How to Crash a Killer Bash

Table of Contents

 

 

 

“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
Dare to Die

“Penny Warner blends humor and mayhem to create a unique mystery full of fun.”

—Denise Swanson, national bestselling author of
Murder of a Wedding Belle

“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 Flush and Molly Murphy mysteries

“There’s a cozy little party going on between these covers. Don’t miss Penny Warner’s new series.”

—Elaine Viets, author of
Half-Price Homicide

“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

“A festive romp complete with chocolate, champagne, and murder. Really, it doesn’t get much better than this!”

—Joanna Campbell Slan, Agatha Award-nominated author of
Paper, Scissors, Death

“I love how Penny mixes crime with confetti and crudite.”

—Patty Sachs,
PartyPlansPlus.com

“The books dish up a banquet of mayhem.”

—
The Oakland Tribune
(CA)

“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

“Fans will enjoy this fun amateur-sleuth mystery starring a charming party planner who fears her business will go bankrupt if she wears stripes.”

—The Merry Genre Go Round Reviews

“This delightful cozy is filled with suspense, mystery, and a touch of romance. The wonderfully different, eclectic characters are delightful, as well as party-planning tips included at the beginning of each chapter.”

—Reader to Reader Reviews

“[V]ery readable . . . it’s no wonder Mrs. Warner is a bestselling author.”

—Once Upon a Romance Reviews

“Warner keeps . . . the reader guessing.”

—Gumshoe

 

“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

OBSIDIAN
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,
Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124,
Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park,
New Delhi - 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632,
New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue,
Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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

First Printing, August 2010

eISBN : 978-1-101-19826-1

Copyright © Penny Warner, 2010

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 scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

To my husband, Tom, who helps me clean up crime scenes. To my kids, Matt and Sue, Rebecca and Mike, who love to party. And to my mother, a continual inspiration in all things.

Many thanks to everyone who helped with this book: To my talented writers’ group: Colleen Casey, Janet Finsilver, Staci McLaughlin, Ann Parker, and Carole Price. To Mirian (sic) Saez, Director of Treasure Island Operations, and Marianne Thompson, Treasure Island Development Authority. To Geoff W. E. Pike, my computer guru. To those who prefer to remain nameless: Security Guards at the de Young Museum, and on Treasure Island, Police Officers at the San Francisco Hall of Justice, and Members of the Treasure Island Yacht Club. And to my incredible agents, Andrea Hurst and Amberly Finarelli, and my amazing, insightful editor, Sandra Harding, at Obsidian Books

“Hear no evil, speak no evil—and you’ll never be invited to a party.”

—Oscar Wilde

The murder weapon lay on a black velvet cloth, traces of blood so deeply embedded in the carved hilt that centuries of wear hadn’t eroded the terror it could still induce in the viewer.

At least it looked like blood.

In the dimly lit room, the ivory-and-jade dagger glowed an eerie greenish hue. I was dying to touch this exquisite artifact, which had been used countless times on helpless, horrified victims.

I reached for it. My fingers collided with the cold protective Plexiglas case.

Too bad it’s locked up, I thought. The real dagger would make the perfect weapon for the murder mystery play I’d be hosting the next evening at San Francisco’s world-renowned de Young Museum. Instead we would have to make do with a Styrofoam prop from the museum’s art restoration department.

I set my vente latte on the top of the case and pulled out my iPhone to take a picture. Glancing at the security camera high on the wall, I noticed that the motion-sensing light was yellow. Alone in the room after hours, I was being watched—and probably filmed.

A footfall creaked behind me.

My heart skipped a beat.

I snatched the latte from the top of the case.

A hand clamped down hard on my shoulder, and I nearly dropped my coffee.

I whirled around, raising the only weapon I had besides lukewarm coffee—a “Killer Parties” promotional pen. At a moment’s notice I was ready to stab—or at least heavily mark up—the shadowy figure. He stepped into the glow of a spotlight that illuminated the case.

“There’s no food or drink allowed in here, ma’am,” the uniformed security guard said.

I lowered my killer pen and caught my breath.

“You scared the crap out of me!”

The guard raised an eyebrow. Apparently he meant to scare the crap out of me.

“Ma’am, you’re also not supposed to be in here after hours.”

I raised my latte in apology. “Sorry. I just wanted to take another look at the dagger.”

“I’m afraid the museum is closed to the public tonight.”

“Oh, I’m not the public. I’m Presley Parker, the event planner for the mystery play tomorrow night. I have permission from Mary Lee Miller to be here.” That was stretching the truth a bit. I had permission to be in the museum for the rehearsal, not necessarily to have free run of the place.

The security guard held up his flashlight and shone it on my face.

“Oh yes, I recognize you. You’ve been here several times lately, haven’t you?”

“Yep. Trying to get ready for the big fund-raiser.” I tried to sound casual.

“Sorry about sneaking up on you. Didn’t mean to scare you. I know this place can get kind of creepy when there’s no one around.” He looked me up and down. I must have appeared suspicious, wearing an old-fashioned button-down jacket and loose-fitting khaki pants, not to mention the leather boots. He eyed the badge pinned on my lapel.