How to Host a Killer Party Read Online Free

waves—or whatever they were. “Uh . . . yes, this is Presley Parker. I believe you called me? Is this about my mother?”
    “No, ma’am. I’m calling—another ma—You know—woman named—Drea?”
    “What?” I pressed my hand over my other ear. “I’m sorry . . . you’re breaking up. I can hardly hear you. What did you say?”
    “I said—know—An—”
    “Sorry—and what?”
    “—drea Sax,” he said loudly through the crackle.
    “No, I . . . wait. You mean Andi Sax. Yes . . . I mean no, that is, not really. Why?”
    I wondered what the infamous Party Queen was up to now. Was she jealous I’d gotten the mayor’s wedding? Was she trying to sabotage my first big event?
    “I—come down—station—a couple of ques—you.”
    Squinting as if that would help me hear better and twirling around like a whirling dervish trying to capture phone rays, I shouted, “What? I can’t hear you.”
    He repeated most of the words and I filled in the blanks: “Come down to the station. I have a couple of questions to ask you.”
    “Uh . . . I can’t right now. I’m in the middle of something. What’s this all about?”
    Silence.
    I thought for a moment I’d lost the connection. Then his voice came back on the line, and for once—and unfortunately—I heard him loud and clear.
    “Andrea Sax was found dead early this morning.”

Chapter 3

    PARTY PLANNING TIP #3:
    Don’t drink alcohol while hosting an event.
    Especially when the police want to question you about a murder.
    Whoa. I didn’t even know the woman, and I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. The blood in my head rushed to my feet and I had to squat to keep from falling over.
    “Ms. Parker?” I heard a tinny voice from my phone. I brought the phone back to my ear.
    “Ms. Parker? Are you there? Ms. Parker?”
    “Dead?” I whispered. Then I got my voice back. “You’re kidding, right?”
    “I’m afraid not. I need you to come down—”
    “What happened?” I said, interrupting him. I stood up slowly, using the side of the building for support.
    “We’re not—” Static. Then, “According to her BlackBerry calendar—your—last scheduled—”
    “What?” I rasped, struggling to find my voice again.
    “Ms. Parker, I need you to come by the station—answer a few questions,” Detective Melvin said, ignoring my question.
    I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. “I told you, I can’t right now. I’m . . . hosting a wedding . . . a fund-raiser. . . .”
    “I’m going to have to send an—” More static.
    Before he could say more, I added, “For Mayor Green . . . It’s his surprise wed—er, big fund-raiser. I’m sure you’ve heard about it—for Alzheimer’s.”
    Another moment of silence. I thought I had lost him for good, but his voice came on the line, less insistent. “Tomorrow morn—nine sharp—”
    The line went dead.
    Dead.
    Just like Andi Sax. Dead. How was that possible?
    Unable to wrap my mind around this stunning blow, I tried to pull my thoughts together and focus—not easy for someone with ADHD. A homicide detective wanted to question me. What had he said . . . that my name was in her calendar? Why? I could easily imagine Andi Sax sticking pins in a voodoo doll with my image, what with my getting the mayor’s job. But why would I be her last scheduled appointment? I’d had no plans to meet with Andi Sax. Ever.
    Zombielike, I stood holding the dead phone, trying to absorb the news.
    “Pres? Presley? You okay?”
    I looked at my phone, thinking the detective had come back on the line, then realized it was Delicia, standing beside me. I whirled around and saw her frowning. Blinking myself back to the task at hand, I headed for the cellblock, with Delicia trailing behind me, pelting me with questions.
    “Did you get the phone to work? Who were you talking to? Are you all right?”
    Ignoring her and forcing thoughts of the detective’s call aside, I began my own series of questions.