How to Survive a Killer Seance

by Penny Warner

As soon as she’d caught her breath, she rolled over and pushed herself up, shaking with anger. “I’m gonna kill you!” she screamed, then lunged again, the dagger still intact and in her scarf-wrapped hand.

  The scarf was soaked in blood.

  “You’ve cut your hand,” I yelled at her, hoping to distract her. I also hoped to attract the attention of anyone nearby, but I knew that in a twisted mansion like this, it might take hours to find us. And that would no doubt be too late—for me.

  She glanced at her hand, her eyes wild with both fear and rage. Then she turned that rage toward me, lunging again with the shard. I rolled to the side and found myself trapped in a corner of the room. Glancing around for any kind of weapon to defend myself, I saw nothing—nothing but a pipe that started halfway up the corner to the ceiling, and out of the room.

  One of Sarah Winchester’s listening tubes.

  “Stephanie! Listen! Do you hear him?” I shouted the words up into the tube, praying someone would hear me. At the same time, I wanted to distract Stephanie, who seemed to believe in all this spiritualism stuff.

  She stopped in midair. Listening.

  “I don’t hear anything,” she said tentatively.

  “A voice. I can’t make it out . . .”

  Stephanie continued to listen. Now that she was temporarily distracted, I wanted to get her talking.

  “Stephanie, what did Jonathan do to you?” I continued to speak loudly, hoping my words reached the tube. Mia had said that the servants could hear Sarah calling from this room after she became trapped, but they couldn’t get to her because of the damage the earthquake had caused.

  “Jonathan didn’t do anything,” she said, nearly spitting out his name. Her face contorted as she spoke.

  Good. She was talking. And loudly too.

  “But he must have done something to you. He used women as if they were his personal toys. Did he seduce you? Promise to leave his wife? What?”

  “He didn’t do anything!” She screamed the words, then turn the right side of her face toward me. “Look. At. Me!”

  I could barely see her in the moonlight coming from the broken window.

  “What? I don’t understand. . . .”

  And then I did.

  I saw it.

  The large red splotch on her face no longer covered with makeup. Wiped away with sweat and tears. The birthmark that disfigured an otherwise attractive woman.

  “Do you really think Jonathan would have anything to do with someone like me?” She was screeching now. Hopefully loud enough to be heard through the listening tube.

  “But you know how superficial he is. And you’re vice president at a company that’s about to go viral. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Not after what he did to me.”

  “What did he do, Stephanie?”

  “He laughed at me,” she said, giving a little laugh herself. “He didn’t just turn me down when I suggested we . . . get together. He laughed. Of course I knew all about his affairs and what he was like. But to him I wasn’t a woman. He only wanted them young, blond, and sexy.”

  “But why kill Levi? Why not Jonathan?”

  “Killing Jonathan would have been too easy. He wouldn’t have suffered enough. I had to destroy everything that meant anything to him.”

  “So you killed Levi—and Zachary—and then framed Jonathan. Why?”

  “I’ve been planning this for two years, ever since Zachary created the 4-D Projection. I found out Zach wanted more money from Jon, and Jon refused to pay him. Not only that, he fired Zach. When Jon came up with this séance idea—which personally gave me the creeps—I went to Zach and told him I had a plan.”

  “Your plan was to get Zachary to help you disrupt the séance and expose Jonathan for what he was. But then you killed Levi. Why?”

  “I had to find out if he knew what Zach and I had done.”

  “And?”

  “And, yes, he’d figured it all out, after putting all the pieces together.”

  “So you . . .”

  “Killed him? Isn’t it obvious? I had to or he’d have told Jonathan and ruined everything.”

  “And then you made it look like Jonathan had done it,” I said, as it all fell into place.

  Her eyes narrowed in the dim light, but she said nothing. What was she thinking? Or planning next?

  “Did Zachary know you killed Levi?”

  “No, Zach thought Jon did it, too. He knew about Jon’s affairs and believed me when I told him Jon had killed Levi thinking he was the one who’d exposed him.”

  “So you convinced Zachary to make that new message for the séance, and promised him—what? More money? The job of VP when you took over Jonathan’s CEO position after Jonathan was arrested for murder? You stood to gain a lot if your boss was out of the picture.”

  A thin smile appeared on her lips. I’d figured it out.

  The hand with the glass knife inched upward again.

  I was running out of questions to keep her talking.

  “So . . . you sent those e-mails, didn’t you? And deleted them, knowing experts would be able to retrieve them. That was clever, because you knew Jonathan wouldn’t see them.” I thought giving her a few compliments would help me stall for time.

  The smile remained. So did the shard in her bloody hand.

  “You . . . must have arranged for Zachary to enter the building. Then you killed him with Jonathan’s statue. Only, I can’t figure out why you got rid of Zach. He was your ally, so why did you kill him?”

  She shrugged. “Zach finally figured out I killed Levi. He came to see me, told me he didn’t want to be involved in murder. He was going to turn me in. I had no choice.”

  I had no choice. There it was.

  Stephanie raised the shard higher over her head, now grasping it with both hands. She was moving in for the kill.

  I huddled in the corner, trapped, and covered my face with my arm.

  Seemingly from the walls, a disembodied voice echoed the name, “Stephaaanniieeee. . . .”

  The voice of a dead man: Zachary Samuels.

  Chapter 26

  PARTY PLANNING TIP #26

  Add a little personality to your Séance Party by bringing a few famous souls back from the dead. Hire a celebrity impersonator to channel the voices of stars like Elvis Presley (“Thank you very much”), Marilyn Monroe (“Happy Birthday, Mr. President”), and Mel Blanc (“That’s all ffffolks!”).

  Even in the semidarkness, I could see Stephanie turn a whiter shade of pale.

  “Zach . . .” she whispered, eyes searching the moonlit room.

  “Stephanie . . . I’m here . . .” the voice said.

  If I hadn’t known about the listening tubes, it would have scared the shit out of me, too. But Stephanie didn’t know—she hadn’t taken the tour—and she literally dropped to the floor, both hands covering her mouth, the unmistakable look of horror on her face.

  I didn’t hesitate. While she cowered in fear, repeating the name “Zachary,” I shoved her down flat so she landed on her stomach. She screamed when pieces of broken glass cut her hand.

  And then I sat on her.

  She stretched back, making short jabs with the dagger she still held, but I raised my foot and brought it down forcefully on her wrist.

  She screamed again in pain and the shard tumbled from her bloody grasp.

  I unwrapped the soaked scarf from around her hand and tied one end to her damaged hand. I grabbed at the other hand, yanked it behind her back, and roped her hands together. I continued to sit on her as she writhed under me, drooling and shouting profanities, her face twisted in agony. The splotch on her face was clearly evident.

  Feeling like Horton the Elephant, I yelled toward the listening tube, “We’re in the Daisy Room! Get Mia to show you. Hurry!”

  “On our way,” Brad’s steady voice came through the tube.

  His was the first face I saw entering the Daisy Room door fewer than three minutes later. Good timing, as Stephanie was still
kicking and screaming and trying to break free. Behind him were Mia, who I was sure led him here, plus Detective Melvin. Mia punched on the lights.

  Brad lifted me off Stephanie, who seemed to have finally lost steam. Now that I had backup, she lay there silent, eyes closed, deflated as a morning-after party balloon.

  Detective Luke Melvin knelt down and admired my homemade handcuffs, then removed the scarf and cuffed her with the real thing. Backup, in the form of two uniformed officers and two EMTs, arrived moments later. One EMT bandaged Stephanie’s wounds, while the officers read her her rights and placed her under arrest.

  The other EMT wrapped my hand in gauze and tape, and checked my knee to see if I’d broken anything. My clothes were a bloody mess.

  “You okay?” Brad asked gently.

  “Yeah.” I glanced down at my bandaged hand and tried to wiggle my fingers. “I just hope I can play the kazoo again, or at least blow up a balloon again. If not, I may be out of business.” I grinned at my own version of the old joke to show him I was really all right.

  Brad glanced around at all the broken glass. “Very funny. By the looks of things, she nearly killed you. How did she break the window?”

  I hadn’t thought about it. “I don’t know . . .”

  Detective Melvin interrupted. “With her heel,” he said. “See how the crack webbed out from that small hole?” He held up a portion of a pane that he’d retrieved from the other side of the window. “Then she found a big piece to . . .” He left off the rest of the sentence but the meaning was clear.

  Brad looked at me in disbelief. “How did you manage to stay alive until we found you?”

  “I kept her talking until I spotted the listening tube. You know how some women love to talk. Plus, I knew she was very superstitious, so I tried to scare her a little. Then you guys caught on and really played that up. Which reminds me, how did you bring Zachary back to life like that?”

  “Duncan—that kid’s not only a skater and gamer, he’s an electronics wizard too,” Brad said. “He’s got voice-changer software on his computer and he used something called a voice comparator to create Zachary’s voice.”

  I’m sure I looked completely baffled. He explained, “Basically, he called Zach’s cell phone and imported his recorded answering message. He used that as a reference for its pitch and timbre. Then he recorded his own voice, saying the word “Stephanie.” Finally he used the comparator to match the pitch and timbre with Zach’s. I thought it sounded pretty close to the answering machine message, especially for doing it on the spot like that.”

  “Apparently, Stephanie did too—thank goodness. It scared her nearly to death.”

  The EMT looked up at me. “You’re going to need stitches, ma’am,” the cute young EMT said, finishing his ministrations.

  I nodded.

  “You want us to take you to the hospital or do you have someone who can drive you?”

  Brad raised his hand as if volunteering in class. “I’ll take her.”

  Mia led us back to the gift shop, where my staff was anxiously waiting. They’d already packed up most of their gear and were just standing around for word from me. There were hugs all around, a few tears from Delicia; then Brad whisked me off in his SUV to San Francisco General. My hand still throbbed and I felt a little dizzy, but not so bad that I couldn’t keep talking the whole ride over.

  “Will Melvin release Jonathan now?”

  “I’m sure he will,” Brad answered.

  “Mother and Stephen will be so happy. What’s going to happen to Stephanie?”

  “Good question. She’ll need a smart lawyer. And maybe a straitjacket.”

  “I just don’t understand why she went over the edge,” I said, mostly to myself. “She had a great job. She was smart. She was attractive, in spite of her birthmark. And women have survived being dumped before.”

  “She wasn’t dumped. She was laughed at.”

  I thought for a moment, then said, “One thing still puzzles me. George Wells. How does he fit into all this?”

  “Luke has a lead he’s following on that.”

  “Really? What? Did Stephanie kill him too? It wouldn’t have been easy hanging him! But she said Zachary refused to help her when it came to murder so he couldn’t have done it for her.”

  “She didn’t kill him. He really did commit suicide.”

  “You’re kidding. It can’t be a coincidence.”

  “It’s not. He was a mole for Dane Scott, just like Jerry Thompson, who posed as a waiter at the party. George was paid a lot of money to pass Hella-Graphics intel over to Stereo-Scope. He was living large—the house in Pacific Heights, the boat, the exotic vacations, not to mention all the stuff he bought his wife and three daughters. But when George couldn’t give Dane the kind of information he wanted, Dane threatened to expose him as a corporate spy if he didn’t pay all the money back. George was caught between a rock and a hard place. He knew he was looking at twenty years easy. He couldn’t face jail, or the shame he’d be bringing to his family. So he hung himself, right there in his office.”

  “Poor Teddi. I’m sure she had no idea he was mixed up in all this. I hope they get Dane Scott, too. What a cutthroat business.”

  “Yeah, not much different from the event-planning business,” Brad said. “Meanwhile, Stephanie was planning to destroy Jonathan and take over. She was just waiting for Zachary to complete the 4-D technology, while learning all she could about it.”

  “Like I said, smart lady. Too bad she used it for evil,” I said.

  “I guess there will always be women who feel they need a man to fulfill their lives, even those with successful careers, like Stephanie and my mother.”

  Brad looked at me. “What about you? Don’t you need a man in your life?”

  I grinned. “Sure. Someone to bring me lattes and clean up after my parties and have hot sex with now and then.”

  Brad smiled widely. “You think we have hot sex?”

  I said nothing as he pulled into the parking lot of San Francisco General. I felt that familiar tingle rising and wondered if we could find a quiet linen closet or unused operating room for a few minutes.

  My hand didn’t hurt at all now.

  Chapter 27

  PARTY PLANNING TIP #27

  If your Séance Party is a great success and you want to host an encore, give it a twist by adding a special theme within a theme. Then invite guests to your Alien Contact Séance Party, Dead Movie Stars Séance Party, or Departed Pets Séance Party.

  I woke up in my own bed to the smell of coffee and the sound of howling cats and kitchen noises. Bless that man, I thought, stretching out the sleeping kinks. I immediately regretted it, when my sore muscles, bruised hip, and fresh stitches in my hand protested.

  I glanced at the time. Past nine! How had I slept so late? The drugs. Thank God for the drugs. Now that they had worn off, I was ready for more. Then I remembered I’d promised to meet Mother, Stephen, and Jonathan for breakfast at Mel’s Diner so Mother could make sure I didn’t look as bad as I sounded when I talked with her last night.

  Rolling gently out of bed, I headed for the shower before Brad saw me in such disarray. I looked bad enough with all the cuts and bruises and didn’t need to subject him to hair fright. Finally clean, dressed in fresh jeans and a long-sleeved purple shirt that covered most of my wounds, I padded out to the kitchen. Brad was sitting at the table, sipping his latte and reading the paper. I wondered if we’d all made the news.

  “Morning,” I said, then pointed to his coffee. “Got one of those for me?”

  He set the paper down and looked me over. “It’s in the microwave, ready to be reheated. How you feeling?”

  “I could use some more heroin, or whatever it was they gave me. But a good, strong intravenous latte might do the trick.”

  He grinned and pulled out a chair. “Sit down. I’ll get it for you. Help yourself to a cranberry muffin there. Can you eat one-handed?”

  “Nothing keeps me from a cr
anberry muffin,” I said, stuffing a bite into my mouth with my good hand.

  Brad brought over the reheated latte and set it on the table, then leaned over and kissed me softly on the lips. That was about the only drug I’d need to get me through the day. Of course, I’d need a booster shot when it was bedtime.

  The group had already assembled at the table when we arrived at Mel’s. Mother was dressed to maim, if not kill, in a silky purple suit that matched my blouse, and a pink blouse with a big fluffy ribbon tied under her chin. Her eyelids were dusted in a shimmery lavender, her champagne hair glinted under the lights, and her pink lipstick matched her blouse.

  Stephen sat in his wheelchair, which was pushed close to the table. One side of his face seemed alert, the other lacked personality. But he brightened and gave a half smile when he saw me, and it felt good to add a little cheer to his day.

  Jonathan, on the other hand, looked pale and distracted, as if his body was present but his mind was elsewhere. Instead of his usually enthusiastic, overbearing greeting, he simply smiled as he moved over in the booth to accommodate us. Was that remorse on his face? Embarrassment? Defeat? I couldn’t tell.

  “Presley, darling! How are you?” Mother studied me, looking for signs of my encounter with Stephanie the night before. “Your face . . .”

  I touched my cheek where I’d hit the floor when Stephanie attacked me. I thought I’d covered the bruise well with makeup, but my mother saw through my disguise.

  “I’m fine, really, Mother,” I said, as I slid in next to Jonathan in the large semicircular booth. Brad squeezed in next to me. I deliberately sat by Jonathan in an effort to keep the two men apart. Jonathan shot a sideways glance at me as I settled in, nodded to Brad, then returned to studying the napkin he was folding and refolding like an accordion in front of him.

  “Are you sure, dear?” Mother insisted. “Have you seen a doctor?”

  She’d apparently forgotten where I’d ended up last night—at San Francisco General. Another sign of her short-term memory loss.