by Penny Warner
“You mean besides blood?”
I gave him a you-know-what-I-mean look. I’d also learned from Brad that everyone has secrets and that things are not always what they seem. He knew this because he’d uncovered a lot of secrets cleaning up after horrendous murder scenes—and probably had a few of his own.
He grinned, then added, “Oh. You mean a clue?”
“I was sorta hoping you might have stumbled onto something.”
“Not yet,” he said, pressing a fresh cloth on the stain. “You thinking about playing detective again?”
“Well, it happened on my watch,” I said. “I feel a little responsible. Wouldn’t you?”
“Nope. This had nothing to do with me or you. Like I always say, everyone—”
“—has secrets. I know. So what kind of secrets do you think Levi had?”
Brad sat up and opened a plastic bottle filled with liquid. As he poured it into a plastic bowl, the strong smell stung my nose. Ammonia. I waved my hand in a useless attempt to fan it away.
“Phew.”
“Probably,” he answered, opening another plastic bottle. He poured blue liquid that smelled like a flower garden into a plastic bowl. Dish detergent.
I watched him work for a few minutes, fascinated, as he dipped a toothbrush into the blue detergent and began to scrub the stain. Knowing how to get blood out of a carpet would no doubt be helpful for an event planner like me.
“Don’t you need a bigger brush?” I asked.
“Nope. That’ll just spread the blood.” He blotted the wet area again with a dry cloth, turning the cloth pink. Then he poured a small amount of ammonia on the spot and let it set a few more seconds.
“Why the ammonia?” I said, nearly nauseated by the smell.
“Blood is made up of iron and proteins. Coagulation makes it harder to remove a dried stain. This breaks down the blood.” He blotted again, then repeated the whole process, starting with the detergent and toothbrush, then the ammonia and cloth.
“That’s it?” I said, watching the stain slowly disappear before my eyes.
“Pretty much. Sometimes I use a shop vac to suck up the stuff. But not on this antique carpet. This one’s going to take time.”
“It’s going to reek of ammonia.”
“Naw. I’ll rinse it with soapy water when I’m done, then blot it again. If that doesn’t work, there’s always meat tenderizer.”
“You’re kidding. Meat tenderizer?”
“Yep. The crystals break down the collagens in meat. They’re made of enzymes from tropical fruits like papaya, pineapple, and kiwifruit. Meat tenderizer works on swollen joints and sports injuries too.”
What didn’t this man know?
I figured Brad was going to be a while, so I told him I’d see him later. I picked up my boxes and started out of the ballroom. I nearly bumped into Stephanie entering as I exited the main ballroom doorway and almost dropped the boxes. She caught the top one and said, “Let me help you out with this.”
“Thanks, Stephanie.”
“Have they released the crime scene yet?” she asked, as she followed me to the parking lot.
“Not yet. Most of the officers are gone—I didn’t see Detective Melvin—but Brad is still working in there.”
“Do you think they’ll question everyone at the party?”
I set my box on the ground and pulled my key from my purse. “Yeah, the detective asked for the guest list.”
“What about the 4-D Projector? I need to get that back to Hella-Graphics or Jonathan will have my butt.”
“I think the police took it. They impounded Levi’s computer and everything else.” I opened the trunk and took the box from Stephanie.
She dropped her hands. “What? They took it? That equipment belongs to Hella-Graphics. It’s invaluable IP—intellectual property!”
I lifted up my box and set it on top of the first box, then closed the trunk. “Why don’t you call the San Jose Police Department and check with them? I’m sure they’re planning to return everything to the company once they’ve gone over it.”
“I hope so,” she said, checking her watch and fiddling with the band. “If they don’t, I’ll sic the company lawyers on them to make sure nothing’s leaked.”
“Have you heard from Jonathan yet?”
“No. I’m seriously worried about him. You don’t suppose . . . I mean, it’s just that he seemed so upset . . .” Her voice drifted off again.
“Okay, well, I better go,” I said awkwardly, and opened my car door. “I’m sure Jonathan will turn up, and you’ll get your equipment back.”
Stephanie didn’t appear to be listening to me. I didn’t blame her. My words rang false, even to me, considering the circumstances. But she seemed genuinely concerned about her boss. A fleeting thought went through my head as I closed the car door and started the engine.
Was it possible Stephanie was also having an affair with Jonathan?
By the time I returned to my office, I had a whole scenario going about who killed Levi Webster. I’d decided it was the guy who’d been harassing Jonathan. The guy who, in fact, had tried to kill him with his car. The way I imagined it, this Zachary character had followed Jonathan to the Winchester House, waited for a chance to get him alone, found him in the room with Levi, grabbed the candlestick, slugged Jonathan over the head, killed Levi since he was a witness, dragged Jonathan’s body away, and, and . . .
Where had that wild scenario come from? Good thing I had party planning skills to fall back on. I’d never make it as a mystery writer.
As soon as I’d unloaded the boxes from the MINI into my office, I plopped into my chair and checked my iPhone messages. There were three. The first was from Mother asking if I’d found Jonathan yet. No, Mom, I told her in my head. That was not my job. I was a party planner, not a host finder. I hadn’t even talked to Detective Melvin about George Wells’s questionable suicide for Teddi.
The second call was from a blocked number. A whispered voice came on the line; I could barely hear it. I had to listen twice to make out the message. “If Jonathan Ellington isn’t caught soon, he’ll come after you next. Watch your back.”
I hung up, feeling a cold sweat break out.
WTF?
Somebody had just threatened me! And I hadn’t done anything!
With trembling hands I checked the third call, wondering if it would be the same voice with another ominous message. But this voice was warm and familiar.
“Presley,” Brad said. “Got some news you might be interested in. Call me back ASAP.”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves—and my hands—so I could punch Brad’s number. I waited for him to answer, my heart beating double time.
“Hey, Presley,” he said.
“Brad! I just heard the strangest thing.”
“You heard already? Personally, I don’t think it’s so strange.”
“Heard what? What isn’t so strange?” I was confused.
“Oh, I thought that’s what you meant. That you’d heard my news already.”
“No, tell me! What? Did you hear from the police?”
“Yep. They got a match on fingerprints they found on the murder weapon.”
“Oh my God. There were fingerprints on the candlestick? Whose?”
“None other than your party host—Jonathan.”
Wow. Even though I’d sort of suspected so, it felt like a kick to the stomach. So Jonathan had killed Levi after all. For exposing his sex secrets.
“Yeah, although I’m not surprised. I knew that guy was trouble. Now they’ve got him. So, what were you talking about—you heard something strange?” Brad asked.
I’d almost forgotten about the disturbing phone message. Suddenly it didn’t seem so frightening.
“Uh, nothing really. I got a phone call from someone warning me about Jonathan. But now that he’s been caught—”
“What did you say?” Brad interrupted.
“I said, now that Jonathan’s been
caught . . .”
“Oh no, Presley. I didn’t say that. He hasn’t been caught yet.”
Oh God. Jonathan was still free? And according to that phone call, he was supposedly after me? But why? Did he think I knew something? I didn’t know anything! What was there to know? That he was Levi’s murderer?
I felt prickles of sweat break out on the back of my neck.
“Brad, I need you to come back to the office, as soon as you can,” I said, my hands trembling once again. “I may be in some serious trouble.”
Chapter 13
PARTY PLANNING TIP #13
You may want to use a Ouija board, also known as a “spirit board” or “talking board,” during your Séance Party. No special psychic “gifts” are required for using a board; however, in the wrong hands the board can be used to summon evil “demons” instead of friendly Caspers.
It took Brad nearly an hour later to get to the office. By then I’d had enough caffeine to keep a narcoleptic awake; except for me, it did the opposite and calmed my trembling hands. Unfortunately, it didn’t keep me from looking over my shoulder for a killer.
“Thank God!” I said as he walked into my office. I grabbed him and pulled him in the door.
“Whoa!” he said, trying to put his arms around me. He was still wearing his white jumpsuit, but there were pink stains on the knees. He usually kept his uniforms ghost white. “What’s up? You sounded weird on the phone. Has something else happened?”
My iPhone rang before I could reply. I checked the caller ID. Another “unknown.”
“It’s him!” I whispered, even though I had no reason to whisper. I hadn’t answered the phone yet.
“Who?”
“That guy who called earlier.” I hushed him, then answered the phone, putting the caller on speakerphone so Brad could hear.
“Hello?” I said cautiously.
“Presley?”
This voice I recognized immediately.
“Jonathan!” I glanced at Brad. “Where are you?”
“Take me off speakerphone,” he commanded. Brad nodded, watching me intently.
“Okay.” I punched the button and lifted the phone to my ear.
“Jonathan,” I repeated. “Where are you? What’s happened?”
“Presley, I’m in trouble. Someone is trying to frame me for murder.”
I picked up a pen and starting scribbling Jonathan’s side of the conversation for Brad to read: “Someone framing him.”
Brad rolled his eyes and made a “Yeah, sure” face.
“Frame you for what?”
A pause, then, “Murdering Levi.” I wrote it down for Brad to see.
So Jonathan knew. Well, of course he knew. He was most likely the killer.
“Jonathan, you need to turn yourself in. Your dad is worried sick—”
“Listen, Presley. I don’t have much time. I didn’t kill Levi.” His voice sounded strained as he spoke.
“If you’re innocent, why not tell that to the police?” I asked. “Why call me?”
“Because I’m innocent, not stupid. The police think I did it.”
“How do you know?”
“I know some people. Listen, Presley, you’re the only one I can trust at this point.”
“Why me? I can’t do anything—”
“My dad really likes you. He told me how you solved another murder.”
“My mother talks too much,” I said.
“So do you. Stop talking and listen. You’re the only one because, well, my other relationships are . . . complicated.”
In other words, he hadn’t slept with me like he had so many of the others. I didn’t write that down for Brad to see. Instead, Brad grabbed the pen and wrote, “Ask him where he is!!!”
I held up a finger, asking him to wait. “But what can I do . . .”
“Find out who’s trying to pin this on me. I’m sure it’s someone out for revenge.”
“What about Zachary—the guy who tried to run you down in the parking lot?”
“I thought about that, but when I went to his apartment, he’d disappeared. Packed up his stuff and moved out.”
“So what do you want me to do? I can’t—”
“Find Zachary. He must have found out about the party. He’s the only one besides Levi who could rig the 4-D with that other voice telling everyone about my . . . personal business.”
“How am I supposed to find him if he’s disappeared?”
Brad shook his head and underlined “Ask him where he is.”
“Presley, if you won’t do it for me, then do it for the money. I can’t pay you until all of this is cleared up.”
“That’s blackmail, Jonathan,” I said angrily.
Brad pointed to the sentence he’d underlined.
“Where are you, Jonathan? How do I contact you if I find out—”
“I’ll contact you. Gotta go.”
The line went dead.
I looked up at Brad. My hand was cramped from writing down Jonathan’s words and I stretched out my fingers.
“Did he tell you where he is?” Brad asked.
I shook my head.
“But he wants your help.”
“Apparently.”
Brad’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re planning to help him?”
“I would, but I haven’t a clue how,” I said.
“Well, let me fill you in some more on Jonathan Ellington.” From Brad’s harsh tone, I could tell he was irritated by Jonathan’s call and his request for my help. He began ticking off his fingers as he listed his reasons for having me back off.
“One, Motive. He’s angry at the victim for humiliating him in front of everyone. Two, Opportunity. He went in the room where Levi was alone after we’d all left. Three, Method. The candlestick was covered with his fingerprints. San Jose PD has issued a warrant for his arrest, and if you do anything to interfere with that—or help him in any way—the cops will get you for aiding and abetting a suspect who’s wanted for first-degree homicide.”
“Thanks for the lecture,” I said, throwing my pen down.
“I’m just saying . . .” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“You’re saying I don’t know how to think for myself. Listen, I’m not about to do anything stupid.”
Brad said nothing. Good thing or I would have whacked him with a candlestick if I’d had one handy.
My phone rang, interrupting our little spat. This time I recognized the ringtone: “San Francisco, open your golden gate . . .”
“Hi, Mother.” I shot a look at Brad. His face relaxed when he learned it was Mother and not Jonathan again.
“Presley, dear, are you all right?”
“Of course, Mother. How are you? And how’s Stephen?”
“Oh, I’m fine, but Stephen’s not doing so well.”
“What’s wrong? Did he have another stroke?”
“No, no, but he’s terribly upset, what with all that’s going on with his son.”
“I can imagine. You two haven’t seen Jonathan by any chance, have you?”
Brad sat up. His eyebrows rose in anticipation.
“No, and that’s what’s worrying Stephen so much. Jonathan either calls or comes by faithfully every day, but Stephen hasn’t heard a word from him. And Jonathan’s not answering his phone.”
I shook my head at Brad. He sat back in his chair.
I hesitated to tell her the news—that the police were looking for Jonathan to arrest him for murder. I decided to play dumb.
“Well, if I hear from him, I’ll let you know.”
“So he hasn’t been arrested yet?” Mother asked.
Ah, she did know.
I sighed. “Not yet, Mom. But I’m sure they’ll clear all of this up.”
“Stephen insists that Jonathan is not capable of murder. Yes, his son has done a few things that Stephen isn’t proud of, but he’s certain murder isn’t one of them.”
Most parents felt that way about their kids—that they
could do no wrong. I’m sure my mother would say the same thing if I’d killed someone. Not that I would. But still . . .
“Presley . . .”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Stephen has a favor to ask.”
Not another one. It was the “favor” of hosting a Séance Party at the Winchester Mystery House that had gotten me into this mess.
I sighed. “What is it, Mother?”
“Will you do what you can to find the real killer and clear Jonathan? It would mean so much to him—and me.”
“Mother, I’m not a cop! I can’t—”
“I know, dear, but you’ve helped the police before. I’m sure you can do it again. And I know Brad will help. He seems to have connections with that nice detective—What was his name?”
“Luke Melvin.” My nemesis.
“Well, I’m counting on you. And I’m happy to help in any way I can. I enjoy being your sidekick.”
OMG.
“I’ll do my best, Mom.”
“Thank you, dear. Oh, and something else that’s very important. The next time you’re at Nordy’s, will you pick up one of those Lancôme gift specials for me? It’s quite a bargain.”
“Sure, Mom. I’ll stop by and see you later, too.”
I hung up.
“Your mother’s putting you in charge of the case?” Brad asked, grinning.
“Of course. She thinks I can do anything.”
“Well, if you want my advice, stay out of it.”
I’d like to stay out of it, I thought, remembering the phone call warning me about Jonathan. But when I talked with him, he didn’t sound at all threatening. Instead he sounded desperate and frightened.
Brad rose to leave.
“Did the police find anything else?” I asked.
“Yeah, I forgot to tell you. The system recovery guys at SJPD found evidence of some recent e-mails on Jonathan’s computer that had been deleted.”
“E-mails? Really? Jonathan said he rarely used e-mail, and that he preferred to text. What did they say?”
“They’re still working on that, but I should hear from Lonnie soon. I do know that some of the e-mails were sent to someone named Dane Scott. But that’s about all they have at this point.”
