How to Survive a Killer Seance

Table of Contents

 

 

 

 

“The Killer Party series is delightful!”

—Meritorious Mysteries

“Presley Parker is a protagonist that readers can’t help but like. She’s been down on her luck but lands on her feet when she comes up with the idea for an event planning business. For a mystery series, it’s a near perfect occupation.”

—
MysteriesGalore.­com

“This book combines humor with mystery and makes a wonderful tale taking place at the de Young Museum in San Francisco. This is a party that you don’t want to miss.”

—Once Upon A Romance Reviews

“Penny Warner has created a wonderful heroine in perilous Presley Parker. . . . With plenty of action on her investigation and several poignant moments, readers will enjoy the perils of Presley Parker.”

—Genre Go Round Reviews

“The second Party-Planner mystery is a delightful whodunit due to a strong lead and the eccentric cast who bring a flavor of San Francisco to life.”

—The Best Reviews

“Plenty of motives and suspects . . . a cast of lively characters.”

—Gumshoe

 

 

“Penny Warner’s scintillating
How to Host a Killer Party
introduces an appealing heroine whose event skills include utilizing party favors in self-defense in a fun, fast-paced new series guaranteed to please.”

—Carolyn Hart, Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity
award-winning author of
Laughed
’
Til He Died

“A party you don’t want to miss.”

—Denise Swanson, national bestselling author of
Murder of a Bookstore Babe

“Penny Warner dishes up a rare treat, sparkling with wicked and witty San Francisco characters, plus some real tips on hosting a killer party.”

—Rhys Bowen, award-winning author of the Royal
Spyness and Molly Murphy mysteries

“There’s a cozy little party going on between these covers.”

—Elaine Viets, author of the Dead-End Job mysteries

“Fast, fun, and fizzy as a champagne cocktail! The winning and witty Presley Parker can plan a perfect party—but after her A-list event becomes an invitation to murder, her next plan must be to save her own life.”

—Hank Phillippi Ryan, Agatha Award-winning author
of
Drive Time

“The book dishes up a banquet of mayhem.”

—
Oakland Tribune
(CA)

“These days some of the hottest crime fiction revolves around caterers and chefs. The latest author to venture into culinary mystery territory is Danville’s Penny Warner, whose Bay Area hero—party planner Presley Parker—runs into homicidal high jinks all over the Bay Area, starting with an Alcatraz wedding gone awry.”

—
Contra Costa Times

“With a promising progression of peculiar plots, and a plethora of party-planning pointers,
How to Host a Killer Party
looks to be a pleasant prospect for cozy mystery lovers.”—Fresh Fiction

“Warner keeps the reader guessing.”—Gumshoe

“Delightful, filled with suspense, mystery, and romance.”

—Reader to Reader Reviews

“Grab this book.... It will leave you in stitches.”

—The Romance Readers Connection

“Frantic pace, interesting characters.”

—
Publishers Weekly

 

 

“Delicious, with a fun, irreverent protagonist.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“A sprightly, full-fledged heroine, small-town conniptions, frequent humor, and clever plotting.”

—
Library Journal

“The novel is enlivened by some nice twists, an unexpected villain, a harrowing mortuary scene, its Gold Country locale, and fascinating perspective on a little-known subculture.”

—
San Francisco Chronicle

“What a great addition to the ranks of amateur sleuths.”

—Diane Mott Davidson,
New York Times
bestselling
author of
Fatally Flaky

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First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First Printing, March 2011

eISBN : 978-1-101-47741-0

Copyright © Penny Warner, 2011 All rights reserved

OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

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Thanks to everyone who helped me, inspired me, supported me, informed me, and entertained me: Colleen Casey, Janet Finsilver, Staci McLaughlin, Mike Melvin, Ann Parker, Carole Price, Susan Warner, the mysterious “Lady Killers,” the informative staff at the Winchester Mystery House, and my tireless Webmaster, Geoff Pike.

A special thanks to my wonderful agents, Andrea Hurst and Amberly Finarelli, and my outstanding editor, Sandy Harding.

“Nothing is more irritating than not being invited to a party you wouldn’t be seen dead at.”

—William E. (Bill) Vaughan

I stared at the orange notice that had recently been posted on the front door of my office barracks on Treasure Island and skimmed the printed words.

“City of San Francisco . . . Barracks B . . . hereby condemned . . . dilapidated and unsafe, due to contamination with asbestos, plutonium, radium, and other substances . . . vacated by the end of the week . . .”

I glanced around, looking for the jokester who had graffitied my place of business. Spotting no one, I ripped the bright orange paper from its staples and got out my key.

That was when I noticed the padlock.

“You’re freaking kidding me,” I yelled into the early-morning breeze that swept across the man-made island—once home to the 1938-39 Golden Gate International Exposition, the Pan Am Flying Clipper Ships, and the U.S. Navy—anchored in the San Francisco Bay. Decades later, when the navy abandoned the island, they left behind crumbling barracks, empty hangars, and toxic soil. But a few of the fair’s Art Deco buildings remained, along with breathtaking panoramic views of the city, and low-rent housing that suited my budget perfectly. Apparently my yell had frightened a low-flying seagull passing overhead; he dropped a load of chalky white poop at my feet, narrowly missing my red Mary Janes.

Where was a crime scene cleaner when you needed one?

Or a breaking-and-entering expert, for that matter.

I heard the screech of tires and spun around. Speak of the devil. Brad Matthews had just pulled up in his SUV. Brad and I had officially met when he’d moved into an empty office in the barracks building. At the time, I’d thought he was a burglar, and he’d suspected me of being under the influence of alcohol. Since that auspicious beginning, we’d become . . . friends. He saw me standing on the porch and waved. I waved the orange placard at him.