The Curse of the Holy Pail #2 (32 page)

"You okay?" she asked.

"Hanging in there. How about you?"

"I'll be better after church, which is why I called. Why don't you go to services with us today? It'll be good for you."

"Thanks, Zee, but not today."

"Why not? Greg's not due back until late this afternoon." She sighed softly. "Seth will take us out for lunch someplace nice after."

I heard an extension being picked up, followed by Seth's deep voice. "Odelia, come on to church with us."

Sometimes I did go to church with the Washingtons. Sometimes Greg went, too. But today wouldn't be one of those days. I wanted to relax until Greg got home. I needed to detox from murder mania and lunchbox lunacy.

"Thanks anyway, guys. But Detective Frye is here right now and we're going over some stuff. Then I just want to forget about all of this."

They said they understood and told me to call if I needed anything this afternoon.

Dev and I continued to hash over details of the case. He pressed me to remember anything I might have missed. I briefly considered telling him about Willie's call, but decided not to. My gut told me Willie and Enrique had nothing to do with Jackson and Karla, and telling Dev about the call would just net me more lectures. Quite frankly, I'd had a bellyfull of that.

Around ten, after having been fortified by a half pot of coffee and a couple of donuts, he took his leave and headed back to Sterling Price's house.

I promised him to lock up the house good and tight as soon as he left.

The phone rang again as I was putting our coffee cups into the dishwasher. It was Greg.

"Hi, sweetheart," he said when I answered. He sounded better than he had the evening before, much calmer.

"Hi, honey," I cooed back.

We hung there, not saying anything, just enjoying the tones of each other's hello. Finally, he broke the lovely silence.

"Odelia, I'm really sorry I yelled at you last night. I was so upset and worried about you, and felt so helpless being so far away."

"I know, Greg. And I love you for it, but everything's fine now.

"You sure everything's okay?"

"Yep, just dandy. Dev Frye just left. He plied me with donuts while he interrogated me"

"Smart man."

More silence. This time I sensed it wasn't a pleasant one.

"I have some bad news, sweetheart. Not terrible, just not great."

My lower lip quivered. Something else had happened and he wasn't coming home today, I just knew it.

"You're not coming home today, right?"

"Oh no, baby, I'll be home today. Just that they canceled my flight and put me on a later one."

"Oh, thank God," I whimpered like a baby. "I really need to see you today."

He laughed. "If I had a pair of ruby slippers and two good legs, I could click my heels together and be there in a flash."

I sniffed back the urge to blubber and pulled myself together. He would be home soon, I assured myself.

"Greg, if you owned a pair of ruby slippers, we wouldn't be having this conversation." He laughed. "And Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"If you owned a pair of ruby slippers, I wouldn't be saying yes."

Silence.

"Did you just say yes, Odelia?"

"Ask me again, like you did on my birthday."

A pause, then a deep intake of air. "Odelia Patience Grey, will you be my wife?"

"Yes, Gregory William Stevens, I will."

Wow, I thought to myself, I did it. I said yes. And it had felt as natural as the air going in and out of my lungs. There's something about death that makes you realize the clock is ticking away for all of us. Whatever time I had left on this earth, I wanted to spend it with Greg. For better or for worse, he was going to be stuck with me like a barnacle on the hull of a ship.

Another pause and deep breath. "Odelia, you have the ring there?"

"Hang on," I said. Opening the fridge, I rummaged around in the vegetable bin until I located the small velvet jeweler's box. It was tucked safely inside a small plastic bag and inserted into another plastic bag holding prewashed salad mix. I pulled it out, blew hot breath on it, and polished it with a nearby dishtowel. The large diamond shined, blinking like a star lassoed and dragged to earth.

"Got it," I said into the phone.

"Slip it on for me, sweetheart."

"Wouldn't you rather do it yourself tonight?"

"No, I want you wearing it when I see you at the airport."

TWENTY-SIX

HUMMING, I BUSTLED AROUND the house picking things up and tidying. It was busywork, really. I had a twice-monthly cleaning lady who kept my place spotless, so outside of putting away my own clutter, there was little for me to do in the way of housework.

I packed an overnight bag to take to Greg's, including the black lace negligee I was saving for a special occasion. The last thing I pulled from the closet was a dress to wear to work tomorrow. Looking at it, I mentally kicked myself for not asking for Monday off so I could spend an extra day with Greg.

Thinking about work put Steele on my mind. I had meant to call him yesterday, to see how he was doing and find out when he'd be able to go home. But, well, things got out of hand starting at six in the morning and went downhill from there.

With the idea that there's no time like the present, I called the hospital. When I asked to be connected to Steele's room, I was told he had been released yesterday afternoon. I tried his home, but there was no answer, just a machine. I left a message letting him know I hoped he felt better and asking when he'd be back in the office.

I felt restless. I could see that Wainwright was picking up on it. He eyed me with anticipation. He'd been cooped up all week, except for the trip to my folks' house.

"You want to go for a walk, boy?" I asked the animal.

In response to the word walk, Wainwright started doing a little doggy jig.

Why not? I'd be safe enough with Wainwright by my side. We could take the Reality Check route around the Back Bay. The trail should have lots of people on it on a Sunday-safety in numbers.

Quickly, I changed into capri pants, a knit shirt, and a sturdy pair of sneakers.

THE WALK HAD BEEN invigorating, both mentally and physically. After a brisk turn around the Back Bay, Wainwright and I ran some errands and stopped by the car wash. Feeling generous, I opted for the works: wash, hot wax, tire trim, and fragrance-new car smell, of course. Following that, I picked up some lunch at a favorite fast food joint and took Wainwright to the Bark Park, a park specially made for dogs and their owners. Between bites from my grilled chicken sandwich, a few fries, and the company of the other canines, Wainwright was in doggy heaven. It made me happy to see him so excited. It was almost like having a kid. Had it been Christmastime, I would have dragged the animal off to have his photo taken with Santa.

Back at home, I could hear the phone ringing as I slipped my key into the lock of the front door. Thinking it might be Greg with an update on his flight, I hurriedly turned the key and pushed the door open. The big dog rushed in, almost tripping me in the process.

Deja vu.

Still as a marble statue, I stood just inside the doorway to my townhouse and watched as Wainwright anxiously picked his way through the rubble. The phone stopped.

Bookshelves had been emptied and furniture overturned. Even the doors to my curio cabinet stood ajar, and pieces of nativity groups lay scattered across the carpet.

Wainwright sniffed feverishly, his nose to the floor.

The kitchen was worse. Every cupboard was open, the lower ones emptied of pots and pans and baking equipment. Cutlery and utensils were strewn everywhere. Counters were cleared of cookbooks and appliances. Flour, pasta, and canned goods spilled from the pantry. On the floor in front of the refrigerator, a milk carton lay on its side, the milk long since gurgled out like blood from a wound. I opened the fridge and freezer and found they, too, had been ransacked. In fact, all my Girl Scout cookies were gone from the freezer. The creeps had taken my five remaining boxes of Thin Mints.

Immediately, my right hand grasped the large diamond on my left hand, and I said a prayer of thanks that Greg had insisted I start wearing the ring right away.

Leaning against a wall, I slowly slid down it until my butt hit the floor with a heavy thud. Shock ran through me like an electrical current. I had been gone about three hours, long enough for someone to render my home a wasteland. It made me wonder if they had been watching me, seizing the opportunity when I left with the dog. I should have listened to both Dev and Willie and stayed put. I should have at least left Wainwright behind and in charge. From my perch on the floor, I watched the dog casually lap up the spilled milk.

I started to my feet. "Seamus," I called excitedly. "Here kitty, kitty." I made little coaxing and kissing noises as I started moving slowly through the rooms. "Come here, baby. Here kitty, kitty." Wainwright followed me with great interest and put his nose back in service.

"Wainwright," I commanded. "Find Seamus." The dog looked at me keenly and wagged his tail. "Go on, boy, find Seamus."

Four legs flying, the animal crossed the room and flew up the stairs. I followed, stumbling up the stairs in mounting panic.

The upstairs, too, was in total disarray. Clothes had been pulled from closets and drawers, even from the hamper. The bed had been stripped and the mattress overturned. The guest bedroom that doubled as a home office was also trashed.

This time, Wainwright didn't stick his nose under the bed, entreating Seamus to come out. Instead, he went in and out of the bathroom and bedrooms hunting his friend down. I looked under the bed myself. Emptiness looked back. I searched each closet, under every pile of discarded clothing, even behind the toilet and under the sink. No Seamus.

"Find Seamus, Wainwright," I ordered the dog again, my voice rising along with my fear for the cat's safety.

The dog barreled downstairs. Once again I followed.

It wasn't until we searched the kitchen a second time that I spotted the note. It was stuck to the front of the refrigerator, under a magnet advertising the Pike Place Fish Market in Seattle, Washington. Hastily written in red ink in a tight scrawl on the back of a large envelope, it gave me instructions for the return of my pet.

The lunch box for the cat. Paramount Ranch, 7:00 P.m. tonight. No cops. This is not a joke.

The last two sentences had been underlined three times each.

I had to call Dev. No, no, I told myself. They might hurt Seamus. A horrible thought occurred to me. They might have already harmed him. I started crying and ordered myself sharply to stop it this instant. I had to think rationally. I had a bigger issue to think about. Namely, where in the hell was Paramount Ranch?

Could Willie and Enrique have done this? I didn't think so. Willie claimed they had already searched my place. But Dev was right; Willie had parlayed lying into a multi-million-dollar heist. I shouldn't trust him. Although, I remembered, he did offer to send Enrique over to guard me. Looking around my destroyed home, I wished now that I had taken him up on the offer. Dev could scoff all he wanted; in my heart, I knew Willie and Enrique did not do this.

Stella had tried to make friends with Seamus when she was here. Wainwright had been suspicious from the start on that deal. And Stella was missing. Did she come back and kidnap my cat? I scanned my environment again. This vandalism had taken time and effort. If Stella did this, she did not do it alone. Dollars to donuts, if Stella was involved in this, Kyle or another of her sexual victims provided the muscle.

I jumped a foot when the phone rang. It took me a minute, but I finally located it under the dining table.

"Hello," I answered warily. Silence. I thought I could make out breathing and a lot of static. My guess was the call was coming in via a cell phone on the move.

"Hello," I said again, my voice rising.

"You get the message?" a muffled voice asked.

My heart pounded in my ears. "Yes," I answered. "Do you have my cat?"

"I got the sucker. Nasty little bastard, isn't he?"

"Hope he clawed your eyes out," I snapped into the phone. Try as I might, I couldn't recognize the voice. In addition to the static, it sounded like the caller was speaking through a handkerchief or some other filter. In any event, it sounded male. I thought of Stella with her low, husky voice and decided with a stretch it could be her, but I didn't think so.

"Now, now, be nice."

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want, Odelia." The caller had fun with my name, stretching it out and pronouncing it O-deeeeeeel-ya.

"How do I know you really have Seamus?" I swallowed a chunk of fear the size of a chicken breast. "How do I know you won't hurt him or haven't already?"

"Gotta be more trusting, I guess," he said.

"No dice," I told him. "Prove to me now you have my cat."

"How do you expect me to do that?"

"Let me talk to him."

"What? Are you nuts?" A long pause. "You want to talk to your kitty cat, lady?"

"Yes," I answered. "Hold the phone by his head. If you do have him and he's okay, he'll respond to me."