How to Crash a Killer Bash (33 page)

Speaking of parties, I needed to call Dan and see if he still wanted me to host his daughter’s party at the Wax Museum. I didn’t particularly want to work with Dan, but I didn’t want to disappoint his daughter. She seemed like she could use some fun.

“That’s . . . great, Mom, although I have a couple of other events to prepare . . .”

Ignoring me, she continued excitedly. “And guess what. He wants a séance theme!” The excitement in her voice was palpable. “And you’ll never guess where.”

Oh boy.

“Where, Mom?”

“The Winchester Mystery House! Won’t that be fun? I gave him your card to give to his son and told him you’d be happy to do it. Don’t worry—I’ll help you out. And we’ll think of some good cause to donate part of the profits to. Maybe Save the Pacific Heights Mansions or Bring Back the Sutro Baths.”

“Sounds . . . great, Mom. Can we talk about it later? I have a bit of a headache tonight.”

“Sure, sweetheart. Get a good night’s sleep. We’ll start planning tomorrow. I can’t wait for you to meet Ramesh.
Namaste!
”

I hung up and sighed. I’d escaped being murdered by Sam Wo, but my mother would be the death of me yet. A séance party at the 160-room Victorian mansion would certainly be a challenge. Every schoolkid in the Bay Area, including my scout troop, had visited the Winchester Mystery House. Rifle heiress—and extremely superstitious—Sarah Winchester had kept construction going for thirty-eight years. At her death, the house held forty bedrooms, forty-seven fireplaces, six kitchens, and dozens of stairs that led nowhere.

Of course it was haunted. By the ghost of Sarah Winchester.

“Was that your mom?” Brad asked, massaging my sore leg gently with his large hand. His touch felt soothing and exciting at the same time.

I smiled at him.

He stopped, moved my legs off his lap, and stood up.

“I’m taking you to bed,” he said, setting down his beer.

“Why? I’m really not that sleepy.”

His eyes sparkled, and he gave his infectious half smile. “I know.”

Remember when Mrs. Peacock got caught holding a candlestick in the conservatory? Bring back your favorite childhood mystery game with a Get a Clue Party. Just pull out your magnifying glasses, don your trench coats, and put your heads together to solve an intriguing—and entertaining—mystery based on the board game Clue!

Make mysterious invitations by cutting out letters from magazines or using your computer to create a Ransom Note with a fancy font. Add specific details from the board game, such as pictures of the weapons, names of the rooms, and so on (see below for examples). Assign each guest a suspect role, either someone from the Clue game, or a new suspect you’ve created for the game, set perhaps at Clueless High School, Clueless Corporation, Clueless Hospital, or other site. (See suggestions below.)

After you assign the guests their roles, make costume suggestions for each one. For example, if you set the game at Clueless High School, the characters and costumes might include:

If you have more guests than you have roles, ask the rest to come dressed as detectives or as characters from Clueless High.

Cordon off areas in the house or party room and label them like the board game: the Library, Study, Conservatory, Kitchen, Dining Room, Lounge, Billiards Room, Ballroom, Hall. Or create rooms from your theme, such as a Clueless High School Cafeteria, Principal’s Office, Detention Hall, PE Locker Room, Science Lab, Gymnasium, Custodial Closet, and Swimming Pool. Lay out the “body” using a taped body outline and place the weapons on a table in the center of the room. You can use the traditional weapons from the game—a knife, candlestick, revolver, rope, lead pipe, and wrench—or use weapons that work with your Clue theme, such as high-school-related objects:

Unraveling clues and solving the crime are your jobs as detectives, so put on your game face and see if you can guess whodunit!

First decide who’s the victim, such as the Crabby School Bus Driver, Smart Aleck Student, Pompous Jock, Slutty Cheerleader, Weird Science Teacher, Dorky Vice Principal, Slacker Crossing Guard, Zealous Narc, and so on. Select enough black cards from a deck of cards to equal the number of players, then replace one of the black cards with a red card, and mix them up. Pass out the cards. The player who gets the red card is the murderer. Tell her to keep this secret. Have each player make up three reasons why they could be guilty and include the motive, the weapon, and the opportunity. For example, the Cafeteria Lady might be guilty because:

Then write down an alibi that prevents her from being the murderer—if she’s innocent—such as “I was having an affair with the principal at the time of the murder.” Make up one or two clues that help prove your guilt or innocence, such as flirting with the principal in front of the others, then write them on sticky notes and hide them in plain sight in the room.

Give each suspect the weapon that goes with her character. Start introducing yourselves in character, state how you knew the victim, and why you’re innocent. If you’re the murder, you can stretch the truth but you cannot lie. Have the other guests and detectives ask questions—except they cannot ask directly, “Are you the murderer?” At the end of a timed session, have detectives try to guess whodunit, along with motive, weapon, and opportunity, based on what they’ve garnered from the statements of the suspects. If no one guesses correctly, continue the game until someone identifies the guilty party.

Serve colorful foods that represent each character and give them a creative name. For example, you might prepare Plum’s Plum Jam ’n’ Toast, Peacock’s Blue Hurricane Blast, Mustard’s Mustard Green Salad, Green’s Green Beans, White’s Mashed Potatoes, and Scarlett’s Strawberry dessert.

Send everyone home with a Clue board game, a murder mystery novel (
How to Host a Killer Party
), a copy of
Murder By Death
or
Clue
DVD, a magnifying glass, or a flashlight.

Buy an already prepared mystery game instead of writing your own—although it won’t be as much fun! Or order one of my scripted “Library Mysteries” at
www.pennywarner.com

“Condemned!”

I stared at the orange sign 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 anchored in the San Francisco Bay, once home to the 1938-39 Golden Gate International Exposition, the Pan Am “Flying” Clipper Ships, and the U.S. Navy. Decades later, when the Navy had 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 overheard; 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 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.

He sauntered over, looking incredible in his black leather jacket and black T-shirt with the red embroidered Crime Scene Cleaners logo and catchphrase: “Our days begins when yours ends.” His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his well-worn jeans, and there were no bloodstains on his New Balance Zips. I wished I looked as good in the white “Easily Distracted by Shiny Objects” T-shirt and jeans I was wearing. Of course, he looked even better without anything on. Okay, so we’d become more than “just friends.” But I wasn’t ready to call him my “boyfriend” yet.

“Someone pop your balloon this morning?” he asked, obviously noticing my scowl.

I handed over the sign I’d snagged from the barracks door.

As he read it, his smile drooped.

“You’re freaking kidding me,” he said, only he didn’t use the word “freaking.”

“That’s what I said. How are we supposed to get inside? All my stuff is in there.”

Brad gave the notice back to me and sighed. “Well, I’m not too surprised. These barracks should have been condemned a long time ago. They’re falling apart—that’s why they’re so cheap to rent. And they light up like a month-old Christmas tree when there’s a match within a mile of the place. Remember that fire we had in the old building?”

How could I forget? I had almost been trapped in it. “But the low rent is the reason I took this place. Where am I going to go now? My Killer Party business isn’t exactly turning a profit yet.”

“I hear there are a few openings in Building One.” Brad glanced in the direction of the Administration Building, also known as Building One. The curved Streamline Moderne- style Art Deco building, erected for the Golden Gate Exposition of 1939, was one of a handful of original structures remaining on the island. Intended as an airport terminal, the building now housed a number of eclectic small businesses, including the Treasure Island Museum, Treasure Island Wines, and the Treasure Island Development Authority.

“I can’t afford the rent there! And, besides, how is that place any safer? One big earthquake, and the ground beneath it will liquefy like Jell-O. The whole island is built on landfill, and none of the old buildings was constructed to handle a major jolt.”

“That might be a good negotiating point,” Brad said. He was taking this condemnation awfully well. “Plus, I know one of the administrators—Marianne. Considering the circumstances, she’ll probably give us a deal.”

I checked my watch. “Meanwhile, I can’t get to my stuff, and I’m late to meet my mother for breakfast. She called this morning saying she had something ‘urgent’ to talk about.”

“She all right?” Brad asked. He and my mother had seemed to hit it off immediately when they first met. I think they talked about me behind my back.

“I hope so. She wouldn’t say more. But if she sees something she wants on the shopping network or doesn’t like the dessert they’re serving at the care center, she calls that ‘urgent.’ ”