How to Survive a Killer Seance (5 page)

His wife, Teddi, didn’t think so.

“Presley?” Brad said, interrupting my thoughts. “You ready?”

I pushed George and Teddi Wells from my mind and tried to focus on the task at hand.

“Almost. What about the others? Delicia? Rocco? Raj? Berkeley?” I asked, referring to my office mates and part-time assistants.

Brad nodded toward the back offices. I walked down the hall, peering into the windows of each one. They were all empty. Everyone was gone. Vanished.

I looked at Brad, dumbfounded. “Where’d they all go?”

“Cleared out early this morning while you were at your breakfast date. They’ve already set up shop in their new digs. I got them offices at Building One, too.”

“That’s great. But doesn’t Rocco need a kitchen?”

Brad nodded, shifting the boxes in his bulging arms. “There’s one on the second floor.”

“Raj?”

“He got the first office, behind the front desk. He’ll be manning that desk when he’s not patrolling the area.”

“Delicia? Berkeley? Duncan?”

“Yep. They’re sharing office space to save on rent.”

“So we’ll all be together!” I said as I returned to my office. I began pulling party supplies off the shelves and putting everything in boxes Brad had set out for me.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Brad said.

I stopped filling a box with ornate candlesticks I’d once used as props for a murder mystery party, and turned to Brad, still holding one of the candlesticks in my hand. “What do you mean you were hoping I’d say that?”

“Uh . . . you’ve got a roommate this time. Delicia.”

He fled with his box before I could get a good grip on the candlestick. Don’t get me wrong. I love Delicia and consider her my best friend, next to my mother. But that girl never shuts up. Without a wall between us, I wasn’t going to get a thing done.

 

The Art Deco Administration Building, aka Building One, is the first of only a few structures remaining from the World’s Fair that tourists see when they enter Treasure Island. In fact, they can’t miss it. The concave half-circle design not only lures visitors to stop by, but it’s probably the safest building on the island in the event of an earthquake. Tourists love to take pictures standing next to the large nude statues that flank the entrance and peek inside the heavy glass and brass doors at the huge dome inside. According to one of the many Treasure Island Web sites, “a security desk commands attention in the middle of the sweeping hallway and serves mostly as a courtesy to tourists who want to know more about this intriguing, anachronistic structure.”

Currently, Raj Reddy, my favorite security guard on the island, manned the desk. Behind him, covering more than a dozen large wall panels, was a colorful mural illustrating the history of TI from its creation to the present.

Underneath the panels were doors to small offices, including one for the historical society museum. I wondered which of the remaining offices was my new party headquarters.

“Hey, Raj,” I said, wheeling a cart towered with several boxes into the expansive hall. “I guess we’re still going to be office neighbors.”

Raj bobbled his head and gave a grin that revealed a small gap between his two front teeth. “Yes, Ms. Presley. Welcome to our new building. This is so much nicer than those old barracks. I’m so glad Mr. Brad got us a good deal.”

I turned and eyed Brad who had followed me over, wheeling his own stack of boxes.

“So, which one is mine?” I asked him.

I needn’t have bothered to ask. My former office neighbor, Delicia Jackson, popped her head out of a door on the right marked “104” and waved.

“Presley! Don’t you love it? It’s divine! And we’re roomies! Come see!”

Delicia was a mostly out-of-work actress who spoke in exclamation marks punctuated by dramatic inflection. When she wasn’t auditioning for commercials or small theater productions, she helped me out with my party business, doing everything from making decorations to appearing as a Disney princess. Petite, with latte-colored skin and long dark hair, she caught the eye of most men in her path, and had broken many a heart in her search for her Prince Charming.

I waved back and wheeled my cart toward her.

She pushed the door wide-open and ushered me in with a sweep of her hand. Most of the space in the tiny office was taken up by two face-to-face desks, one metal and covered with theater bills, ragged scripts, and head shots of Dee. The other, wood, stood pristine, waiting for me. The two walls behind the desks were lined with shelves, empty for the most part. It wouldn’t take me long to fill them with everything from paper party hats to murder mystery weapons.

Brad unloaded the boxes while I began filling up the shelves. Dee kept busy hanging posters from
Wicked
,
Rent
,
Hairspray
, and
Beach Blanket Babylon
. When she finished, she helped me organize my party paraphernalia, albeit with nonstop narration. By working through the noon hour we were more or less settled in and ready for business by midafternoon.

“Looking good,” Brad said, appearing suddenly like a ghost. He glanced around, nodding. “How do you like it?”

I had to admit, it was a lot nicer than the decaying barracks. And sharing space with Dee would probably save money. I just hoped she wouldn’t be too distracting. With ADHD, I didn’t need any more distractions.

“It’s really great. Thanks for arranging this. Where’s your office?”

“Next door. Just rap on the wall if you need me. Better than an intercom.”

I’d miss being able to spy on him through the office windows in the barracks, but it was nice to know he was so close.

“Shall we grab an early dinner?” he asked. “I missed lunch.”

My cell phone rang. I glanced at the screen. No name, just a number. Not familiar.

“Killer Parties,” I said, holding up a finger to Brad in response to his question.

“Presley?” said the male voice on the other end.

“Yes, may I help you?”

“This is Jonathan.”

I tried to conjure up all the Jonathans I knew.

“Uh . . .”

“Jonathan Ellington. I met you this morning at the diner?”

“Oh yes.” I shot a guilty glance at Brad but he was busy swiveling in Dee’s empty chair. “Hi. How’s your father?”

“Holding his own. Thanks,” Jonathan said. “At least, as well as can be expected. He’s completely paralyzed on his left side. After the first stroke he had some movement there, but this one was a lot worse. Luckily he can still talk, but his words are slurred, and he’s repeating himself a lot. Still, the doctor is hopeful.”

“I’m so sorry, Jonathan. Is there anything I can do?”

Brad shot me a look when I mentioned Jonathan’s name.

“As a matter of fact, there is.”

I paused for a moment, surprised at his response. I couldn’t imagine there was anything I could do to help him or his father, with such a serious medical condition.

“Really? Uh, what?”

“Can you meet me?”

“Where? At the hospital?”

“No. At the Winchester Mystery House. I want this party more than anything. For my father’s sake.”

Stunned, I stammered, “Are—are you sure?”

“Yes. While I was at the hospital, he kept repeating ‘séance’ and ‘Winchester’ over and over. Obviously he really wants me to do this.”

“Uh, all right . . . umm. When would you like to meet? Next week sometime?”

“Tonight. Can you be there, say, seven?”

“Oh, I don’t think . . . I have a lot of work left to do. How about tomorrow?”

“I’d really like to get going on this—for my father’s sake. And I’d like you to see the place at night, when it’s dark. That’s when we’ll be hosting the party.”

I checked my watch, then said, “Uh . . . I suppose I could make it.”

“How about dinner first?” he added.

I glanced at Brad. “Oh, I’m sorry. I already have plans.”

“Then seven it is. I look forward to it.”

“Okay, I’ll see you there,” I said, and hung up.

I tucked the phone into my purse. Something was bothering me about his request. Was he really doing this for his father—or did he have another motive? My mother would have called me a pessimist, always looking for the dark side, but I’d learned to trust my gut. And my gut was sending out an alarm. Especially in light of George Wells’s death. Still, with my mother, Jonathan, and his father all pressing me to host this event, there was no way I was getting out of it. I would just have to stay on my toes. And perhaps I could gain some insight into why George committed suicide.

“Who was that?” Brad asked after I hung up.

I shook my long bangs out of my eyes. “Uh, Jonathan Ellington. He wants to go ahead with the party. A séance at the Winchester Mystery House to showcase his new computer product for investors. Something called 4-D Projection.”

“How cool!” Dee squealed as she entered the room. “Can I play the medium? I go to psychics in the city all the time!”

Before I could answer, I caught Brad shaking his head.

“I know. It seems odd, what with his father in the hospital with a stroke. He says he’s doing it for his dad. Did you meet Jonathan while you were there . . . cleaning up?”

“Yeah. He showed up. He told me to keep my mouth shut, like I was one of his employees or something. It’s like a cult over there—his employees are fiercely loyal. No wonder, with all the perks they get working there.”

“Really? Like what?” I asked.

“You name it,” Brad said. “And everything’s state of the art. He’s got people working such long hours, they don’t get much time outside of the office. So to keep them there—and keep them happy—he’s installed a gym, a spa, a screening room, a video game room, a cafeteria . . . He’s even hired personal trainers, a gourmet chef, and a masseuse for his drones.”

I heard the disgust in Brad’s voice. Or was it jealousy?

“Why don’t you like him? Sounds like he’s awfully good to his employees.” Except George?

Brad gave a hollow laugh. “Employees? More like slaves. They have no life, other than working there.”

I couldn’t tell if Brad had a legitimate grudge against him—or if it was something else.

“Well, I’m only doing an event for him, at the request of his father. And for my mother.”

“Your mom?” Brad looked surprised.

“Apparently she met Jonathan’s dad, Stephen Ellington, at the care center and has a thing for him. She practically begged me to take the job.”

“You’re a sucker for your mom, you know?”

“Can’t help it. Besides, if Jonathan is really that loaded, my fee should pay the rent here for a few months. And I’m going to need it,” I added, glancing around the new office.

I picked up my purse and backpack that contained my notebook and party planning sheets. “I’ve got to run,” I said to Dee. I wasn’t sure she heard me; she was busy trying on a blond wig I’d recently used at a Cheerleaders and Jocks party.

“Want company?” Brad asked.

“Seriously?”

“Why not? We could grab dinner along the way.”

“Don’t you have any blood to clean up or maggots to . . . to . . .” I didn’t have an ending.

“Nope. Maybe I could help you with the party.”

What was he up to? “Brad, I realize you have a lot of hidden talents and secret knowledge, like how to break into locked rooms and send untraceable e-mails, but don’t tell me you know how to conduct a séance or conjure up a three-dimensional spirit.”

“Maybe,” he said mysteriously, crossing his muscular arms like a freed genie.

I silently pondered his offer. I could always use help. And there was something about Jonathan Ellington that bothered me. If he was a slave driver, taking advantage of his employees, making them work long hours at low wages, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be involved in his plans. And I didn’t relish the thought of fighting off his advances either.

“All right, but—”

My cell phone rang again. I checked the caller ID, then answered.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Presley! I just heard the news.”

“What news?” Had Jonathan’s father taken a turn for the worse?

“And I want to come along.”

“Where? What are you talking about?”

“The Winchester Mystery House. I hear you’re meeting Jonathan there tonight. It’ll help take my mind off Stephen.”

Great. Now I had an entourage, made up of my mother and a crime scene cleaner.

What more could a party planner want?

My MINI Cooper is just right for me, but when you add a well-muscled guy over six feet tall and a mother who’s two inches shorter than my five ten and who once rode in limos to society events, things get crowded fast. If I continued to have chaperones, I was going to have to get a bigger boat, er, car.