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When she finished, she helped me organize my party paraphernalia, albeit with nonstop narration. By working through the noon hour we were more or less settled in and ready for business by midafternoon.
    “Looking good,” Brad said, appearing suddenly like a ghost. He glanced around, nodding. “How do you like it?”
    I had to admit, it was a lot nicer than the decaying barracks. And sharing space with Dee would probably save money. I just hoped she wouldn’t be too distracting. With ADHD, I didn’t need any more distractions.
    “It’s really great. Thanks for arranging this. Where’s your office?”
    “Next door. Just rap on the wall if you need me. Better than an intercom.”
    I’d miss being able to spy on him through the office windows in the barracks, but it was nice to know he was so close.
    “Shall we grab an early dinner?” he asked. “I missed lunch.”
    My cell phone rang. I glanced at the screen. No name, just a number. Not familiar.
    “Killer Parties,” I said, holding up a finger to Brad in response to his question.
    “Presley?” said the male voice on the other end.
    “Yes, may I help you?”
    “This is Jonathan.”
    I tried to conjure up all the Jonathans I knew.
    “Uh . . .”
    “Jonathan Ellington. I met you this morning at the diner?”
    “Oh yes.” I shot a guilty glance at Brad but he was busy swiveling in Dee’s empty chair. “Hi. How’s your father?”
    “Holding his own. Thanks,” Jonathan said. “At least, as well as can be expected. He’s completely paralyzed on his left side. After the first stroke he had some movement there, but this one was a lot worse. Luckily he can still talk, but his words are slurred, and he’s repeating himself a lot. Still, the doctor is hopeful.”
    “I’m so sorry, Jonathan. Is there anything I can do?”
    Brad shot me a look when I mentioned Jonathan’s name.
    “As a matter of fact, there is.”
    I paused for a moment, surprised at his response. I couldn’t imagine there was anything I could do to help him or his father, with such a serious medical condition.
    “Really? Uh, what?”
    “Can you meet me?”
    “Where? At the hospital?”
    “No. At the Winchester Mystery House. I want this party more than anything. For my father’s sake.”
    Stunned, I stammered, “Are—are you sure?”
    “Yes. While I was at the hospital, he kept repeating ‘séance’ and ‘Winchester’ over and over. Obviously he really wants me to do this.”
    “Uh, all right . . . umm. When would you like to meet? Next week sometime?”
    “Tonight. Can you be there, say, seven?”
    “Oh, I don’t think . . . I have a lot of work left to do. How about tomorrow?”
    “I’d really like to get going on this—for my father’s sake. And I’d like you to see the place at night, when it’s dark. That’s when we’ll be hosting the party.”
    I checked my watch, then said, “Uh . . . I suppose I could make it.”
    “How about dinner first?” he added.
    I glanced at Brad. “Oh, I’m sorry. I already have plans.”
    “Then seven it is. I look forward to it.”
    “Okay, I’ll see you there,” I said, and hung up.
    I tucked the phone into my purse. Something was bothering me about his request. Was he really doing this for his father—or did he have another motive? My mother would have called me a pessimist, always looking for the dark side, but I’d learned to trust my gut. And my gut was sending out an alarm. Especially in light of George Wells’s death. Still, with my mother, Jonathan, and his father all pressing me to host this event, there was no way I was getting out of it. I would just have to stay on my toes. And perhaps I could gain some insight into why George committed suicide.
    “Who was that?” Brad asked after I hung up.
    I shook my long bangs out of my eyes. “Uh, Jonathan Ellington. He wants to go ahead with the party. A séance at the Winchester Mystery House to showcase his new computer product for investors. Something called 4-D