The Curse of the Holy Pail #2 (26 page)

I stopped her. "Not quite yet, Amy. I need to know what you were planning on doing with this lunchbox. How were you supposed to get it to Stella?"

Amy pulled away from me like she'd seen a monster. Or at least one standing behind me.

"When I first took it, everything was so crazy, I changed my mind. I mean, I didn't want to be involved with a murder. So I hid the box here in the park and told Stella I didn't get the chance to grab it. I told her that it wasn't there when I found Mr. Price."

"But you told Willie Porter that I had it."

She nodded, her head down. "I knew that Mr. Price had sent documents to you that day and that he had included one of the lunchboxes, so when Willie Porter offered me money for information, I gave him your name. Sorry.

"Late last night, I changed my mind and called Stella. I told her I had the box and would sell it to her for the twenty-five thousand dollars. I ... I ... I was supposed to go by her place early this morning with it," she stammered, "and she'd give me the money." She hesitated again, shook herself slightly and said, "I did, but she wasn't home."

"But you just dug it up for me, so you couldn't have had it with you when you went to see her."

She looked down at the ground and her cheeks reddened. "I didn't trust Stella to pay me like she promised. I thought she might pull something. I planned on giving her a map of where to find it in return for the money."

Smart girl.

Amy dug into the back pocket of her shorts and produced a piece of paper. On it was a map from Newport Beach to the park in Tustin and the exact place where the box had been buried.

She started back to the house. I followed.

"So you're leaving for Phoenix without the money?"

"Yes," she said resolutely and walked faster.

"N"Y?"

She came to a stop in the driveway just behind her car. She had turned pale again. In spite of it being almost eighty degrees out, Amy shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She started to say something, but just then Mrs. Chow came out of the house with a couple of suitcases. She ran to help her mother.

"Mom, don't worry, I'll put those in the car for you"

"I'll be back," Mrs. Chow said. "I have more things. Lunch, too."

"Amy, what are you running from?" I asked as I helped her put the bags into the trunk of her car.

Looking first to make sure her mother was nowhere around, Amy looked me square in the eyes. "Death, Odelia. I'm running from death."

She started to tap the lunchbox, but restrained herself, afraid to touch it. "That thing really is cursed." She took a deep breath. "I should have left it in the ground to rot."

TWENTY-ONE

EYES CLOSED, I LEANED back in the comfy chair and tried to connect the dots to and from the players in the Sterling Homes drama, and finally to the missing lunchbox that was no longer missing.

William Proctor had pulled a Lazarus and wanted revenge on Stella Hughes. Stella hired Amy Chow to steal the Holy Pail. Amy was running for her life, leaving behind the twenty-five thousand dollars promised her by Stella. Jackson and Karla were in bed with Howser, plotting changes in management after Sterling's death, but while he was still vital and healthy. Kyle, after accepting the offer to join the board of directors, had pulled a double-cross on his sister and brother-in-law and told his father of his sister's plans. And Stella was romantically involved with both Jackson and Kyle. Stella Hughes seemed to be the most common denominator.

Stella had told me last night, after being pressed, that Kyle had uncovered a plan of his sister's to take over Sterling Homes and that Karla was working in cahoots with another company to pull the rug out from under her father. Stella claimed not to know any more, only that, in gratitude, Price had bought the Center for Kyle and given him the house. According to what Kyle told Stella, Price was going to oust his own daughter and son-in-law from the company the very next week-the week following his death.

This information jelled pretty much with what Amy had divulged before setting off for Phoenix, although Amy had no way of knowing that Kyle had pulled a fast one and that the plug was about to be yanked on the Blakes.

Geez, it wasn't even eleven thirty and I was already on overload.

At least part of the puzzle was solved. The Holy Pail was found and safe, although I was still dying of curiosity about its background. I had stashed the lunchbox in the box of Howser documents in the trunk of my car and taken the box back to my office at Woobie. After all, my office had already been ransacked once. What safer place could there be for it?

Somewhere on the road from Amy's house and the office, it briefly crossed my mind to turn the Holy Pail over to Dev, but I decided not to until the entire puzzle was solved. After all, I wasn't positive that the murder and the theft weren't connected. And even if the box wasn't a part of the murder, it might be useful as a bargaining tool.

In the middle of all this contemplation, I tried not to think about the fact that I was in possession of stolen property.

A woman at my feet had just finished applying a final coat of lacquer to my toenails and another was starting to do the same to my fingertips. The color I had chosen was called Bleeding Heart, a dark, sexy red, a color that would go well with the slinky black lace negligee I intended to wear on Greg's first night back.

Greg would be home tomorrow mid-afternoon. After picking him up at the John Wayne Airport, we would grab Wainwright and head to Greg's home in Seal Beach for a cozy evening. I started dwelling on just how cozy the evening would get, using it to push the craziness of the morning out of my mind, when I heard a familiar voice.

"Hey there, almost ready to go?"

I opened one eye, knowing full well who I would see standing there.

"Go where?" I asked Zee, who stood a foot away from my chair dressed in a long floral summer dress.

She looked fresh as a daisy, something I was long past, even though I did make a quick pit stop home to freshen up and let the dog out for a fast pee. Still, I'd bet a thousand dollars Zee didn't spend the morning with a famous felon and his bodyguard, or digging up lunchboxes in a city park, for that matter. She smiled at my manicurist and said hello. It was the same woman who did her nails.

"To Glendora," she said cheerfully. "To see Lester Miles." "

I didn't know you were invited," I said.

Both of my eyes were open now and I watched as the manicurist applied the fast-drying top coat to my newly done nails. I didn't want to look at Zee. I knew she'd be standing there with one hand on her hip, as solid and immovable as a mountain. I concentrated on watching my nails dry and hummed low like a refrigerator.

Zee cracked first. "Come on," she said with just a hint of a whine. "I really want to meet Lester Miles."

"It will be boring talk about lunchboxes and old TV shows," I told her, still not looking at her.

"I'll be quiet as a mouse," she promised.

Wiggling my fingers in front of the fan to dry, I thought about it. It would be nice to have some company. According to the Yahoo! map I had downloaded, Glendora was about a fifty-minute drive.

No, no, no, I scolded myself in silence. I could not get Zee involved in this.

"It's a lunch meeting," I said, "at his house. Kind of rude to just bring someone along, don't ya think?"

Zee moved in closer. "All the more reason to take me along," she reasoned. "You certainly don't want to show up at a strange man's house all alone."

Something akin to a knife stabbed through my gut from the inside out. I covered my discomfort with a nervous giggle.

"Zee, Lester Miles is an old geezer about four feet tall. Don't you think I'd be able to handle him myself?"

Her big brown eyes rolled around in her head, reminding me of a TV with a broken horizontal hold. She was standing in her heavy-duty posture now, one plump hand on each hip, like an illtempered nightclub bouncer challenging someone to take him on. I had seen her use this stance whenever one of her kids crossed the line big time. It still worked on them, but just barely. Those who loved her knew Zee was just a big marshmallow. I wondered how she'd do against Enrique.

I tried to discourage her further. "Besides, I have another appointment right after that. Someone else interested in the Holy Pail. You'd be bored into next week."

What I had in mind was a trip to Newport Coast to see Stella. I was hoping that Lester Miles could shed some light on the unknown collector and his obsessive interest in the Holy Pail. Using that new information, I intended to put further pressure on Stella. Before this day was out, I wanted to know as much as possible about that damn lunchbox.

"Oh, come on," Zee tried again. "What do I have to do, hold a gun to your head?"

Sweat broke out on my upper lip, and I felt the blood drain from my face like water from a tub.

"You okay?" Zee asked. "You just went white as a sheet."

Bleeding Heart nails waved away her concern. "Fine," I said slowly, "probably just an early hot flash."

She watched me closely, but continued to stand her ground, totally unfazed by the people in the nail salon having to walk around her. It was fast becoming apparent that it was my turn to give. I made one last attempt, playing my trump card.

"Zee, you can't go," I said firmly, after regaining my composure. "If there's any danger, Seth will skin me alive if I drag you into it. After all, this may be connected to Price's murder."

She laughed and leaned in close to my ear. She smelled of jasmine. "Odie, honey, if there's any danger, my darling husband will skin you alive just for getting yourself involved in it."

It was hard to argue with logic like that. Then Zee made an offer I couldn't refuse.

"We can take my car," she announced.

"I'll call Lester Miles and let him know there'll be two of us," I said as I slipped my newly pampered feet into my sandals.

Moaning with unabashed delight, I settled into the buttery leather seats of Zee's Mercedes as we whizzed up the 55 Freeway and made the connection to Interstate 5. Christian pop music floated out from the CD player. The car was so quiet and smooth, if I closed my eyes, it felt like sitting in someone's posh living room. The vehicle was less than six months old, a present from Seth on their last anniversary, their twentieth, and it still had that new car smell. Sometimes, I have the car wash place spritz my car with new car smell and pretend.

Before heading on our way, we dropped my car off at Zee's house and left Seth a note saying we'd be back around dinner time. Zee said he was off playing golf. Jacob was still on his camping trip.

We took the connecting ramp from Interstate 5 to the 57 Freeway. Just beyond the junction, the freeway is flanked on the left by Angel Stadium, home of the Angels baseball team, and on the right by the Arrowhead Pond, where the Mighty Ducks hockey team resides. Greg loves hockey and has season tickets. Seeing the Pond reminded me of him and the fact that in just over twenty-four hours we would be together again. I tingled at the thought in spite of my lingering dilemma about the proposal.

Zee seemed happy to hum along with the music, so I took the time to re-evaluate the continuing lunchbox saga. I started by mentally sorting out what I knew for sure from what was still an unknown.

Known: The Holy Pail was in my possession, and Stella and Willie Porter seemed to be the only ones who cared about finding it. Jackson expressed an interest that day after the funeral, but only in connection to Stella.

Known: Karla and Jackson were up to no good at Sterling Homes, and Kyle was playing both sides of the fence. Considering that he had been boinking his father's fiancee on the side, why should that surprise me?

Known: Unless the Blakes and/or Kyle killed Sterling, they got everything they wanted. Kyle now owned the Center and the house. And Karla had free rein over Sterling Homes.

Known: Amy Chow had worked in secret for both the Blakes and Stella. This seemed to me to be just a young woman who saw opportunities to make some quick cash and take care of her mother and her education. Something told me Amy Chow would not be back to Southern California unless dragged back.

Unknown: Why was Stella working so hard to get her hands on the Holy Pail? Was it just for a hundred grand? Or was there something more going on with that tin crate?

Unknown: Who killed Sterling Price? Kyle, Karla, Jackson, and Stella all had motives of one kind or another. But who was desperate enough to kill?

Unknown: Carmen Sepulveda. Did she know about the corporate manipulations? Did she have an unknown motive to bump off her boss? It seemed unlikely, but you never know.

It was all so confusing. I felt like a white rat scrambling in a maze, looking for cheese.

The big question in my mind was still if the Holy Pail and the corporate takeover were linked or two separate agendas with two separate casts of villains. Willie Porter had made no mention of Sterling Homes, only of the lunchbox and his desire to see it destroyed, supposedly to get back at Stella. Something told me he was telling the truth about this. I don't think he cared one way or another about Sterling Homes, only about watching Stella wither.