How to Host a Killer Party (36 page)

“Thank God.” I sighed, a combination of exhaustion and relief. Raising an eyebrow, I said, “So, you got a license?”

Brad leaned to one side and pulled his wallet from his back jeans pocket. He flipped it open and showed me the official form. I took it and checked out his ID picture. Taken a couple of years ago, it didn’t look much like him, now that his hair was longer and he had that soul patch on his chin. But the dark eyes were definitely his.

I handed it back. “So you’re friends with the mayor, huh?”

Before he could answer, Detective Melvin appeared in the doorway. I tensed up reflexively. What now?

“Got a warrant?” I asked weakly, only half teasing.

Melvin stepped in, dressed to kill in a designer suit, silk tie, and shiny Italian loafers. I wondered for a moment if he was on somebody else’s payroll. When he shook hands with Brad, I decided I had to stop being so suspicious of everyone.

“Six o’clock? Firing range?” he said to Brad.

Brad nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it. You’ll be buying the beer afterward.”

“In your dreams, buddy. Remember last week?”

I stared at them, watching their back-and-forth banter openmouthed until I’d had enough. “You guys are
friends
?”

Melvin finally turned his attention to me. “Went to Cal together,” he said. “Sorry about giving you a hard time, Ms. Parker. When it became clear that someone was trying to make you look guilty, we did our best to find out who it was, and protect you at the same time. Obviously we couldn’t let you know.”

“Well, you sure made it look good, Detective.”

“Sorry about that. But you were under surveillance twenty-four/seven. At least, for the most part.”

Yeah, except when I wasn’t.

After it sank in, I realized I still had a few threads to tie up. “All right. I have a couple of questions for you guys,” I said, looking back and forth between the two men. “And I want answers.”

Brad glanced at Detective Melvin, who clasped his hands protectively in front of his groin. They both nodded.

“Who tried to run me off the road?”

“Which time?” Brad said.

I shook my head. “Both times!”

“That first time, when you were coming down Macalla to the island, that was me. I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was in a hurry—I’d had a call from one of the officers on the island about another break-in. I’ve already apologized for that.”

“Apologized? You should have your license revoked.” I took a breath. “So what about the second time. Was that you too?”

“No, that was Pike, driving the SUV Chloe rented for him. He was just supposed to scare you.”

“What about that phone call, with my voice threatening to kill Ikea?”

“Chloe must have caught you on tape at the party,” the detective said. “We found a mini-recorder in her desk. She was probably waiting for you to say something like that at the party so she could use it.”

“And the fires at the office building?”

“Pike.”

I suddenly had an epiphany and looked at them. “Was I your—decoy?”

Melvin shook his head. “Absolutely not. I assure you, you were well protected.”

“Except when I wasn’t! Like when my car was side-swiped, my office building was torched, and my home was broken into, and—”

Detective Melvin flushed. “Like I said, I’m sorry about not being able to let you know, but we had you covered, most of the time.”

I pointed to my leg cast, indicating one of the times I wasn’t protected.

“You want me to sign it?” he said, pulling out a pen.

I looked at him in disbelief. Before I could kick him with the cast, I heard a Southern-accented voice outside the door. “Mama always said, ‘Life is like a box of chocolates.’ ”

A hand appeared from the side of the door, holding—wait for it—a box of chocolates. Berkeley stepped into the room, followed by Delicia, clenching a handful of “Get Well” mylar balloons featuring Mickey Mouse. Duncan entered with a bouquet of California golden poppies, no doubt freshly—and illegally—picked from Treasure Island. Finally Raj peeked in holding a small gold-wrapped present with a red bow.

A rush of emotion overwhelmed me and I felt my eyes sting. These people weren’t just my coworkers; they were my friends.

Detective Melvin and Brad stepped back to make way for the new visitors. After a few minutes of answering their questions and listening to their condolences, I realized Brad and Detective Melvin had left the room.

“You must open your gifts,” Raj said.

Berk handed me a heart-shaped package. Inside were a dozen fancy chocolates.

I looked at him, horrified.

“Chocolates?” Delicia said. “Berk, what were you thinking?”

He grinned. “They’re porcelain. Just for decoration. At your next party.”

I laughed and thanked him.

Delicia tied the balloons to my cast while Duncan put the flowers in an emesis basin, unable to find anything else. He plucked off a bud and stuck it between my bare toes, which tickled.

“Thank you, guys,” I said, blinking back the tears. “This is all too sweet. I owe you all so much.”

“Don’t worry,” Delicia said. “You’ll pay us back. By the way, the governor called again! He’s hot for you, Pres.” She clapped.

“Great,” I said, although I didn’t feel as enthusiastic as I once had about doing an event for the governor. In fact, I’d planned to read the want ads and see if there was some other job I might be more suited for, such as mattress tester or governess.

I unwrapped the gold paper and opened the small bejeweled box. Inside was a pink enamel pin shaped like a balloon. Printed on the balloon were the words “Killer Parties!” I guess I’d be keeping the name, no matter what I did.

I thanked them all again and gave them bedside hugs. Then the doctor appeared and shooed everyone out so she could check me one last time.

“You’re looking good, Ms. Parker,” Dr. Vassar said. “Do you feel up to going home or would you prefer to stay an extra day?”

“Go home,” I said, through my sore throat. I sounded like E.T.

“I’ll write a prescription for pain medication.” She pulled out a pad, scribbled something, ripped it off, and gave it to me. “Come by the office tomorrow so I can check you. Do you have a ride? Or shall I call you a cab?”

“I got her, Doc,” Brad said from the doorway.

The doctor nodded, shook my hand, and left after signing my release. A nurse appeared with a wheelchair. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to take you to your car,” she said.

When she left, Brad said, “You ready?”

I glanced down at my gown.

He grabbed the bag with my clothes. After untying the balloons from my cast, he lent me a shoulder and helped me into the small bathroom.

“I’ll go fill your scrip while you change,” he said, then closed the bathroom door.

With my leg in a cast, I felt like a contortionist inside the little room. It took me ten minutes to dress. The doctor had cut my pant leg above the knee, saving me the trouble of having to make the alteration myself, but it still wasn’t easy getting my jeans on. After combing my hair and wiping the mascara shadows from under my eyes, I opened the bathroom door.

Brad was waiting for me, holding the balloons. I didn’t know who looked more ridiculous—me wearing half shorts and half long pants, or him holding Mickey Mouse balloons.

“You want these?” he asked, lifting the balloons.

I shook my head. “Leave them for the next patient. I’ve got plenty more.”

Brad helped me into the waiting wheelchair. He piled the chocolates and gifts on my lap; then we started out of the room. A nurse appeared and blocked his path.

“I’ve got it,” he said.

She tried to argue hospital policy, but when Brad flashed his PI badge, she must have mistaken it for a police badge and gave up, handing him a pair of crutches.

As Brad wheeled me to his SUV, I had a growing sense of dread.

“I hate SUVs,” I said, grimacing. “Especially white ones.”

“You’re stereotyping. Not all SUVs are evil. Not all party planners are murderers.”

“
Event
planner!” I snapped, and then realized I was more upset about being called a party planner than a murderer.

Brad helped me in and buckled me up. As he started the car, I asked, “Can we stop by the office—”

Brad held up a hand. “No. I’m taking you home.”

I nodded, too tired to argue.

I dozed off on the drive from San Francisco General to Treasure Island, and woke up when he turned off the engine at my carport. He carried me into my condo and helped me into bed, then made a second trip to the car for the crutches and hospital goodies.

Heavily medicated, I fell asleep before he returned.

 

The next morning, aching everywhere but my hair, I rolled up, grabbed the crutches that lay on the floor nearby, and hobbled to the kitchenette for my pain meds. I was surprised to see Brad sitting at the table, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. He was wearing the black Alcatraz T-shirt from the party. It looked great on him.

He must have seen my startled look. “Just got here. Made you a latte.”

I blinked. “Where did you sleep?”

“In my SUV.”

“Really? Where?”

“In the driveway.”

I dropped into a kitchen chair. The front page of the
Chronicle
was spread out on the table. Chloe, Mayor Green, and I had made headlines, but I didn’t feel like reading further. I folded the paper over to the want ads and scanned them.

“Good story. Sure you don’t want to read it?” Brad said.

“Maybe later. Right now I need drugs. Got any heroin?”

He laughed and brought over my pain pills, along with the latte he’d made using my espresso machine. Multitalented.

“What, no medicinal marijuana?” I swallowed the medication.

He sat down. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I partied all night.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling.” He looked down at his foot.

Thursby was brushing against him.

“Hey. You’re not sneezing!” I said.

“You’re not the only one on drugs. Took some Claritin.”

After I’d had a couple of swallows of my latte and felt my head begin to clear, I asked, “So what’s going to happen to Chloe?”

Brad shrugged. “Trial. Sentence. She’ll probably get life for first-degree murder.”

Too bad Alcatraz wasn’t available, I thought.

“So your assignment for the mayor is over?” I said.

He nodded. “Piece of cake, as they say in your business.”

“Will you be moving out of the barracks?” I squeaked. I sounded like helium escaping from a balloon and hoped the disappointment on my face wasn’t that obvious.

A wicked smile crossed his face. “Well, it looks like the crime scene cleaning business is about to pick up. Davin’s got another job for me.”

“Really? What?” I couldn’t contain my excitement.

“If I tell you—”

“You’ll have to kill me, I know.”

“Seems there’s some kind of monkey business going on at the de Young Museum.”

“Really?” I looked up at Brad. I don’t know if the tickle in my stomach came from hearing his startling news or looking into his sparkling eyes. “That’s interesting. One of the calls I got after the mayor’s so-called wedding was from the curator at the de Young. She wants a murder mystery fund-raiser for a new wing or exhibit or whatever.”

Brad smiled. “Sounds like a killer party to me.”

Jeez, I certainly hoped not.

Still, I was no party pooper. I knew that now. And working with Brad Matthews again might just be my party favor.

Adventure parties like Geocaching Treasure Hunts are raging these days, thanks to new technology and new twists on a popular theme. In the past, miners and explorers would hide a cache (pronounced “cash”) with food and emergency items. Today they’re filled with trinkets, pens and logbooks, and other fun discoveries. Teams use GPSs—electronic global positioning satellite units—to find hidden caches set up locally. The game is deceptively easy. Just key in the waypoint—longitude and latitude—to find the coordinates and off you go. But you still have to find the hidden cache, somewhere within six to twenty feet, a fun and challenging task. For added fun, consider giving your hunt a theme, such as “The Secret of Nancy Drew’s Clues,” “
CSI
—Your Town,” or “Halloween Haunted Hunt,” then create invitations, decorations, and caches to match the theme.

Photocopy a local map, mark the party location, including coordinates, then write party details on the back.

Include a toy compass and a clue to the first cache inside the envelope, then mail to guests.

Divide up the teams ahead of time and ask each guest to come dressed in the selected team colors.

Have everyone wear camouflage.

Tell the guests to wear sport clothes and athletic shoes.

Decorate the starting point with maps, arrows, street signs, and compasses.

Set out some of the tiny trinkets teams will be searching for, such as:

You’ll need at least two GPS units for two teams, more if you divide up into more teams. Ask the guests if they have a device—many people are buying them because the prices are reasonable, as low as $100—and they’re fun to use. You can also rent a couple from electronics, camping, or boat stores, if you prefer.

To prepare the hunt, choose a starting point—your home or off-site, at a café, park, or local landmark.