The Curse of the Holy Pail #2 (30 page)

"You'd think so. But Kellogg's son said they didn't know who the potential buyer was. Otherwise, they would have sold it to that person instead of running the ad that Fisher answered."

I tilted my head back against the leather headrest and closed my eyes as I spoke.

"And I still don't know if the lunchbox is tied in with Sterling Price's murder. But the more I learn about the Holy Pail, the more convinced I am that there's something sinister about it; something that only a few people know or knew, like maybe Lester and Stella, or even Jasper Kellogg."

Something Stella said to me the night before suddenly came to mind like a photo flash.

"You know what, Zee?" I turned halfway on the seat to look at her. "Stella said that her father's dream was the Holy Pail. That he was very interested in it, and that he's dead. If Stella believes Chappy Wheeler was her father, it could explain why she's so obsessed with it. What do you want to bet Stella is the mystery buyer with the hundred grand?"

Zee twisted her mouth around as she chewed on my theory. "I thought you said she was a gold digger. That she wanted to marry Mr. Price for security, and that's why she has her hooks into his son now.

"She could be lying. And it sure wouldn't be the first time, either. And just because she's offering a hundred thousand dollars doesn't mean she actually has it or plans to fork it over."

I thought about the deal Stella made with Amy. It was for twenty-five thousand. And once again I wondered what scared Amy off from collecting it.

"You know, Zee, she could be doing both. Stella could be marrying for security and be hunting the box down on her own behalf." I thought about her initial hesitancy with Kyle that afternoon in the study. "She also could be stringing Kyle along to get to the box. After all, it would be part of his and his sister's inheritance once it's found."

"I wonder where that silly box is," Zee said almost absently.

"Probably closer than we think," I said as casually as throwing away a used tissue.

Zee laughed. "Wouldn't surprise me."

We continued our drive home, passing between the two sports venues once again as they stood like sentries on either side of the freeway. Rummaging through my tote bag for some breath mints, I discovered the newspaper article Joe had given me. I pulled it out, unfolded it, and read it. It was just a couple of short paragraphs in a question and answer column on collectibles, and it gave a very brief history of children's lunchboxes. I read it several times. It contained nothing I hadn't seen recently in my research, but one sentence did catch my eye. I was mulling it over and exploring new possibilities when Zee cleared her throat.

"Odelia," Zee began in a serious tone, "I want to ask you something, but I don't want you to get mad."

Uh-oh. Whenever someone starts off like that, I just know I am not going to like what follows. After I refolded the newspaper and tucked it back into my bag, I closed one eye as if in pain, scrunched up my mouth, and looked at her. With any luck my evil stare would discourage her from going further. It didn't.

"I've been thinking that maybe your obsession with this lunchbox thing is pure avoidance." She talked while she drove, every once in a while casting a look my way. "Maybe you're using Mr. Price's murder to avoid making a decision about Greg."

Who? Me?

"Zee, did you not notice that my office was broken into?"

"I didn't say that this matter didn't involve you in some way. I just made an observation that maybe you're getting so involved because you don't want to think about Greg's proposal. After all, the Newport Beach police and Detective Frye are more than capable of handling this."

She concentrated on changing lanes before continuing. "In fact, are you even communicating with Detective Frye? Are you telling him any of what you're finding out?"

I looked out the passenger's window, my lips compressed in a pout. Sterling Price had been killed less than a week ago. Looking back, I pinpointed the funeral as the starting block for the frenetic race I was running, a treadmill of crazy and bizarre events all packed into three days-technically two, if you're counting true twenty-four-hour increments.

During this time, I had communicated very little with Dev. But, I told myself, it was only two days, and most of the action had taken place last night and this morning. When was I supposed to call him? Let's face it-in choosing between a manicure and pedicure or making a call to a cop you know will nag you, it's a no-brainer. And I didn't want to bother him when I had nothing concrete to offer. Although, my little voice nagged, you do have the lunchbox.

As for avoiding my answer to Greg, Zee was wrong. In spite of appearances of avoidance, it was very close to the front of my crowded mind. Not an hour went by without my thinking of him and our possible life together, for better or for worse.

"Actually, Zee, I have made up my mind about Greg"

She glanced at me, her saucer eyes bugged in anticipation. "And?"

"How do you feel about wearing a taffeta banana yellow matron of honor dress with huge mutton sleeves and a bustle?"

"SOMETHING'S WRONG," I TOLD Zee as we stood on the doorstep of the Price home.

We had rung the bell several times and followed up with raps to the front door. Two cars were in evidence. A Jeep sat parked in the semicircular driveway and a Lexus was in the garage, which was open. We had pulled in behind the jeep.

"Maybe they're out back and can't hear us," Zee offered.

"Could be," I said, but I didn't feel it in my gut. My nervous stomach, which had settled somewhat following lunch, was threatening to gear up again. A rancid taste oozed into my dry mouth. Most people in Southern California did not leave their garage doors wide open, not even in good neighborhoods.

Zee had insisted on coming with me. Nothing I said, promised, or threatened could change her mind. Oh well, why not? She knew most of the story anyway, and maybe that menacing stance of hers would work on Stella.

Leaving Zee posted at the front door in case someone did answer, I walked around to the side of the house, looking in windows as I went. Nothing. No sign of life anywhere. I came across a gate in the high fence, but it was locked and there was no place for me to get a foothold to climb up and look over. Not that I was any good at climbing anything anyway.

I walked back to the front of the house, thinking about my next move. Walking over to the jeep, I touched the hood. It was cold. Chances are the other car's engine would be also.

Zee came up to me. "Where'd you learn that?" she asked.

"On TV," I replied. "They always check the hood of the car." She nodded solemnly at my wisdom.

"I'm going to check the garage," I told her. "See if the door connected to the house is locked."

I walked slowly into the garage, all the while hoping someone would answer the front door-maybe Stella wrapped in a towel, fresh from the shower. That would make me feel foolish, but better. Zee shadowed me. At the same time, both of us touched the hood of the Lexus-stone cold.

I was about to grab the doorknob of the connector door to the house when Zee touched my shoulder, stopping me. She pulled a linen hankie from her purse and offered it to me. Like on TV, I thought with a smile. Taking the hankie, I used it to cover the doorknob while I turned it. It opened easily. On the other side was a service room that led to the extra-large kitchen I had seen on Thursday.

"Helloooooo," I called in a raised voice. "Stella? Anyone home?" Nothing, only Zee's breathing close behind me.

I entered the kitchen and called out again. Still nothing. Looking out the large windows facing the back yard, I scanned the pool area.

"Call 9-1-1!" I yelled to Zee. "Call 9-1-1!"

Dropping my bag, I started running for one of the French doors leading to the back. Someone was face down in the pool. I yanked open the door and dashed outside, kicking off my sandals and undoing my skirt as I went. At the pool's edge, I dropped my heavy cotton skirt to the ground and plunged into the water.

I turned the body over. It was Jackson Blake. Looping an arm under one of his, I started making for the shallow end and the stairs leading to the deck. He was naked, the heavy, dark hair on his head and body matted. I had almost reached the stairs when a piercing scream came from the house.

Zee. My heart almost stopped.

A quick look at Jackson's face told me he was already dead. I let go of the body. Frantically, I swam to the nearest edge and hoisted my bulk up out of the water. My thick legs pumped in the direction of the house and my wet feet almost skidded out from under me. Zee met me by the door and collapsed into my arms in a dead faint.

"Zee! Zee!" I yelled loudly. I patted her face firmly, increasing it to slight slaps. She moved and groaned but didn't come to. Lifting my soggy blouse, I wrung out a section over her face. The cold water roused her. She looked up at me, her dark face the color of cigarette ash.

"Body... kitchen," she forced out. Sirens could be heard in the distance.

"Shhhhh," I told her, cradling her head in my lap and rocking gently. "Shhhhh. It's going to be okay."

TWENTY-FOUR

I WATCHED As THE coroner's office took charge of the lifeless body of Jackson Blake. Officers and other officials were taking photos and going over and tagging every inch of the grounds. Just like on TV.

Devin Frye was sitting with Zee and Seth at one of the several patio tables, asking her questions. Seth's arms were wrapped protectively around his wife. I had called them both as soon as the paramedics arrived.

Sitting on a patio chair, I shivered under the blanket the paramedics had given me. I had retrieved and slipped on my dry skirt, but my other clothes were still wet. Not far from me, Dev's partner, Detective Zarrabi, was talking to several police officers. I could hear him giving instructions on questioning neighbors. Then they disbursed.

The other body, the one that caused Zee to scream, wasn't a corpse at all, but the barely living form of Karla Blake. She had been stabbed numerous times and left to die in the archway be tween the kitchen and family room. Zee had literally stumbled across her after making the emergency call. Unlike her wayward husband, Karla had been fully clothed. An ambulance spirited her away minutes after arriving.

Dev walked over to me. Behind him were Seth and Zee. Zee was bundled under a blanket of her own. She smiled weakly at me. Her color was better, but she still looked shaky.

Seth spoke first. "I'm going to run Zee home, Odelia, then come back. I want to be here when Detective Frye questions you." "

I don't need a lawyer, Seth," I told him. "Go home, take care of Zee. This is my fault anyway."

Zee started to say something, but Seth stopped her with a look. He knelt in front of me. From his face, I knew he was angry, but he was keeping it under control. Barely. Dev excused himself and went over to talk to Zarrabi.

"Zenobia told me that you didn't want her to go with you today; that you didn't want her to come here either, but she insisted. That's her own doing." His voice was deep and soothing, but stern. "But what in the hell, girl, were you doing mixed up in this in the first place?"

"But Seth," I argued feebly, "they kept mixing me up in it."

"Uh-huh. And they, whoever they are, kept you from calling the police, too, I suppose?"

I looked at Seth, but said nothing. I wanted to cry. I was cold, tired, and wet. And I wished I had never talked to Sterling Price about lunchboxes.

I wanted Greg.

I had a lot to tell Dev Frye. A lot of it Zee didn't know. But I still didn't think I needed a lawyer, especially one who'd kill me once he found out about my escapade with Willie and Enrique.

"Seth, I'll be fine. You need to be with Zee." He started to say something, but I stopped him. "I didn't do anything wrong, and I promise I'll spill my guts to Detective Frye." Almost magically, Dev showed up next to us. "If I feel I need a lawyer, I'll call you," I told Seth.

I thought about something else, letting my mind dwell on practical matters for a moment. It felt like a mini vacation from the topic of murder. "My car's at your place," I told Seth. "I'll drive Zee's car back to your house and pick up mine as soon as I'm done."

"I'd prefer you stayed with us tonight," Seth told me, standing up to his full height.

"I'll be fine. And besides, Wainwright's there. He's a great watchdog." I paused. "Oh, geez, I forgot about the dog, he'll be busting his bladder if I don't get home soon."

"Don't worry, Zee and I will swing by and let him out for a minute. Should we feed him, too?"

I shook my head. "No, he eats in the morning, like Seamus. But you might toss them both a couple of treats. They're in the pantry. And tell them I'll be home soon."

Seth shook his head in resignation and looked to Dev, who responded with a shrug.

Before leaving, Seth bent down and kissed my forehead like the good surrogate brother he was. "Do yourself and me a favor," he said in a low voice slightly tinged with humor. "Marry Greg and move to Seal Beach."

After the Washingtons left, Dev moved me into the living room and deposited me on one of the hunter green sofas. He sat on the other.