”

“They found a bronze statue lying on the floor nearby and took it as evidence.”

“What kind of statue?”

“Looked like the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”

I remembered seeing the statue on Jonathan’s desk. “I loved that movie!” I said, temporarily distracted from the topic at hand. “Saw it at a retro showing of 3-D movies a few years ago. Richard Carlson and Julie Adams. Nineteen fifty-four. It was one of the earliest and best 3-D movies ever made.”

Brad shot me a look that clearly said, “Your short attention span is showing.”

That brought me back. “Was it heavy enough to bean someone with?”

“I didn’t see it, but apparently it did the trick.”

I thought for a moment. Why would Jonathan use his prized statue to kill Zachary? It would have been way too obvious if he was trying to get away with murder. I had a funny feeling the statue was covered with Jonathan’s prints—and no one else’s. The perfect setup for a killer who wanted to kill Zachary and frame Jonathan.

My phone rang. I backed into the hall for some privacy and answered the call I’d been dreading.

“Hi, Mother,” I said wearily, figuring she’d heard the news about Jonathan’s arrest.

“Presley! They’ve captured Jonathan and taken him to jail! You’ve got to do something! Stephen is so distraught. They’re even talking about arresting him as an accomplice—aiding and abetting, or something like that. I think he’s taken a turn for the worse.”

“Calm down, Mother. First, tell me you didn’t have anything to do with Jonathan hiding at the care facility.”

“Of course not, darling. I knew nothing about it. In fact, I don’t even think Stephen knew.”

That made no sense, but it also made no sense to argue with my mother when she was fixated on something.

“Presley, what are you going to do?”

“Uh, I’m sure Jonathan has an attorney at the firm who will find him a criminal lawyer.”

“That’s not what I mean. What are
you
going to do to find the real killer? An innocent man’s life is at stake.”

Jonathan was hardly innocent.

“And this could kill Stephen.”

“Mother, I don’t know what I can do—”

She cut me off. “Presley, please! You’ve solved a couple of crimes recently. You apparently have a knack for it, as well as giving parties. There must be someone who wants to discredit or destroy Jonathan, or worse.”

A name jumped instantly to mind, but before I could think it through, Mother said, “Get Brad to help you. He seems to like you. Just use your feminine wiles.”

My mother had been using her wiles all her life to get what she wanted. She couldn’t understand why I, at thirty, hadn’t used mine—whatever they were—and hadn’t been married two or three times already.

“All right, Mother. I’ll do what I can. And I’ll get Brad to help. But you have to stop worrying. It’s not good for you. Promise me?”

I heard her sigh. “Thank you, dear. Let me know if you need my help. I love helping you with things like this.”

“Sure, Mother. I’ll call you soon.”

As I put the phone back in my purse, I thought about the person who most wanted to ruin Jonathan. I headed for Stephanie’s office and found her door ajar. She stood staring out the window, ignoring the pile of work on her desk.

I knocked.

She turned and said listlessly, “Hi, Presley.” There were lines around her mouth and eyes I hadn’t noticed before.

I stepped inside. “I’m sorry to bother you, Stephanie. I know it’s a bad time.”

“No, no, it’s fine. There is no good time anymore. Is there anything new . . . ?” Her words drifted off.

“They found Jonathan.”

She sucked in a breath. Her eyes widened. “Is he . . . ?”

“He’s been arrested.”

She shook her head and glanced out the window again. “Oh God.”

“I’m sorry.”

She turned back to me. “Do they know anything else?”

“That’s all I’ve heard.”

She was quiet for a moment, then said, “Do they know how Zachary died—exactly?”

“Only that he was hit from behind with a statue.”

“A statue?”

“They think it’s the one from Jonathan’s desk.”

Her pressed lips melted into a sad smile. “The Creature from the Black Lagoon. He loved that statue. It symbolized everything he’d worked for since he was a kid.”

“Listen, Stephanie, I’ll get out of your way, but I wondered if you had a number for Dane Scott, over at Stereo-Scope?”

An eyebrow raised. She looked as if I were about to betray her. “Why would you want to talk to him?”

“Just a hunch. He seems to be the one who gains the most from discrediting Jonathan. I thought maybe I could find out something from him or his assistant, Jerry Thompson.”

She pulled out her cell phone, tapped it, and read me the number.

“You have it on your cell?” I asked, typing the number into my own cell phone.

“Oh yes. He calls here quite frequently, always trying to find out what we’re working on.”

I thanked her and headed for the door.

“Let me know what you learn, will you, Presley?” she asked. “If that bastard is responsible for all of this”—she paused, glancing back out the window—“I may kill him myself.”

It was stupid to come without my car.

Knowing the meticulous work he does, I had a feeling Brad would be cleaning up at Hella-Graphics for hours.

I pulled out my iPhone to call Delicia for a ride, when I had a thought. Instead, I switched over to Google Earth and scoped out the distance between Hella-Graphics and Stereo-Scope, figuring I could take a cab there. To my surprise, the company was located right here in the Presidio. Apparently, Lucas and Hella-Graphics didn’t inhabit every building on the former military grounds. Ironically, Stereo-Scope—Hella-Graphics’s prime competitor—was just across the campus.

I left Brad a note on his windshield telling him I’d gone for a walk and to call me when he was ready to leave. Then I headed for Dane Scott’s place of business, trying to figure out a way to get in and snoop around. I didn’t have any balloons handy for a “Surprise Balloon Bouquet,” and I couldn’t whip up a SUBWAY jacket without some iron-on letters. But by the time I reached the white clapboard building at the bottom of the hill, I’d come up with a plan to do just the opposite of breaking in to see him. I’d lure him out.

Unlike Hella-Graphics, the front entrance to Stereo-Scope was unlocked, allowing anyone into the small lobby. Before entering, I did a Facebook search and status check for both Dane Scott and Jerry Thompson. Scott was listed as “married.” Thompson was listed as “divorced.” His Facebook picture showed two young children standing with him.

At the back of the lobby stood a long desk, manned by a young woman in heavy black-rimmed glasses, with black hair and black nails to match. She looked right out of a vampire movie. She glanced up as I approached and raised a pierced eyebrow.

“May I help you?” she asked, the stud in her tongue glistening.

“Yes,” I said, matter-of-factly. “I’d like to see Dane Scott.”

“What’s your name?”

“Presley Parker.”

She looked at the computer, no doubt checking Dane Scott’s schedule. Apparently not seeing what she was looking for, she asked, “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I have some important information he’ll be interested in. It’s urgent that I see him.”

The girl sat back and twirled a pencil in her fingers. “I’m sorry. He only sees people by appointment.”

Here we go again. Maybe I could get to his right-hand man.

“How about Jerry Thompson?”

“Do you have an appointment with him?” This time she didn’t bother looking at the computer screen. She just kept twirling her pencil.

“No, but—”

“I’m sorry, but he sees only—”

“—people by appointment,” I said, finishing her mantra.

“Okay, then would you please tell Jerry his ex-wife is here? And if he doesn’t see me, I’ll be forced to leave his two children in the lobby.” I glanced back toward my car as if checking on the little munchkins.

I could see the tongue stud clearly as her mouth dropped open. She blinked several times, no doubt in lieu of screaming “Oh my God!” and picked up the phone.

“Jerry? This is Katia at the front desk,” she said quietly. “There’s a woman here to see you . . . I know, but she says she’s your ex-wife. And she’s got your kids in the car . . . Yes, sir.”

Katia hung up the phone.