How to Host a Killer Party

by Penny Warner

  This bit of news took some of the wind out of my sails, but it still didn’t explain everything about Brad Matthews. Or anything, for that matter. It was hard to read between the lines of the article, but had Brad been some kind of renegade cop who shot first and asked questions later? If so, I’d better not make any false moves.

  I checked the time. I couldn’t afford to waste another minute pondering Brad Matthews. I’d just have to watch my step and do what I had to do.

  I Googled my interviewees one by one, but found nothing that offered a motive for murdering two women. In fact, the only thing they had in common was their interest in Treasure Island. It was no secret—at least on the Internet—that Spaz Cruz wanted to follow in the footsteps of George Lucas, whose film company basically owned San Francisco’s Presidio. Cruz wanted his own private island to house his cutting-edge computer graphics studio.

  Siouxie, aka Susan Steinhardt, got plenty of Internet hits. She frequently made the papers in the name of some save the animals/earth/universe cause. Her current campaign was “Save Treasure Island.” I wasn’t sure whether she meant the flora, fauna, or possibly future marijuana fields, but she’d certainly brought awareness to the need for cleaning up the toxic chemicals left over by the navy.

  And speaking of the navy, the name “Eugene Stadelhofer” garnered over a hundred hits, most of them citing his military service records—all glowing. No wonder Stadelhofer wanted to turn TI into a monument to his arm of the armed services—not to mention his bust. At least the pigeons would have a new place to poop. But I couldn’t find anything that linked him to germ warfare testing. My mother had probably confused him with someone else.

  The only other person I still wanted to talk to was Dakota Hunter. His name Googled up as “chief” of the Gold Rush Casino in Calaveras County. In one article he talked about his desire to expand his Indian gambling empire into the mostly untapped and lucrative San Francisco Bay Area. Indian gambling clubs were hot and getting hotter. The only thing keeping more casinos out of the Bay Area was the lack of available land. Treasure Island would be the perfect place for his tribe to set up camp.

  Aside from their interests in the island, I could find no other link to the mayor, still the most obvious suspect—at least to me. According to Law & Order, most spouses—and future spouses—are murdered by their not-so-better halves. Those TV shows were pretty accurate, weren’t they? There was still a chance Ikea knew something Mayor Green didn’t want exposed, and he killed her because of it. But why would he have murdered Andi? And why make me look guilty?

  Under this cloud of suspicion, my time was running out. I had to get my party plan started. Much like gathering all the suspects in the parlor to unveil the killer, I’d gather a few key people at a GPS Treasure Hunt and maybe catch a murderer.

  I pulled up E-vite.com, the online invitation service, and typed in the details, hoping the proposed guests would drop whatever they were doing and join me on such short notice, as in tonight.

  On the Island, lies a Treasure,

  Somewhere hidden, this I vow.

  Book of gold, it dangled brightly

  Then went missing—until now.

  After I finished working out the rhyme, I filled in the rest of the pertinent information:

  You’re invited to a GPS Treasure Hunt!

  Tonight, 8 p.m., the Officers’ Club on Treasure Island. Hosted by Mayor Green in memory of his beloved Ikea

  Takeda.

  Bad, bad party planner! I admonished myself silently. Using the mayor’s name like that could get me in big trouble. No doubt he’d come after me—exactly what I hoped.

  Taking a deep breath, I clicked SEND and watched as the E-vite shot out to Siouxie, Dakota Hunter, Admiral Stadelhofer, Spaz Cruz, and, of course, Mayor Green, along with a few other names that had been on the wedding party list.

  If my party plan worked, the killer would show up to retrieve the clue alluded to in the cryptic invitation—and then I’d know for sure.

  Let the fun and games begin.

  I fed the boys, then changed into khaki shorts, an old “Bay to Breakers” T-shirt, and my skates. The fog was filling in the landscape, so I pulled on my SFSU hoodie. A skate around the island would relax my knotted muscles while I placed the hidden clues.

  It took me nearly an hour, but after everything was in place—a fake fur wrap, a copy of one of Ikea’s books, and the “missing” gold earring—I skated back to the old barracks to move my smoky office supplies and party stuff to the building next door. When I arrived, Delicia was standing in front of what would be our new digs. She waved me over.

  “What’s up, Dee?” I called, skating over.

  Delicia took me silently by the hand and led me up the steps to Barracks C, an identical building next door to our fire-damaged barracks.

  “What’s going on?” I repeated.

  She said nothing, just led me through a matching reception area, down an identical hall to the first office on the right—what would have been my office in the old water-damaged building that still reeked of smoke.

  Inside stood my other coworkers.

  “Surprise!” they shouted, waving party flags, crepe paper streamers, and balloons.

  I glanced from Raj to Delicia to Berk to Duncan. Behind Duncan stood Brad.

  Grinning stupidly, I asked, “What’s this all about? My birthday was months ago. You missed it.”

  “Voila!” Delicia stepped aside and waved an arm at the desk filled with my papers and the new shelves loaded with my party stuff. Hiding behind Raj was a big red ribbon on the open door.

  I scanned the room. “Oh my God!”

  Everything from my old office had been moved to the new site, right down to a fresh supply of chocolates in my drawer.

  I turned to the gang, tears welling in my eyes. “You all did this? For me?”

  “It was Brad’s idea.” Delicia beamed as if it were her own. “We just helped. He even hooked up the computers. We still need a few things—some of the furniture smells like smoke, and you lost a couple of those giant people cutouts, but we were able to save a lot.”

  “Actually,” Raj said, “it was not too difficult. And you have done a lot for us, Ms. Presley. We were glad to return the favor.”

  Berkeley, who’d been filming the whole thing, added, “It’s time for your close-up, Ms. DeMille.”

  I shook my head, overwhelmed by their friendship and support. I glanced again at my laptop, party props, and office supplies, all neatly arranged on my desk and shelves.

  “Wow. Thanks, guys. This is too much.” I turned and blinked away tears that brimmed my eyes. I didn’t know if they were tears of gratitude at the generosity of my coworkers or sorrow that I might not have this office for long, thanks to recent events. When I turned back, I said, “I owe you all. Big-time.”

  Brad, I noticed, had mysteriously disappeared.

  I glanced across the hall to see if he was in his new office opposite mine. The room was empty.

  “Listen, guys,” I said to them, lowering my voice. “I need one more favor.” I checked again for Brad, but he was nowhere in sight. Just as well. “Believe it or not, I’m having a sort of party tonight—impromptu. And I could really use your help.”

  Berk lowered his camera. “You’re kidding.”

  “Tonight?” Delicia blinked. “Isn’t that kind of short notice?”

  “What kind of party, actually?” Raj arched his eyebrows.

  “A treasure hunt,” I said mysteriously; then I glanced at Duncan, who was staring at Delicia as if he were a lovesick puppy. “Right, Duncan?” I asked, waking him from his coma.

  “Uh, right,” he said, his face filling with color.

  Before I could say more, Brad reappeared from the back of the building, carrying a large box. He eyed me, then went into his new office to deposit the box.

  “So what’s this secret treasure going to be?” Delicia whispered conspiratorially. “Money? Jewelry? Some gourmet chocolates?” Realizi
ng what she’d said, Delicia slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry about that.” The others glared at her.

  “I’m sure it will be something surprising,” Raj said, trying to make me feel better. “Right, Ms. Presley?”

  I smiled as mysteriously as I could, but I don’t know if I pulled it off. I probably just looked constipated.

  Chapter 28

  PARTY PLANNING TIP #28:

  As you get closer to party time, check, double-check, and triple-check the details. One small, overlooked point—a melting ice sculpture, an intoxicated parking valet, a misspelled birthday cake—can ruin an entire event.

  I gave each of my coworkers a specific assignment. Delicia would greet the guests at the starting point—the parking lot of the Officer’s Club right inside the TI gate. Duncan would pass out the GPS units and show the treasure hunters how to locate the clues. Raj would keep an eye on suspicious players—his suggestion. And Berk would film everyone at the final destination where the “treasure” was hidden.

  Ikea’s gold earring.

  Which reminded me, I still hadn’t viewed copies of the tapes Berkeley had made of the mayor’s wedding. The police, naturally, had the originals. No time now, with only a few hours before party time. Besides, I had a phone call to make.

  I tapped the name in my recent calls list.

  “Chloe? It’s Presley Parker.”

  “Presley! What are you doing? I got the invite for the treasure hunt you sent to the mayor, and he’s livid that you used his name to get people to come! What were you thinking?”

  “I know, I know. That’s what I want to explain. Can I come by the office?”

  “Sure, but I gotta warn you. If he sees you—”

  I cut her off. “I’ll tell you everything as soon as I see you. I should be there within half an hour, traffic permitting.”

  I hung up, gathered my purse and notebook, and stepped out of the office, locking my door behind me with the keys we’d received from the rental office. Someone tapped me on the shoulder, startling me. I whirled around and came face-to-face with Brad, who always seemed to appear out of nowhere.

  He stepped back, grinning. Apparently he liked startling me. “Another fire?”

  “Uh . . . no,” I stammered.

  He leaned back against the doorjamb. “Where’re you going in such a hurry?”

  “Out . . . you know. Some errands before the . . . thing tonight.”

  “Yeah, I got your E-vite. Having a treasure hunt? At night, with the fog coming in? And hardly any notice?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, uh, it’s the mayor’s idea. Another fund-raiser, this time for one of Ikea’s causes—in her memory, you know? Uh . . . Friends of the Painted Ladies. With his clout, most people will show up, even at the last minute. And the fog’s never stopped a true San Franciscan.”

  He gave me one of those Yeah, sure nods and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Want company?”

  “Don’t you have any work to do? Blood to clean up? Maggots to kill?” I said, stepping toward the reception area.

  Brad laughed. “Truthfully, cleaning out your old office was as bad as some crime scenes I’ve worked.”

  “Ha ha,” I said sarcastically, then changed my tone. “Thanks, by the way, for doing all that. It was really nice of you— and everyone.” I checked the time on my cell phone. “I’ve really got to run. But see you tonight, right? You’ll be there? For the treasure hunt?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.” He reached over.

  I reflexively pulled back. Slowly, he moved his hand forward and brushed my cheek, then held up his fingertips. “You had a little something. . . .”

  I saw the brown stain on his fingers. Chocolate. Poisoned or not, I wasn’t about to give up my addiction. I rubbed my cheek where he’d stroked it. “Thanks.”

  He smiled warmly. “You’ve got my number.”

  Boy, do I, I thought, and held up my cell phone to indicate I had it. Once inside the MINI, I checked the number and thought about deleting it. There was no way I was going to call him in an emergency now. Not until this was settled. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be able to delete it from my mind—I’d already memorized it.

  After circling the city streets for fifteen minutes, I said, “Screw it,” and parked my car in a yellow zone. What’s another parking ticket compared to an arrest warrant for murder? I ran up the steps and had started to push my way through the door when it suddenly opened. I nearly fell into the arms of a man with long black hair, wearing jeans and a T-shirt that read “Homeland Security—Fighting Terrorism Since 1492.” He caught me with two strong hands, frowning. He was so big and imposing, I thought at first he was some kind of undercover security guard. And then I recognized him.

  Dakota Hunter.

  What was the outspoken tribal leader doing at city hall? Had he just come from the mayor’s office, pleading his case again for a casino on Treasure Island?

  I brushed myself off but didn’t move away, blocking his exit.

  “You’re Dakota Hunter,” I said.

  He blinked in surprise. “Yes, ma’am. Do I know you?” With his mocha skin, dark brown eyes, and long straight hair, he had an arresting presence. I froze for a second, suddenly intimidated by his air of confidence. Or was it aggression?

  “Uh, I’m . . . Presley Parker,” I stammered. “The event planner for the mayor’s wedding?” Caught unprepared, I didn’t know what to say now that I had him right in front of me.

  He gave a single nod, waiting for me to continue—or get out of his way.

  It was fight or flight. And since I still needed answers, I wasn’t going anywhere at the moment. “You’re the one trying to get an Indian gambling casino built on Treasure Island, right?”

  This time, not even a single nod.

  “How’s that going?” I waited.

  He gave a condescending smile, his eyes on the door. “I’m just one of many who would like to help improve the land, ma’am. It’s really up to the mayor. Now if you’ll—”

  He started to edge past me, but in spite of being dwarfed by him—no easy task at my height—I stood my ground. “Have you and the mayor got some kind of special arrangement going?” I was blindly asking questions, but I couldn’t let this opportunity slip through my fingers. Not until I came up with the right question.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, looking at me as if I were a nosy child. “I really have to—”

  “If you get the contract, you stand to make a great deal of money, don’t you?”

  He frowned. “I thought you said you were a party planner. What does any of this have to do with you?”

  “I think it has something to do with the murder of the mayor’s fiancée,” I said, blurting out my thoughts with abandon. Time to take a wild stab in the dark. “What was your relationship with Ikea Takeda?”

  His face colored; then he raised a muscular arm. I flinched.

  He reached over and pushed the door open with that big strong hand. “That was over a long time ago, ma’am,” he said.

  I ducked out from under his arm as he moved through the door.

  What was over a long time ago?

  Goodness. Had Dakota and Ikea been lovers at one time? Maybe this thing between Dakota and the mayor was more than just a negotiation over Treasure Island. Was Dakota holding some sort of grudge against the mayor? Or could it have been against Ikea?

  I caught a glimpse of the back of his shirt as he headed down the steps. It read, “America Discovered Columbus.” This was one angry American.

  I was still unnerved by my encounter with Dakota Hunter—and puzzled by his reference to Ikea—when I entered Chloe’s office. She was buried in paper. The element of chaos in her usually pristine office seemed out of place, but it helped distract me from the puzzling reaction I’d gotten from Dakota Hunter.

  “Looks like you’re busy,” I said, stating the obvious. I took a seat opposite her. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  She waved my apology away, a silver brac
elet jingling as she moved. She was dressed in an elegant maroon suit with matching spike heels, her signature triangle necklace dangling between her modest cleavage.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of the mayor’s work since . . . you know. Of course, you haven’t made things easier with this so-called treasure hunt you’re doing,” she said, shaking her head. “What are you trying to do? Get me fired?”

  “Listen, Chloe, the reason I wanted to talk to you is this: You probably know the mayor better than anyone, being his secre—I mean, administrative assistant.”

  The hint of a smile broke through her anger. Everyone loves a compliment.

  “And I’m getting nowhere trying to find out who killed Ikea,” I continued. “The cops won’t let go of the ridiculous idea that I had something to do with it. I really need your help. Is there anyone—anyone—you can think of who might have wanted Ikea dead? Maybe to seek revenge on the mayor? Or someone who had a grudge against her—like an old lover?”

  Chloe shook her head.

  “Any chance the mayor had a reason to get rid of Ikea?”

  “Absolutely not!” Chloe said, her face flushed with anger. “He loved her. He’d never do anything to harm her. Presley, you’re way off base here.”

  Whoa. Quite a reaction. It was time to change the subject. I nodded, then said, “I just saw Dakota Hunter leave the building. Maybe he’s pressuring the mayor to get that casino built?”

  She shrugged. “Dakota Hunter is only one of several people trying to sway the mayor.”

  “Does he have anger management issues? Is he violent?”

  “I have no idea,” Chloe said.

  “Or maybe he has another agenda . . . ?” I said, leaving the question open to possibilities.

  Chloe frowned. “Like what?”