How to Survive a Killer Seance (18 page)

“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.”

Dane Scott.

I was sure the police had checked out the name by now, but that wouldn’t stop me from doing the same. As soon as Brad left my office.

After promising Brad I wouldn’t do anything stupid, I Googled “Dane Scott” the moment my office door closed behind him. The name turned up several hundred hits. I started at the top and clicked on the first link: Stereo-ScopeGraphics. com. A Web site with lots of bells and whistles. The name of the company—STEREO-SCOPE GRAPHICS—blazed across the top in giant red letters. Underneath were the words, “The Premiere 3-D Company.” Next came a brief description of the company’s products, things like RealD, 3DX, and TDV.

Scrolling down I found links to Future Developments, Conventions, Latest News, and so on. Finally, at the bottom in small print, were the usual business links: Public Relations, Product Sales, Job Opportunities, About Us, and Contact Us.

I clicked About Us. Up popped a series of color head shots of the company executives. Dane Scott was centered, grinning at the camera, with a brief bio underneath. He looked about Jonathan’s age—thirtysomething—with dark curly hair, puffy cheeks, and a bronze complexion. I didn’t recognize him as one of the guests at the Séance Party. I read over his bio, which included his title of CEO, his engineering and computer background, how his start-up company had expanded over the past couple of years, and his outlook for the future. At the end was an explanation of the company name. “Since Sir Charles Wheatstone invented 3-D in 1838, we’ve come a long way from the stereoscopes that delighted your great-grandparents at San Francisco’s Playland at the Beach and the Cliff House’s Musée Mécanique.”

Aha. So this Dane Scott character was in the same business as Jonathan—a competitor who was also working on 3-D of the future. Jonathan had apparently sent him e-mails and then deleted them. Could he be mixed up in this?

I scanned down, checking out the executive VPs, then general managers, then managers, when my eyes caught on another head shot near the bottom of the company hierarchy under managers. This one looked vaguely familiar. It was a picture of a younger man, maybe twenty-five, clean-shaven, with short brown hair and round beady eyes. For a few seconds I couldn’t place where I’d seen him.

I read a little more about the company on the Web site. Coincidentally, Stereo-Scope Graphics was also planning to launch a “revolutionary new product in the exciting field of 3-D.” According to the latest press release:

And then my memory cells kicked in.

With a mustache, glasses, and black wig, he suddenly became the clumsy waiter at Jonathan’s Séance Party.

The impostor/waiter’s name was Jerry Thompson. What had he called himself at the party? Joe something? According to his bio, he’d been a computer tech who had worked his way up to manager at Stereo-Scope Graphics. Sounded like he was on the fast track. Apparently his job description included corporate spy. In his ten-cent getup, Jonathan must not have recognized him at the party.