How to Crash a Killer Bash

by Penny Warner

  “How?” I asked.

  “He was at that mystery party you gave the other night. Came dressed in a Sherlock Holmes costume and wore a mask so I wouldn’t recognize him. See, I’d made a few threatening calls to Mary Lee about getting my money back, so she told him to come to the party and keep an eye out.”

  I glanced around surreptitiously as he told his story. I had to find some way to escape this maniac. My leg ached, and my head was throbbing. If I tried to run, I doubted I’d make it very far before he caught up and hit me again. The only thing I spotted that wasn’t tied down was my purse, which had gone flying when Sam slugged me. Its contents were strewn all over the floor—and just out of reach.

  “But you managed to kill her anyway.”

  He shrugged, as if killing someone was no big deal. “I had it all planned for that night. I knew about the play and her part in it from seeing the rehearsals. I’d tilted the camera up so it wouldn’t record what happened. Then I sneaked into the mural room through the side door, right before your friend Delicia entered.”

  “With the dagger you’d stolen from its case . . .”

  “Yeah, like I said, that one was planned. I disabled the cameras up there, unscrewed the case, removed the dagger, used it on Mary Lee, then replaced it—simple as that. I’d overheard Delicia arguing with Mary Lee and figured she’d be blamed for Mary Lee’s death.”

  I tried to keep a clear head, in spite of my throbbing forehead and the still-trickling blood. Time, I knew, was running out. I had to keep him talking and figure out how to save myself.

  “So when you realized you killed the wrong person, you bashed Jason over the head . . .”

  Sam slapped the statue into his hand again. “I had to, since he was the one who really masterminded the scheme. I tried to get my money back from him, but he said he’d spent it all. Then he threatened to expose me to the cops. So I called him, told him I had the ledger with all his notations, and told him to meet me in the museum garden later that night—and bring cash. I came up behind him while he stood there, hit him with the Dogon statue, and dragged him to the pond. Once he’d been discovered, it was easy to replace the statue during all the commotion.”

  “Then why did you give me that list from Mary Lee’s locker and let me search her office?”

  “I wanted you to think one of the names in the ledger was the murderer—like Tannacito. My name was on the last page, which I removed. And when you wanted to go back to Mary Lee’s office, I brought along the ledger and stuck it under the desk while you were searching the filing cabinet. I wanted you to find it. I just didn’t figure you’d trace the indentations written on the inside cover. And when you did, well. . . .”

  The deserted museum suddenly felt like a mausoleum, slowly entombing me. Ghostly shadows from the nearby artifacts and exhibits sent home the message that I was alone with a calculating murderer. I glanced at a nearby camera, praying it would magically turn on, but the unlit sensor spoke volumes.

  Nobody was watching.

  I spotted my cell phone a few inches away and tried to reach it with my foot while he rambled on.

  Sam caught me looking and kicked the phone away. “Oh no, you don’t,” he said. “It’s time to end this, before you do something really stupid.” He raised the statue.

  Still lying sideways on the floor, I began to push myself backward and bumped into the base of another exhibit.

  Trapped.

  Sweat broke out on my forehead.

  Reaching down, I pulled off one of my Doc Martens Mary Janes and threw it at him. Those suckers weight a ton.

  The shoe bounced off his chin.

  Unhurt but startled, Sam blinked. In that split second, ignoring the pain, I scrambled up and made a run for it. Before I could get more than a couple of feet away, he lunged and tackled me. Hard. I slammed back onto the floor, knocking the breath out of me.

  Sam lay on top of my back. I lifted my head, gasping like a fish out of water, and spotted a few more items from my purse within reach. I grunted, trying to get my breath and get Sam off of me, but his weight kept my lungs from expanding. Finally he pushed himself up, and I sucked in a big breath of air.

  I rolled to the side, moaning. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sam searching around the floor. The statue he’d been holding lay a couple of feet away. He must have dropped it when he tackled me.

  As he reached for it, I grabbed the closest thing I could.

  My “Killer Parties” promo pen.

  Chapter 28

  PARTY TIP # 28

  If you’ve been tapped as the murderer at a Murder Mystery Party, try not to look too guilty. Instead, enjoy this opportunity to display your evil side without incurring the consequences.

  Sam reared above me. He held the solid statue in both hands, high above his head. His face was a mask of determination, his eyes wide with anticipation, his mouth a grimace. I knew instantly that if he landed the projected blow, it would kill me.

  As he began to bring the heavy artifact down, I rolled up to a sitting position, gripped the ballpoint pen in both hands, and clicked the button. With all the strength I had left in me, plus a little adrenaline, I jammed the sharp end into his thigh.

  Sam screamed, his howl of pain echoing through the empty room. Doubled over in pain, he released the statue from his grip. I rolled over, just missing being clobbered.

  Pushing myself up, the gash in my head thundering and my leg pounding, I stood, using a display case as a crutch. I glanced back to see Sam in a crumpled heap on the floor, gripping his wounded leg. Blood had feathered out on his khaki pant leg around the embedded pen.

  My cell phone. In no shape to run, I had to find it and call for help. There was no telling what a desperate, hurting Sam might try next—even with a pen sticking out of his leg. Scanning the floor, I spotted the phone a few feet away and limped over to get it. I pushed the phone icon to reach Brad—his was the last number I’d called—but before I could tap the screen, two uniformed guards appeared out of nowhere.

  “Thank God!” I whispered, too exhausted to speak any louder. Feeling dizzy, achy and near collapse, I stuffed my cell phone in my pocket and slumped down on the floor, waiting for the guards to take action.

  “What’s going on in here?” the tall black woman said, looking back and forth between the two of us.

  The other guard, short, Asian, rushed to Sam’s side. He gasped when he saw the protruding pen.

  Before I could get a word out, Sam yelled, “She stabbed me! The bitch is crazy! She was trying to steal that statue over there!” He pointed to the dropped Dogon he’d used to nearly kill me.

  The woman ran over to me. But instead of helping me up, she pulled out a plastic strip that looked like a garbage bag fastener, jerked my hands behind my back, and secured them together with the fastener.

  “He’s lying!” I croaked in a weak, hoarse voice. “He tried to—”

  “Don’t listen to her!” Sam screamed. “I caught her breaking into the exhibit. She took that statue and tried to get away.” He pointed, then winced in pain.

  “No, I wasn’t—”

  He cut me off. “When I tried to stop her, she stabbed me in the leg. If you two hadn’t come when you did, I’d probably be dead. Murdered. Like she murdered Ms. Miller and Ed.” He was gasping between words.

  “That’s not true!” I cried out, as the puzzled guards looked back and forth between us. “He killed Mary Lee. And Jason. And the security guard. If you don’t believe me, call Detective Melvin at SFPD. He’ll vouch for me.” At least, I hoped he would.

  “She’ll say anything to save herself,” Sam said, giving me a sly glance. “Susan, she may have an accomplice. Check the other floors. Then call the police. Mike, help me get this thing out of my leg.”

  After checking my wrist restraints to be sure they were secure, Susan left the room. I watched helplessly as Mike knelt down to assist Sam. As he leaned over Sam’s leg to examine the wound, Sam grabbed the Dogon statue he’d droppe
d.

  “Watch out!” I screamed as Sam swung it at the side of Mike’s head.

  The guard sagged to the floor. He never knew what hit him.

  “Look what you’ve done,” Sam said, puffing. “You’ve killed another one of my guards. Even tied up like that, you’re a murdering menace. You have to be stopped . . .”

  Sitting on the floor, my hands tied behind me, I scooted backward.

  “Sam, it’s too late. They’ll never believe I killed him. You’re just getting yourself in deeper and deeper.”

  He inched forward, dragging his wounded leg. His breathing was labored. “Oh, no, Presley. You’re the one in too deep. I warned you to stop with my phone calls and messages. I even tried to scare you off through your mother. But instead of planning your next party, you had to snoop around. You planned your own death.”

  I struggled with the bonds; they cut into my wrists. I knew I didn’t have a lot of options, even with an essentially one-legged Sam. With his hands free, he could still kill me before I could get away.

  Flight was not an option.

  But I still had fight left in me.

  Sam pushed himself up using an exhibit for support and limped the few feet that separated us, grimacing with each step. The bloodstain on his pants had spread. In his hand he held the bloody statue.

  It would only take one last blow.

  And there’d be no one to tell the cops what had happened. Except Sam.

  He closed in. I scrambled back until I hit a wall.

  Trapped again.

  Sam raised the heavy, lethal weapon.

  Leaning with my back against the wall, my hands behind me, I waited until he was about to bring the statue down on my head. Then I rolled to one side, kicking out at Sam’s wounded leg with my remaining Mary Jane as I turned.

  Through my shoe, I could feel the pen dig deeper into his thigh, until it hit bone.

  His scream was deafening. He grabbed his leg and crumpled onto the floor.

  “Freeze!” a voice called from across the room.

  Someone stood in the entryway, shining a flashlight on me. For a moment the light blinded me. I could only tell that there were several others. Reinforcements? The beam swung away, toward Sam. I blinked, clearing my vision, and saw Susan, the security guard. She was flanked by Detective Melvin and Brad Matthews.

  Two uniformed cops entered the room, guns drawn.

  Susan turned her flashlight back at me and pointed. “That’s her! She’s the one who killed Ed and the others.” She started over toward Sam, lying a few feet away and moaning, but Melvin held her back.

  “Stay put,” he ordered.

  “But—”

  “I said, stay put!” Susan stepped back.

  Brad rushed over to me while Detective Melvin got on his phone and called for an ambulance.

  “Presley!” Brad said, kneeling down beside me. He eased me up to sitting and propped me gently against the wall. Pulling out a pocket knife, he leaned behind me, cut the plastic fastener, and freed my hands.

  I rubbed my wrists where the plastic had cut into them. Brad took my arm and helped me stand.

  “Are you all right?” He carefully pushed my hair out of my face, revealing the head wound.

  “My head hurts,” I said. “And my leg.”

  “We need to get that gash taken care of.” He pulled off his T-shirt, folded it, and pressed it against the wound. I held it in place.

  “How did you know I was here? Did that security guard call you?” I nodded toward Susan, who stood wide-eyed as she watched the two officers take charge of the scene.

  “Nope. Got a pocket call.”

  “A what?” Feeling dizzy, I thought I misunderstood him.

  “Pocket call. Haven’t you ever gotten a call on your cell, and when you answer it, you can hear someone talking but they don’t seem to be speaking to you? That means they bumped the phone and it dialed the last number automatically.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve gotten several from you.”

  I blushed. What had he inadvertently heard? The rush of blood to my head made it throb harder. I decided I didn’t want to know.

  “Yep. At first I thought you had your TV on. But then I recognized your voice. I heard the whole encounter between you and Sam. I called Melvin, and here we are.”

  Chapter 29

  PARTY PLANNING TIP # 29

  If you’ve been selected to play the victim, you may spend most of the evening lying on the floor in an awkward position. Be sure to wear clean underwear and feel free to nod off during the slower parts of the play.

  Brad followed the ambulance to the hospital. I’d protested against going—I was sure I was fine—but he and Detective Melvin insisted, and I was too exhausted to argue. If I wanted to fight with these two, I had to be on my game.

  Once the ER doctor had checked me, done some tests, stitched and bandaged my head, and given me a bunch of drugs, he gave me permission to leave. Brad waited for me the entire time, and drove me back to my condo. Once inside my home, he made me lie on the couch while he fed the cats (after taking his allergy pills), brewed a latte (for taking my own pills), and whipped up an omelet with whatever he found in my neglected fridge (three eggs, a few wilted spinach leaves, some slightly moldy feta cheese, and a jar of artichoke hearts). It was the best I’d ever tasted in my life.

  “So,” he said, after clearing the plates and returning with a beer. He lifted my feet, clearing a spot for himself on the couch, and sat down. Gently lifting my legs, he placed them on his lap. “That was another fine mess you got yourself into,” he said, misquoting Oliver Hardy.

  “Very funny,” I said. “What did your brother say about Delicia?”

  “He said she’s good. Melvin and Andrew got her released while you were in the ER. She’s at home, writing her memoirs, no doubt. She’s called a couple of times—she wants to see you in the morning. I think she wants to thank you. Or maybe ask what you did with her car.”

  I grinned and let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness Dee was free at last. I hoped a few days in the slammer hadn’t changed her too much. “Thank your brother for me, will you? You know, I ran into him at the museum gift shop. He was looking at pictures of the artifacts. I thought he was just wasting his time, but I later realized he was onto something—the real dagger—which got me thinking. Anyway, I’d like to thank him in person. Maybe we could all meet for dinner next week?”

  “You, me, Andrew and Delicia? You mean, like a double date?”

  “Hardly. I have a feeling Dee won’t be dating anyone soon. Not after the way Corbin treated her, dropping her like she was Jennifer Aniston. Jerk. He just dated her to irritate his mother. Who turned out not to be his biological mother.”

  “Poor guy. He was already screwed up. And then to find out after all these years that he’s adopted, that his mother’s best friend is his real mother . . .”

  “I know. No wonder he took off and disappeared for a while, hiding on his dad’s boat instead of staying at his own house. I guess he just wanted some time to himself and figured no one would come looking for him there.”

  “How did they find him?”

  “Just good police work. Melvin’s no dummy, even though you might not like him. He said the place was a mess of pizza boxes and beer cans. He arranged to have Corbin go to a fancy clinic to get some counseling. Figured he could afford it, since Corbin will inherit Mary Lee’s money. Andrew said he’s the sole beneficiary.”

  “I’m just glad he finally turned up. And glad he’s getting some help.”

  Brad took a swig of beer and gently rested the cold bottle on my bruise, soothing the pain. “So how did you figure the murderer was Sam the security guard?”

  “Like security guards, party planners spend most of their time behind the scenes, so they often see things others don’t,” I said, using what I thought was a mysterious Gypsy-like voice.

  Brad rolled his eyes.

  “Oka
y, well, first of all, he talked about his financial troubles a lot. Second, he was in the vicinity of all the murders. Third, he knew about the ongoing investigation—”

  “Thanks to you, I might add. You told him everything the police were doing.”

  I made a face. “I thought he could help me if I shared my information. That’s why I told him so much. After all, he was on the inside of the museum and had keys to places I needed to go.”

  “Loose lips . . . ,” he said, then licked the beer off his own loose lips.

  I suddenly had an urge to kiss those lips.

  “But it was when I finally started to figure out what was on that missing last page and saw his name—Wo—that things started to come together. At first I thought it was the beginning of a name. But when I saw Sam, it all fell into place. Up until then, I didn’t even think of connecting him to the murders. But after I thought about it, I realized he had motive, opportunity, and method.”

  “So he made the phone calls and stole your mom’s purse?”

  “Yep—apparently wearing a red wig—all to try and intimidate me.”

  “He slashed your tires on the MINI and cut the brakes in the Smart Car?”

  “Apparently, he’s quite handy. He also disabled the cameras upstairs, opened the exhibit case, took the weapon, sneaked into the crime scene room, stabbed Mary Lee with the dagger, and then replaced it in the case. He figured it was the perfect place to hide the murder weapon. No wonder the police couldn’t find it.”

  Brad rubbed his chin thoughtfully. I still missed the soul patch. “Obviously he had a key to the side door. He must have locked it after Delicia went in to leave her fake dagger. She was the perfect foil because he’d overheard her say she wished Mary Lee was dead.”

  Cairo jumped up on my lap, begging for attention. I smoothed his fur while I pondered the loose ends. “Sam killed Mary Lee because he thought she’d conned him out of all his money. When he realized Jason was the mastermind, he bludgeoned him to death.”