How to Survive a Killer Seance

by Penny Warner

  Maybe George had tried to blackmail him too. And maybe those blackmail materials were what Jonathan was looking for in George’s desk.

  Underneath Jonathan’s name were the names of the women he’d been involved with—at least the ones I knew about. But what about Stephanie? Had she been telling the truth when she said she and Jonathan had never gotten together?

  Then came Lyla. Could she have murdered all these men, just to make it look like her husband was the killer? Why not? Women can do anything these days.

  And last but not least was Dane Scott, CEO of Stereo-Scope, along with sidekick/fake waiter, Jerry Thompson. They were real possibilities. Hella-Graphics was losing creative staff faster than a spreading computer virus, which could only benefit Stereo-Scope. And Dane Scott, as CEO, had the most to gain if Hella-Graphics went under—especially if he had information on the 4-D Projector. Plus he had an accomplice—Jerry Thompson—who could have helped him kill the victims. Maybe Scott and Thompson somehow got the formula for the 4-D holograph and literally began killing off the competition.

  I wanted to talk to Stephanie. She’d have the most inside information. She was still on my list, but she had no motive that I could see, if she was telling the truth about not sleeping with Jonathan.

  Then again, maybe some other employee had a reason to kill all these people and frame Jonathan. After all, he was a jerk.

  That only brought the number to several hundred . . .

  The most pressing question was: Who would want these computer guys dead?

  Thirty minutes later I was fidgeting in my chair at the café, tired of going in circles and not learning anything new. Some of the employees had left, others had taken their places—all were talking about the murders. I got up, threw away my paper coffee cup, and decided, in spite of Brad’s warning, to take a self-guided tour of Hella-Graphics.

  I felt like Nancy Drew, peering around corners before venturing deeper into the bowels of the company. Not knowing where the crime scene was, I tried to be careful not to run into Brad or Detective Melvin. If only I’d worn a cloche hat.

  I had just turned down an empty hallway when Stephanie Bryson suddenly appeared from an open doorway. She looked startled to see me, but an instant later her face broke into a gentle smile. In her dark blue suit, matching scarf, and black heels, she looked almost in mourning. The only bright spot was the crystal around her neck.

  “Presley! What are you doing here?”

  “Hi, Stephanie. I came with the crime scene cleaner—Brad Matthews. You remember him?”

  “Yes, he was at the Séance Party, helping out. I just saw him a few minutes ago.” Her voice changed to a whisper. “So I guess you heard about Zachary Samuels.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, not knowing how she felt about the dead guy.

  “Yeah, me too. It’s got everyone upset, as you can imagine. I only wish Jonathan were here to handle all this. He’s so good at taking charge.”

  “Still no word from him?” I asked.

  “Nothing. You?”

  I shook my lying head. “How’s Lyla?”

  Stephanie made a face. “Good question. I haven’t talked to her. Every time I call, she’s either out or not taking calls.”

  I thought about what Zachary had said. He’d been worried that Jonathan might harm her. “Do you think she’s all right? Has anyone heard from her or checked on her?”

  “She’s alive, if that’s what you mean. I overheard the police say they’ve questioned her a couple of times. Why? You think she had something to do with this?”

  “Oh no. Just concerned about her, but I’m sure she’s fine. Especially if the police have been keeping tabs on her. They probably have her under surveillance.”

  Stephanie sighed. “I just wish I knew what was going on around here. My employees are scared. I’m scared. . . .”

  I reached out and touched her arm in an effort to comfort her.

  She shook her head and added quickly, “Pretend you didn’t hear me say that. I’ve got to be strong for my staff.”

  “Stephanie, how did Zachary get into the building?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Someone must have let him in. His passkey was disabled as soon as he was let go.”

  “Any idea who it might have been?”

  “Could have been anyone. He had friends here, but why would they let him in, knowing that’s a major breach of contract and grounds for dismissal. I don’t think anyone would want to risk his or her job for Zachary.”

  I thought for a moment, while Stephanie slid her crystal from side to side along the chain. “If no one can get in without a passkey or someone letting them in, isn’t it possible that someone who works here could be the killer?”

  Stephanie’s hand stopped. “I suppose . . . someone who wanted these guys out of the picture, and also had access to the building . . .”

  We looked at each other.

  The name went unspoken.

  Jonathan.

  Chapter 19

  PARTY PLANNING TIP #19

  Think about videotaping your Séance Party so you can enjoy viewing the experience after it’s over. This is also a great way to chronicle any unusual happenings that can’t be explained. You might find the “reality” show called Ghosthunters interested in your findings.

  “Stephanie, do you think Jonathan could be hiding in the building? It seems like there are so many places where a person could hide out.”

  “Not without using his pass card, and then it would show up on the security log. But I suppose it’s possible, if he sneaked in somehow—like Zachary did. He knows this building better than anyone.”

  “I’m going to mention this to the detective,” I said. “Meanwhile, you should be careful.”

  Stephanie rubbed the crystal as if it were a genie in a bottle. “You don’t think Jonathan would . . .” She pointed to herself.

  “I think everyone is in danger until the killer’s caught. All the victims have a connection to Hella-Graphics—and Jonathan’s on the lam. I wouldn’t take any chances.”

  Stephanie looked away, seeming to be lost in thought. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to her that she might be in jeopardy. But until we knew exactly who was doing the killing—and why—no one was safe.

  Not even me, judging by the events last night.

  Winding my way through a few more corridors, I found several police officers milling near a room marked PRODUCT DEVELOPMENT. A yellow police tape had been strung across the opening. There was no way I was getting past that with just a visitor’s badge.

  “Hi,” I said to one of the officers, smiling and tilting my head.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. This area is restricted. You’ll have to leave.”

  I don’t know which pissed me off more, being called “ma’am” or being turned away without even giving me time to make up a good lie.

  I was about to go pout somewhere when I heard my name.

  “Parker!”

  I turned around. Detective Luke Melvin stood in the doorway, dressed more like a successful CEO than a plainclothes detective in his expensive Italian suit and shiny black loafers. Tall and lanky, he would have been handsome if he hadn’t been chewing on a toothpick, a habit I find disgusting.

  “Hey, Detective,” I said, trying to sound like we were old friends. “How’s it going?”

  “What are you doing here?” he said flatly.

  “I . . . I sort of knew the victim, so I thought—”

  “Really? Exactly how did you happen to sort of know Zachary Samuels?”

  “I did a party for his boss—ex-boss—Jonathan Ellington.”

  He bit down on the toothpick and spoke through his extra-white teeth. “Ah yes. The infamous Séance Party my brother told me about. Don’t suppose you know where Ellington is now?”

  “No, why would I?”

  He shrugged. “You seem to have a connection to a number of homicides these days. Anything you can tell me about the vic?”

  Vic? Oh, vic
tim. Where did cops get all this jargon—perp, unsub, vic? From TV?

  “He . . .” How was I going to explain this? “I . . . was in the parking lot . . . I’d just left a meeting with Stephanie and . . .”

  “Why were you meeting with Ms. Bryson?”

  “Uh, post-party stuff. You know. So anyway, I had just gotten into my car and . . . uh, Zachary was in the backseat—”

  “He was in the backseat?” His eyes narrowed. “How did he get in your car?”

  His constant interruptions were beginning to rattle me. “I guess I left it unlocked. Anyway—”

  “What was he doing in your car?”

  “I’m trying to tell you! He said he wanted to talk to me—”

  “And he couldn’t just call you?”

  I glared at him. “Do you want to hear this or not, Detective?”

  He pulled out the toothpick and licked his lips. “Go on.”

  “Then stop interrupting. Zachary said he was concerned about Jonathan.” I explained what I knew about Zachary being fired, which I’m sure the detective knew already. Still, I didn’t want to be accused of withholding information. “So, basically, with Jonathan still on the loose, Zachary was worried about Lyla’s safety.”

  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.”