Free How to Host a Killer Party by Penny Warner

mean?”
    “It looks like Andrea Sax was given a toxic substance, had a myocardial infarction, lost consciousness, and her vehicle subsequently collided with a cement beam.”
    Cop-speak for: She was poisoned, had a heart attack, passed out, and crashed the car.
    “How did she get all those chemicals in her?”
    “Chocolate.”

Chapter 8

    PARTY PLANNING TIP #8:
    In the competitive world of event planning, do your best to kill the competition by thinking outside the balloon. Caveat: Not literally.
    I felt the hairs at the back of my neck stand up like tiny needles. Somebody had actually murdered my competitor, Andi Sax.
    And it was painfully obvious that Detective Melvin considered me a suspect.
    I shook my head, trying to gather my thoughts in one place, not unlike gathering a bouquet of helium balloons in a windstorm. No matter how hard I rattled my brains, the important information eluded me, and I was left with a head full of hot air.
    “Chocolate? How did they get poison into the chocolate?” I said finally.
    He studied me like a wolf would a rabbit. “You tell me.”
    “How should I know? Are you actually accusing me of something?”
    Detective Melvin raised a hand and patted the air. “Simmer down, Ms. Parker. I’m just trying to get some questions answered. Like I said, you were her last scheduled appointment. And her body was found on TI, most likely on her way to see you.”
    “Well . . .” I started to object again, realized it was a waste of energy, and just shook my head.
    “You and Ms. Sax were competitors, weren’t you?”
    “No! I mean . . . I guess you could say that we had similar businesses, but I was no threat to her. She’s been the party queen in this city for years. I’m just starting out, hoping to raise money for some important causes. . . .”
    Detective Melvin looked down at my irritable bowel syndrome shirt. I felt my face flush. He lifted another sheet of paper, buried under the files. I recognized the name at the top left-hand side of the page: “Presley Parker.”
    “What’s that—my rap sheet?” I said, half kidding.
    He didn’t even give a half smile. “So you raise money for good causes? Says here that after you were fired—”
    “Downsized.”
    “Let go . . . from San Francisco State University, where you were teaching”—he glanced at the paper—“abnormal psychology. . . .” He looked at me pointedly, as if checking to see whether I might be abnormal myself, then continued. “You abruptly moved from your flat in the Marina to the former navy housing on Treasure Island, and out of the blue, with little experience, decided to go into the party planning business—”
    “Event planning,” I said, maybe a little shrilly.
    “Says here you’ve only done a couple of kids’ birthday parties and a murder mystery for IBS. . . .” He emphasized the word “murder.” “And then—in a stroke of amazing luck—you were hired to replace Ms. Sax as host of Mayor Green’s ‘surprise wedding.’ ” He crooked his fingers mockingly around the last two words.
    I shrugged. “I guess they were desperate, since Andi had . . . quit.”
    “Quit? Or been fired?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “According to the mayor’s admin—Chloe Webster—you were highly recommended to them by former socialite-slash- party hostess Veronica Parker—”
    Oh no. Mother. “Shit,” I hissed under my breath.
    “Beg your pardon?”
    “Veronica Parker is my mother—although I’m sure you know that already. I should have known why the mayor’s wedding fell so easily into my lap. Although how she pulled it off, I’ll never know. She’s been out of the business for years.”
    Detective Melvin pulled yet another sheet out of his ass and held it up. This one featured a front and side photograph of a smiling woman wearing too much makeup in her effort to look younger, with wild red-blond-brown hair and a flirtatious gaze inappropriate for her age and the circumstances.
    A mug