How to Survive a Killer Seance by Penny Warner Read Free Book Online Page A

her.”
    I was stunned at the lengths Sarah Winchester went to, all based on something her so-called “medium” told her. I doubted if anyone would believe such nonsense today—although we had plenty of psychic hotlines and palm readers on every corner of the city. But back in her day, psychic readings, mediums, and séances were all the rage, and common parlor entertainment.
    We arrived at our destination in time to have a quick bite of dinner at Santana Row, one of those live-where-you-work-and-shop neighborhoods kitty-corner to the mansion. Passing up high-end shops like Gucci, Salvatore Ferragamo, Anthropologie, and Tommy Bahama, we stopped in at Maggiano’s Little Italy and had pasta with a nice Chianti. As we headed to the Winchester Mystery House, I couldn’t help but notice the unlikely juxtaposition of a rambling old Victorian set in the midst of high-tech Silicon Valley. A sign claimed the house was OPEN EVERY DAY EXCEPT CHRISTMAS. Judging by the cars still in the parking lot, the place attracted large numbers of curious tourists from all over the world.
    Brad and I got out of the MINI, and he popped the seat handle to free my mother from her tiny prison. She managed to step out gracefully. We all gazed up at the turreted Victorian house, lit up by old-fashioned gas-type lanterns and moonlight.
    “There used to be seven stories,” Mother said, “but the 1906 earthquake knocked down three. Now there are only four.”
    I searched for evidence of the lost floors of the Queen Anne Victorian, but even at four stories, the house was imposing because of its utter vastness, odd angles, and bizarre history. The turrets, towers, cupolas, cornices, and spires all added to the castlelike appearance.
    “There are one hundred and sixty rooms, forty bedrooms, thirteen bathrooms,” Mother said. “Plus there are six kitchens, forty-seven fireplaces, seventeen chimneys, forty staircases, two ballrooms, and one séance room.”
    Brad blinked at the numbers Mother had thrown at him. How did she retain all that minutiae with her disease?
    I did remember that Sarah Winchester, for all her eccentricities, kept abreast of the “new technology” of the times. She had been one of the first to install a hydraulic elevator in her home, use steam and forced-air heating, and indoor plumbing, all rare at the time. She’d been ahead of her time in terms of science and industry, yet hampered by superstition.
    I checked my watch and glanced around for Jonathan Ellington. I caught a glimpse of him striding over from his late-model Mercedes. He’d parked in a red zone near the front, apparently unconcerned about breaking the law or getting a ticket. For all I knew, he could be rich enough to buy the old mystery house and discard the ticket.
    “Hi, Presley,” Jonathan said. “Ms. Parker, what a nice surprise!” He reached out to shake our hands. Brad had wandered off a few steps, but returned when he noticed Jonathan had joined us.
    I spun around to introduce Brad. “Jonathan, this is my friend Brad Matthews. He . . . helps me with some of my events. I hope you don’t mind my bringing him and my mother along.” I decided not to mentioned that Brad had been at Hella-Graphics yesterday, cleaning up after one of his employees. Maybe Jonathan wouldn’t recognize him.
    “Not at all,” Jonathan said, although his tiny frown said otherwise. “Nice to meet you.” He shook Brad’s hand, then stopped. “Have we met before?”
    Brad said nothing, but pulled his hand out of Jonathan’s grip. I interrupted before things got uncomfortable. “I can’t wait to see the place again.”
    Mother touched Jonathan’s arm. “How’s your father, Jonathan?” Her eyes pleaded for a positive response.
    “He’s holding his own,” Jonathan said, placing a hand over hers. “Thanks for asking. As I told Presley, he’s lost use of his left side, but the doctors are optimistic. With physical therapy, medication, and perhaps a motorized