How to Survive a Killer Seance (29 page)

He peered in, frowned at what he saw, and shook his head. “You’re kidding me. What are your cats doing here?”

“Playdate,” I said, “with Bruiser.”

“Very funny. They’ll eat him alive. Seriously, why are your cats in your car?”

“It was an emergency. I’ll explain once I get them inside. Now shove one of the boxes in, please.”

He did what I asked. I put the two smaller cats in the boxes and closed it up, then passed it out to Brad. He gave me the other box, I put the last cat inside, then folded the top closed. The cats complained, but I reassured them as I opened the car door, eased out the second box, and started for his house.

“Careful,” I said to him as he followed me, carrying the first box.

Brad opened the door, balancing his box on his leg, and waited for me to go inside. I set my box inside the front door; then Brad entered and set his down.

I glanced around. “Where’s Bruiser?”

“Probably sleeping on my bed.”

“Will you shut him in there, then let my cats out? I have to get a few more things from the car.”

I ran out, grabbed my overnight stuff and the bag of food from The Butler and the Chef. When I returned, I located Brad in the kitchen, holding a glass of wine. He popped a handful of something into his mouth and gulped it down with a big swallow of the wine.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking drugs,” he replied. “Claritin.”

I’d forgotten about his allergies. “Sorry about this. Hope it’s not too inconvenient.” I briefly explained that I didn’t want my cats home alone with a maniac loose. I held off showing him the pictures I’d received until I’d had another glass of wine.

I sipped the glass of Treasure Island Merlot he offered me while I set the table and the cats cased the place. Fatman made himself at home under the kitchen table, Thursby sniffed and scratched at the bedroom door, and Cairo complained about the food in the dog’s dish. In the distance, I could hear yapping. Bruiser, vanquished to Brad’s bedroom.

“Go watch TV,” I told Brad so I could prepare the food. He turned on the news in his man cave and sat down on the black couch.

Meanwhile, I found three mismatched bowls, divided the pâté into thirds, and added bits of quiche to each bowl. As soon as the makeshift cat food was ready, I called the kitties and they came running. Finally, I opened the last containers, set the French sandwiches on plates, and microwaved them to heat them up. When I turned around to place them on the table, I found Brad standing in the doorway, looking puzzled.

“You’re not making dinner,” he said. “You bought it!”

I sighed. “Sorry. I had no choice. Something came up. I’ll tell you about it after I’ve finished this wine.”

Brad filled up our glasses and we sat down to the reheated food. Raising my glass, I said, “Cheers.” We both took long sips. Before taking a bite, Brad asked, “So, what happened?”

I reached over to my purse, pulled out the envelope, withdrew the paper with the photographs of me, and handed the sheet to Brad.

He studied them for a few seconds, his face growing cloudy, the furrow at his eyebrows deepening.

“This is serious, Presley. This guy—or whoever—has obviously been stalking you and knows where you live. You did the right thing, getting out of there and coming here, but we’ve got to tell Luke about this. You’re in real danger.”

 

I’d been looking forward to sleeping with Brad, more for the safety and comfort of his arms than the attention of his other body parts—but it was not to be. Instead of being reassured after talking with Detective Melvin, I was even more frightened. He’d warned me in no uncertain terms that although Jonathan was locked up, someone—a cohort?—was threatening me. And Detective Melvin had been a police officer long enough to know not to take threats lightly. He knew I was temporarily safe with Brad, but he told me not to go alone anywhere until I stopped “stirring things up,” as he put it.

So I was restless most of the night. Three displaced cats on the bed and a whining dog in the next room didn’t help either. Nor did my recurring nightmare of Sarah Winchester, who kept trying to tell me something that I couldn’t understand.

The next morning I awoke to minor aches and pains, not used to Brad’s firm bed. I showered, whipped up my specialty—burned toast and overcooked eggs—then served the eggs to my hungry cats, who had polished off the gourmet people food and refused to touch Bruiser’s dog food.

Brad and I were about to head out when he got a call for a cleaning job—a cat lady in the Fillmore district had died, her body undiscovered for days. “Apparently her cats had started nibbling—”

I plugged my ears. “Stop! Don’t tell me!” Yuck. Note to self: Remember to pick up cat food before my own cats started nibbling on me in the middle of the night.

Brad pulled my fingers out of my ears. “Remember what Melvin said. You need someone with you at all times, at least until this party is over tonight.”

“I know. As soon as I get to TI, I’ll have my crew with me all day.”

“You’re still planning to go through with this?”

“Of course!”

“You really think Jonathan is innocent?”

I hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes,” as convincingly as I could. I still wasn’t absolutely sure, but I’d promised my mother I’d do what I could to find out the truth. I thought of another promise I’d made to Teddi Wells. Maybe this would lead to the truth about her husband’s supposed suicide.

“Okay, well, I’ve got to run,” Brad said, grabbing his black jacket. “I’ll walk you out.”

He escorted me to my car, gave me a duplicate key for his house, headed for his SUV, and drove off.

Dew sparkled on my MINI in the early sunlight that was trying to break through the fog. After glancing around to make sure I wasn’t still being followed, I gave a sigh of relief and I unlocked the car. Being stalked made me feel vulnerable and paranoid. Luckily, I only had a few short miles to my office at Treasure Island until I’d have an entourage.

I opened the car door and started to get in—then froze.

The passenger’s seat was covered with torn photographs, like giant pieces of confetti. I reached down to study a piece, then another, and another. More pictures of me—from the moment I’d left my house with my cats last night, to my trip to the restaurant, to Brad’s house afterward. All torn into pieces.

Someone was still following me. They’d broken into my car.

And Brad was gone.

A chill ran down my back as I swiveled my head side to side, searching for my stalker. Seeing nothing, I peeked into the backseat to make sure no one was there, then slid inside the car and punched down the locks. I needed to get myself over to TI and my crew ASAP, but my hands shook as I tried to start the engine. Third time was the charm. I revved the engine and gripped the steering wheel, then glanced at the window on the passenger side.

There was a small slit at the top.

No one had actually gotten in my car. I’d left the window open a crack. They’d slipped the photos inside.

Jamming the gearshift into reverse, I stepped on the gas and backed out of the space with a jerk. Moments later I’d left Yerba Buena behind, and was headed for my office building on Treasure Island.

Pulling up to the parking lot at Building One, I checked my rearview mirror again.

No one was there.

I parked the car, still glancing over my shoulder, and headed for my office.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You okay?” Dee asked.

“There’s a lot of that going around,” I said. I didn’t want to tell her the latest news, afraid she and the others might back out of helping with the séance. Then again, I thought, I might be putting their lives at risk by not disclosing the details. I finally decided that whoever was stalking me wouldn’t try anything as long as I had company. Safety in numbers, they always say.

“I’m fine. Just nervous about the party,” I added when I felt her eyes still on me. She knew me too well, but apparently she ignored her intuition and started asking what she could do to help. Within a couple of hours we’d gathered everything I needed for the improv séance and were ready to head over to the Winchester Mystery House. The rest of my crew—Duncan, Berk, and Raj—caravanned, following Delicia and me in my MINI. I prepped Dee on her role as I drove, and by the time we arrived at the mansion, we were both excited about the upcoming possibilities and anxious to get it over with.

Mia greeted me and my crew in the gift shop, ready to lead us to our destination. “Follow me,” she said, and we did, taking a new route to avoid tour groups. By showtime—eight p.m.—the house would be closed to everyone but us.

“Sweet,” Duncan said, his eyes as wide as crystal balls. He hadn’t been with us for the original séance and seemed in awe of the place.

We wound through the life-sized puzzle box that Sarah Winchester had called home. Once we reached the small séance room, I delegated tasks to my crew. Brad said he’d come later, after his cleanup job, and bring Mother and Stephen Ellington. He’d also arranged to have Detective Luke Melvin there as well.

Duncan and Berk brought in a small round table and chairs, while Dee and I arranged the tablecloth and accessories we’d be using for the event. I kept the decorations minimal, placing only votive candles at each seat rather than the lethal candlesticks, and added a trick crystal ball in the middle of the table that would fill with smoke on cue. Raj helped Berk set up the cameras and microphones we’d be using, and Duncan prepped the computer in the adjoining room so it would be ready to conjure up the new “spirit” of Jonathan Ellington. It might not be as impressive as the state-of-the-art 4-D Projection, but it would get the job done.

I hoped.

At six, Brad arrived from his latest cleaning job.

“Glad you’re here,” I said, wanting to give him a hug but not in front of the others.

“You all right?” he asked softly, looking me over.

“I’m fine. Everything’s going according to plan. We’ll be ready for the guests when they come in”—I checked my watch—“less than two hours. What about Mother and Stephen?”

“Luke’s having them picked up in a van by a plainclothes officer. They should be here around seven thirty.”

“I’m hungry,” Berk suddenly whined.

“I’m starved!” Duncan seconded.

I looked at Brad, who said, “I could eat—but not that overpriced cafeteria food they serve here.”

I offered to buy a quick dinner at Santana Row, and everyone jumped on it. The evening was pleasant so we walked the few blocks to the Italian place, ordered spaghetti, salad, and a bottle of Chianti. Brad and I argued over the check—he won—and we walked back to the Mystery House eager to welcome our guests. What a great crew I had.

The place was closed to the public by the time we returned. The house, as usual, looked ominous in the moonlight, and I shuddered as we entered, not just from the air that had turned cool. After Mia led us back to the séance room, I did a last check to make sure everything was ready, then sent Dee to change into her Mesmer costume. As ready as we could be, I left the crew behind to take their places, and headed for Sarah Winchester’s formal waiting room, where visitors began their tour, and waited for the rest of the guests to arrive.

Mother and Stephen Ellington entered soon after, thanks to Detective Melvin, who’d chauffeured them himself in a van outfitted for wheelchair access.

“Oh, Presley, darling. This is so exciting,” Mother said. “Isn’t it, Stephen?”

He gave a half smile and blinked with one eye several times. I knew he’d put a lot of hope into my plan to prove Jonathan innocent, and I felt the burden of his trust wash over me.

“We’ll do our best, Mother.” I gave what I hoped was a reassuring smile to Stephen. I turned to Detective Melvin and asked if he would carry Stephen to the séance room.

“It would be my pleasure,” he said, and swept the thin, frail man up into his strong arms. Mia led the way, and Mother followed, leaving me alone in the waiting room. I reviewed the guest list, praying they would all show up. Stephanie had offered to bring Lyla, and I assumed Dane and Jerry would come together, apparently with their lawyers.

Otherwise, it would be an event planner’s worst nightmare—hosting a party where nobody came.