How to Host a Killer Party (31 page)

I checked the time. Five o’clock. Three hours until showtime. Just enough time to make a quick trip to city hall.

 

According to Chloe, Ikea had her own office at city hall, thanks to Mayor Green. I passed through the metal detector and headed up the stairs, hoping her office would be near the mayor’s, and easy to find. But a quick search of the doorplates proved me wrong. No IKEA TAKEDA.

I picked up a nearby wall phone and dialed the security number listed there for emergencies.

“Guard.”

“Yes, hi. This is Presley Parker, the mayor’s event planner. I left some of my things in Ikea Takeda’s office, and I need them for another event I’m hosting for the mayor tonight. I wondered if you could let me in so I could collect them? The mayor will kill me if I don’t bring the props for the treasure hunt tonight.”

“Be right there,” came the response.

Moments later a uniformed security guard met me on the second floor with a ring of keys. Fiftysomething, African American, he had a bowlegged walk and looked tired, with droopy eyes and a turned-down mouth.

“Hi!” I said too cheerily.

He nodded. “Got ID?”

I handed him my business card.

He took it between his bony fingers. “Killer Parties, huh? You did that wedding thing for the mayor. I read about it.” He handed it back.

“Yep. That was me.”

“Didn’t go so well, eh?” He eyed me through the bottom half of his bifocals.

Not knowing what to say, I shrugged.

“Too bad,” he said with little emotion. Perhaps Ikea wasn’t a favorite around these parts? “I’ll have to escort you in.”

“Of course. Thanks a lot. I really appreciate it. I’ll be in real trouble if I screw this one up.”

I followed him down the hall to an unmarked room. That’s why I couldn’t find Ikea’s office. No nameplate. He opened the lock, accompanied by a lot of jingling and jangling of keys. Holding the door open, he nodded for me to enter. I squeezed by him and headed inside.

The room had already been cleared out. Only an empty desk and lone file cabinet remained. Had the mayor taken care of it? Or the police?

I shook my head, trying to look disappointed. “Wow. Looks like they took all my stuff.” I turned to the guard. “Well, thanks anyway.”

As I reached the doorway, I stumbled and dropped my purse. Knowing a gentleman when I saw one, I knew he’d pick it up. As he bent over, I wadded up my business card and stuffed it into the door notch. I hoped the trick would work as well with paper as it did with gum.

“Thanks!” I said again as he returned my purse. “I’ve got a big event for the mayor tonight and . . .” Blah, blah, blah . . . I rambled on as he pulled the door shut. As we started for the staircase, I asked, “Is there a restroom nearby?”

He pointed back to an alcove nearly hidden along the hallway.

“Thanks,” I said, and gave a little wave. “I can find my way out.”

“Have a nice day,” he said robotically as he moved on.

I headed in the other direction for the restrooms, ducked inside, and wiped away the beads of sweat that had been tickling my forehead.

After waiting five minutes—a long time for a person with ADHD—I peeked out, saw the coast was clear, and returned to Ikea Takeda’s office.

The back of my neck tingled as I approached Ikea’s unmarked office. I twisted the doorknob. It held fast.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled on the door, praying the business card trick would work like the gum had.

It gave easily.

With a last look down the hall, I slipped in and closed the door.

Light from a streetlamp lit up the room enough so that I didn’t have to turn on the switch. I tiptoed to Ikea’s empty desk, sat down, and began opening drawers, one by one. All barren.

I turned to the file cabinet behind the desk and yanked on the top drawer. Empty. All four drawers were the same. Cherchezing la femme was turning out to be a colossal waste of time.

I shoved the top drawer back in, then the second, third, and last one. The three top drawers glided in smoothly. The one on the bottom stuck out about an inch. Mad at myself for wasting my time, I gave it an ineffective kick with my flip-flip and stubbed my big toe on the corner. “Shit!” I said, shoving it again with the bottom of my shoe.

It stood fast.

Kneeling down, I pulled the drawer open, then slid it in and out a few times. There was something keeping it from fully closing. I pulled on the drawer until it came completely out. Setting it on the floor next to me, I retrieved my cell phone from my purse. I turned it on and used the light to see inside the dark cabinet.

I could just make out something white—a piece of paper?—at the back.

I reached in, straining against the cabinet to grasp the paper with my short fingernails. I managed to get hold of a corner, then inched it out slowly.

It was an envelope. Apparently it had fallen behind the drawer and gotten stuck.

Or had someone hidden it there?

I sat on the floor, my heart racing, and opened the sealed flap. Dumping the contents on the carpet, I held up my cell and scanned the materials: a map and a mini-videotape.

Unfolding the map, I immediately recognized Treasure Island. Someone had divided the island into sections and labeled each one. But instead of plans for a casino, movie studio, memorial, or habitat, these plans indicated areas for a multimillion-dollar commercial/residential development, complete with high-end shops, gated communities, and exclusive homes—including one marked “Mayor’s Mansion.”

It was all here. The mayor’s—or Ikea’s—real plans for Treasure Island.

I set the map down and held up the videotape. This I had to see. And with Berkeley’s help I’d be able to view it as soon as I returned to the office.

A click.

Shit! Someone was at the door!

I stuffed the contents of the envelope into my purse and scooted under the desk, behind the chair.

The file drawer!

If the intruder entered the room, he’d quickly discover it lying on the floor. I reached out a hand, pushed the drawer out of the line of sight, and crossed my fingers I wasn’t totally screwed.

I sucked in a breath. My heart beat like a trapped bird inside my chest.

The door opened.

Silence.

A flashlight beam swept the room.

The bird in my chest grew to the size of a turkey. I pulled back under the desk as far as I could, hoping the chair gave me extra coverage.

More silence.

I pressed my hand over my heart to keep it from pounding out of my chest. Could the intruder hear my heartbeat echoing like a drum?

An eternity later, the door closed. I scrambled out from under the desk and moved to the door, pressing my ear against it, listening for footfalls. Muffled steps faded away to nothing.

I exhaled, waited a few more minutes, then pulled the door open an inch and peered out.

Clear.

That was way too close.

When I thought about all the laws I’d broken and how narrowly I’d escaped being arrested—this time—my hands began to tremble. If anyone had caught me, there would have been no Camp Cupcake for me.

Holding the stair railing with a sweaty, shaky palm, I double-timed it down the steps and ducked out of the building in record time. When I reached my MINI Cooper, I cursed.

A ticket on the windshield.

Cursing again, I threw caution to the wind and drove over the speed limit back to Treasure Island. My thoughts were consumed with what I’d found in Ikea’s abandoned office. Not only her plans for the island—or the mayor’s?—but a mysterious videotape. I couldn’t wait to see what played.

How much did the mayor know about Ikea’s secret stash? And whatever was on that tape? Enough to have a reason to kill her? And how could he know for sure the party would end in such chaos?

I was going around in circles, my mind churning with possibilities like a whirlpool. I had to focus on the upcoming treasure hunt. That earring was the key to everything, I was sure. If the mayor showed up to retrieve it, that would almost prove he killed her. And he’d do it in front of witnesses.

Like a shower of snowflakes, everything seemed to be falling into place.

Or was it more like an avalanche—and was I about to be buried in my own scheme? After all, the killer knew I knew, thanks to that cryptic invitation.

 

“Berk! I need you!” I yelled as I entered the office building.

Berk looked up from the video screen he was watching. “ ‘Yes, my precious?’ ” he hissed, quoting
Lord of the Rings
.

No time for games. “Can you play this?” I handed him the tiny videotape I’d taken—stolen—from Ikea’s office.

He took the tape and turned it over in his hand. “Sure.” Popping it into one of his smaller videocameras, he flipped open the viewer and turned the camera on.

Instantly the tiny screen filled with the image of two people having sex.

“Whoa. Is this you?” He turned and grinned at me.

“God, no!”

We both watched the action on the screen in stunned silence. Finally Berk said, “Oh my God. I see dead people! Isn’t that Ikea?”

He was right. There she was, lying on her back on a mattress.

“Who’s that with her?” I asked, referring to the muscular man on top of her. After a few mesmerizing moments—and a new camera angle—I recognized the long black hair.

“Ikea is having sex with Dakota Hunter!” I looked over at Berkeley, who was grinning like a horny schoolboy. But he wasn’t lusting over the cheerleader; he was ogling the football quarterback.

“Dude, he’s hot.”

What was Ikea doing with Dakota Hunter, other than the obvious? In other words, why—if she was engaged to Davin Green?

“The photography needs work. Obviously the guy holding the camera is a rookie,” Berk said.

“Oh my God! You’re right—someone else is there. I didn’t even think about that.” So now the question was, who was holding the camera? Davin Green? Were they into that kind of thing? Who knew what went on behind closed doors?

“Can I borrow your camera for a little while? I want to watch the whole thing and see if I can figure out who’s doing the shooting. I don’t have time right now.”

Berk clicked off the camera and handed it over, with brief instructions on how to play the tape.

“Thanks, Berk. And don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

He nodded. I left his office and went to check on the others. Delicia had the decorations and clues ready to go. Duncan had packed up the GPS devices. Raj had ironed his uniform, and his badge shone like the top of the Chrysler Building.

Only Brad Matthews was missing from the roster.

I wondered where he was.

And whether he’d show up for the “party.”

Back in my office, I tried to call Chloe but got her voice mail. Damn. I left a message for her to call me back as soon as possible, that it was urgent. Next, I turned to the pressing matter at hand.

“Okay, guys. Let’s get this party started!”

I heard Berk chant a line from
Animal House
in the background. “Toga! Toga! Toga!”

If this treasure hunt didn’t kill me, it just might save my life—and maybe a few others. I was sorry it was too late for Andi Sax and Ikea Takeda. I was still praying for Rocco’s recovery. If my plan worked, the killer would get my clue about Ikea’s missing earring and come after it during the treasure hunt. Of course, he—or she—might even come after me, figuring I knew something about how it ended up on Treasure Island. But that was a chance I’d have to take. The alternative was twenty-to-life.