by Penny Warner
“Presley!” I heard my name called as I entered the Winchester Mystery House gift shop.
Jonathan waved to me from the small adjoining café, where amateur ghost hunters could take a break from the hour-long tour and grab a hot dog and a soda in a Winchester Mystery House “keepsake” cup. He wasn’t alone. He sat at a round table, between two women. On the right was an attractive, twentysomething blonde with pink pouty lips and big breasts, which nearly spilled out of her low-cut tight tank top.
On the other side was a severe-looking thirtysomething woman, dark hair in a tight twist, glasses, and heavy pancake makeup, wearing a gray business suit with the classic Burberry scarf. A large crystal dangled from her neck. A balding, double-chinned, and overweight man sat across from him, wearing a loose-fitting and faded “We’re Hella-Good” T-shirt, and baggy jeans. If he wasn’t the cliché of a computer geek, I’d eat a Winchester hot dog.
Jonathan rose to greet me with an uncharacteristically brief handshake rather than his lingering grip. I sat down in the space available between the geek and the suit. I glanced down as I pulled my chair in and caught a glimpse of his ratty sneakers with missing laces and no socks.
Jonathan nodded at him.
“Presley, this is Levi Webster, our newly promoted product developer. You’ll be working with Levi on the presentation of the 4-D Projector.” Levi, bent over his hot dog, grunted a short, unintelligible greeting and returned to his food.
Jonathan gestured to the multihighlighted blond woman next to him. She looked more like a Victoria’s Secret model in the tight black Bebe tank and rhinestone-studded white capris than one of Jonathan’s employees.
“This is my wife, Lyla. She’s a former model with a real eye for design. I’ve asked her to help out with decorations for the party.”
Oh goody. Just what I needed. Assistance from arm candy.
Lyla lifted her blue eyes from the rhinestone-studded—or were they real diamonds?—cell phone she held and wiggled her French-manicured fingers at me. “Nice to meet you, Priscilla.”
“It’s Presley,” I said.
“What an . . . interesting name,” she said, her pouty mouth forming an O. “Anyway, I have some fabulous ideas for the party room. I was thinking we’d hang up posters of Casper the Friendly Ghost and his girlfriend Wendy on the walls, and put a big crystal ball in the middle of the table, filled with smoke. And then we’d have spooky music playing in the background, like that theme from Halloween or whatnot.” She said all this to me without taking her eyes off the text message she’d just received.
Great, I thought. Can’t wait.
Finally he turned to the suited woman on his other side. “And this is my right-hand man, my VP who handles just about everything at Hella-Graphics, Stephanie Bryson. She’ll be working with you on many of the details of the party.”
Stephanie gave a tight smile and reached out her hand to shake mine. The woman would have been pretty if she’d have lightened up on the heavy makeup that covered her skin. I instantly felt for her, working with a man like Jonathan. Had she been the one he’d spoken to so brusquely on the phone at the diner? I wouldn’t have let anyone talk to me like that.
“Would you like something to eat?” Jonathan asked.
“I’ll just get some coffee,” I said, and headed over to the counter to order a prefab latte. Jonathan followed me, whipping out his wallet.
“I’ll get this,” he said grandly to the cashier, then turned to me and placed his hand on my arm. “I’m so glad we’ll be working together.” He stole a quick glance at the table where his wife was busy tapping on her cell phone, then squeezed my arm. “Did I tell you you have such beautiful green eyes? Like your mother. I can understand what Dad sees in her.”
Caught off guard by the compliment, his strong minty breath, and his sleazy come-on in front of his wife, I flushed and turned toward the clerk, using the movement to pull away from his tightening grip. I took the souvenir Winchester Mystery House mug of coffee and returned to the table while Jonathan gave the young counter clerk ten dollars. “Keep the change,” he said.
When he sat down at the table, I could swear he winked at me.
What a player.
I sipped the lava-hot liquid while Jonathan started the informal meeting.
“Levi, why don’t you explain the 4-D holograph to Presley?” he said.
Levi smiled, revealing something green stuck in one corner of his mouth. Relish? Stephanie typed something on her notebook computer, and Lyla continued to tap out messages on her phone’s tiny keyboard.
Levi cleared his throat.
“Ahem. Okay, well,” he said, shooting a glimpse at Jonathan. Jonathan tapped the corner of his own mouth to alert Levi. Levi grabbed a napkin lying on the table and wiped the green stuff away. “Uh, let’s see if I can make this simple enough for you, Miss . . .”
“Call me Presley.”
“Yeah. Well, Hella-Graphics is on the cutting edge of 4-D technology with the new holographic-slash-projection display unit. Unlike 3-D projection of the past, this unit can be constantly reprogrammed for ‘situational awareness’ in seconds.”
I tried to look fascinated and not daydream while he continued his jargon-filled explanation. Apparently my glazed eyes didn’t fool him. “Okay,” he finally said, “so what that means is, you can use the unit in any situation without those funny glasses you wear in the movie theater. All you need besides the unit is a cell phone.”
I recognized that word. “A cell phone?” I repeated.
“Yeah. I’ll explain that in a minute. But let me finish. You know the little hologram on your Visa card?”
I nodded like a schoolchild, feigning interest in a dull classroom lecture.
“Well, this is nothing like that. Our 4-D is dynamic, ‘alive,’ if you will. Imagine walking into a store and seeing a large-as-life, three-dimensional product display, like a car, or even a person.” His eyes danced with excitement as he spoke. “How it works is, there’s a piece of special plastic film in between two pieces of glass, which are coated with a transparent electrode. The photo-refractive polymer uses laser beams and an externally applied electric field . . .”
A group of tourists wandered into the café, and I wondered where they were from, what they thought of the mansion, where the woman had gotten her knockoff handbag . . .
“That’s fine,” Jonathan said, interrupting Levi’s speech and my distracted musings. “Presley really doesn’t need to know all the details of how it works. We don’t want to give away any secrets and have her end up making one of her own, do we?” He laughed at his little joke. Stephanie frowned. Lyla ignored him. “Just explain how it applies to our upcoming event.”
Levi licked his lips. “Uh, okay. Basically this is a holographic movie that can be viewed from any angle and created in any size. It looks like a physical object—it actually makes you want to reach out and touch it—but of course, there’s nothing actually there. It’s just a very realistic image. And you can have it respond to an individual by using that person’s cell phone signal.”
Jonathan took over. “This thing is going to be big, Presley. Imagine. You can use it to view a medical technique, a house addition, a military weapon—just about anything.”
“Sounds cool,” I said, wondering how this applied to the party I was supposed to plan. Did he plan to remove an appendix or fire an AK-47 at the event?
“The point is, Hella-Graphics R and D—research and development—has come up with a low-cost realistic way of imaging that will change the world as we ‘see’ it.” He put finger quotes around the word “see.” Apparently he loved to use finger quotes.
“So your plan is to re-create a three-dimensional image of Sarah Winchester, then invite her to the séance during the party,” I said, trying to clarify my role in all of this.
“Not just invite her,” Jonathan said. “Have her actually communicate with specific guests at the table and explain the product to them personally, by using GPS
technology, along with individual cell phones.” In his excitement, he slapped the table, startling his wife, who shot him a look when she nearly dropped her own cell phone.
“Really cool,” I said, summarizing my reaction.
“Stephanie and I will be working on the script,” Jonathan continued, “and Levi here will program the display so the words appear to be spoken by Sarah Winchester. It’s going to knock the boxers off those big boys in the movie biz.”
“Don’t forget me,” Lyla spoke up, offering a full-lipped but fake pout.
Jonathan patted her arm. “Yes, honey, you’re in charge of decorating. I’m sure Presley will welcome your wonderful ideas, won’t you Presley?”
I kept my mouth shut so I wouldn’t say anything I’d regret and just nodded noncommittally.
“Now, here’s what we’re going to do.”
Jonathan explained the details of his plan while both Stephanie and I took notes. I shook my head internally at the overwhelming number of specific instructions he spewed, while Stephanie just seemed to take it in stride. Levi offered nothing more as he finished the remnants of his hot dog, but Lyla kept interrupting with off-the-wall decorating suggestions—glowin-the-dark eyes around the room, trick candles that wouldn’t extinguish, sounds of howling animals in the background. Between the pawing CEO, the meddling trophy wife, the robotic VP, and the socially inept programmer, I was in party planning hell.
“All right,” Jonathan announced, placing his hands on the table and standing up. “I think we’re done here. Honey, why don’t you look around the gift shop for things to use at the séance? Levi, you can stay here with your laptop and work on that glitch you mentioned. Stephanie, get started on the guest list—names, addresses—you know.” Jonathan turned to me. “Presley, why don’t we go view the séance room again, and talk more about the logistics of the party?”
After offering an air kiss near her husband’s lips, Lyla headed for the gift shop. Levi settled into his laptop, and Stephanie began working on her notebook computer. Although I didn’t relish being alone with Jonathan in the creepy house, I followed him out as he headed for the séance room. Even with the map Mia had given us, the room wasn’t easy to find and we hit several dead ends before locating the right place. I just hoped we didn’t have a big earthquake or we might never get out again.
We stepped reverently inside the séance room, and after a moment of silence trying to envision two dozen or more people in the tiny room, I suggested we consider using the ballroom instead. Jonathan was reluctant to transfer the party out of the séance room, but once we entered the elaborate ballroom, we both knew it would be a much more appropriate setting for the party and would easily fit the guest list. The room was spacious, with parquet floors, intricately carved wood walls, shelves, alcoves, and ceiling, crystal chandeliers, and a well-used brick fireplace.
It was my favorite room in the Winchester mansion. While the séance room had a spooky, spiritual history, the ballroom was rich, ornate, and offered a cryptic message that Sarah Winchester had installed, which had fascinated me as a kid. After touring the place with Mia, I’d done more research and learned the ballroom had secrets that Mia had not shared with us.
“See those two stained-glass windows?” I pointed them out to Jonathan.
“Yeah.” He studied them a moment. “What is it—a poem of some sort?”
“They’re quotes from Shakespeare’s works.”
He read the words aloud: “ ‘Wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts.’ What’s it supposed to mean?”
“I found a site on the Internet that suggests they’re clues into Mrs. Winchester’s bizarre life.”
“How so?”
I pulled out my notebook where I’d placed a printout of the lines in their context. “It’s from Troilus and Cressida. That section goes:
There’s language in her eye, her cheek, her lip,
Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out
At every joint and motive of her body.
O! these encounterers, so glib of tongue,
That give a coasting welcome ere it comes,
And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts
To every tickling reader, set them down
For sluttish spoils of opportunity
And daughters of the game.
“Still don’t get it,” Jonathan said, shrugging.
“The guy on the site thinks they reflect what Sarah Winchester believed—that she was misunderstood. He says the Shakespeare play begins with a romantic view of love and war, then ends with violence and death. He thinks maybe it expresses her feelings of grief and loss, and growing bitterness.”
Jonathan shook his head. “Or maybe she just liked Shakespeare.”
I ignored him and turned to the other window. “This one is from Richard II.” I read it aloud.
These same thoughts people this little world,
Jonathan frowned. “So what’s she talking about in that one?”
“Again, you need the context.” I read the computer printed words from the second play.
I have been studying how I may compare
This prison where I live unto the world:
And for because the world is populous
And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot
do it; yet I’ll hammer it out.
My brain I’ll prove the female to my soul,
My soul the father; and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
And these same thoughts people this little
world
“I get it. She feels like a prisoner in her own house,” Jonathan summarized.
“Maybe. According to the site, King Richard II was imprisoned and created his own world, populated by his thoughts. But if you put the two quotes together, you supposedly get an image of an isolated, grief-stricken woman who blames herself for the deaths of her loved ones. And yet she’s determined to create a new life—in her mind.”
“You sound like my English teacher. I fell asleep during that class.”
I folded my notes and put them away, with a twinge of disappointment. It appeared that Jonathan wasn’t interested in exploring Sarah Winchester’s past and motives. He only wanted to use her for his own means.
“You know, you’re as smart as you are pretty,” he added, moving closer to me. He took my hand and leaned in as if to kiss me, but I slipped out of his grasp, whirled around and escaped through the ballroom door.
Maybe Brad was right about Jonathan Ellington after all.
Back at the gift shop, we found Jonathan’s wife, Lyla, standing at the cash register, handing over a gold credit card. Two staff members were wrapping logoed mugs, plates, salt and pepper shakers, miniature mansions, and other tacky knickknacks. It looked as if she’d bought out the place.
Levi spotted us from the café table and began packing up his laptop. Stephanie followed suit, and as soon as Lyla had her packages, we all walked to the parking lot.
“I think we’re on the same page now,” Jonathan said, after opening the car door for his wife. Stephanie and Levi got into the backseat of the beige Mercedes. “Let’s touch base tomorrow and hash out a few more details, now that we’ve moved the party to the ballroom.”
I hate jargon. I wanted to say “Roger that” or “10-4,” but bit my tongue. I seemed to be doing a lot of tongue biting for this party.
“I’ll call Mia and let her know we want the ballroom,” Jonathan added.
As I stepped away from Jonathan’s car to head for my own car, I heard the screech of tires coming from behind me. I turned in time to see a late-model BMW driving right at me. Before I could even think about fleeing, the car swerved to the side at the last second, hitting the Mercedes’s rear bumper and knocking the car several feet forward.
My heart was beating like a frightened rabbit as I stood frozen to the spot. Letting out my breath, I realized I would have been killed if the BMW hadn’t veered at the last minute. J
onathan came flying out of his car, his face red, his hands in fists.
“You asshole!” he shouted at the driver of the other car, which had come to a stop several feet away. Not bothering to check on the condition of his wife or employees, Jonathan stormed over toward the BMW, waving his fist, spittle flying from his mouth as he screamed obscenities.
Before Jonathan could reach the car, the driver of the BMW reversed, jammed on the gas pedal, and sped away on screeching tires, leaving burned-rubber skid marks on the parking lot pavement.
“Oh my God,” I said when I got my voice back. “That guy almost killed me!”
Jonathan shook his head as he watched the car disappear down the street. “You were never in any real danger, Presley, believe me.”
My jaw dropped at his arrogance. Did he think by yelling a few profanities at the guy, he’d saved my life?
“But he was headed right toward me!” I insisted. “Didn’t you see him?”
“No, he wasn’t,” Jonathan said, cocking his jaw. “It was me he was trying to kill.”
Chapter 8
PARTY PLANNING TIP #8
Once the room is prepared, it’s time to join hands and summon the spirits. Use words like, “Our beloved Spirit, commune with us.” Avoid invoking the wrong spirits by saying things like, “Yoo-hoo. Anybody there?” or “I’d like to speak to Jack the Ripper.”
My heart was still racing from my near-death experience when the mansion security guard arrived moments later. Apparently he’d heard the crash and the ensuing commotion and come running.
“What happened?” he said, puffing a little after his sprint to the parking lot. Fortysomething, he wore dark clothes instead of a classic uniform. His name tag read MARK PHILIP. Behind him I caught a glimpse of Mia striding toward us, looking bewildered.
“Nothing. It was just an accident,” Jonathan explained.
I stared at him. “But you said—”