The Curse of the Holy Pail #2 (33 page)

I heard whispered swearing from the other end.

"I'm not going anywhere," I told the caller, "unless I know Seamus is okay. And I'd better get him back alive and in one piece or I'll destroy the Holy Pail. It means nothing to me."

I hoped the caller couldn't hear my chubby knees knocking.

There was another long pause.

"Okay, hang on," the caller finally said.

There was shuffling and some thrashing, during which I heard a vicious yowl and hiss, followed by a human screech of pain. I breathed a sigh of relief. My baby was alive and well and being his usual charming self.

"Okay," the caller said. "Talk to the little shit."

"Seamus," I said, forcing an upbeat tone. "Hi baby, mommy's here." No response. "Hi, kitty, kitty. How's my Seamus?"

Finally, I heard a low meow, followed by another. I spoke some more words of comfort and was rewarded with more communication. I definitely felt better.

"Okay," the caller said, returning to the phone. "You've had your fun. When you get to the ranch, park and walk into the town. Act like a tourist."

"But-" I started.

"Just walk around, close to the buildings. Pretend you find them fascinating. Don't worry, I'll find you. You can bet on it."

"But-" I started again, growing hysterical.

"See you at seven." The line went dead.

"But," I screamed into the phone, "where am I going?"

THE HALLWAYS OF Wo0EIE were deserted as I made my way toward my office. The rent-a-guard was gone, having only been hired for Friday.

It was almost four now. I had three hours to get the box, stash the dog, and find someone to pick up Greg at the airport. I had called Zee about handling the last two jobs, but she and Seth weren't home. They probably decided to visit Zee's mother after church or go to a movie or something. Actually, I was rather glad they weren't home. I didn't want to answer any questions.

I also had to figure out what Paramount Ranch was and where it was located. I prayed it wasn't too far of a drive. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it, no matter how hard I tried. Since the intruder had pulled apart my home computer, I was going to have to use my office computer to see if I could find any reference or directions to Paramount Ranch.

Also, as soon as I got the box and directions, I was going to call Boomer, Greg's assistant. I had both his cell and pager numbers for emergencies, and this was definitely an emergency. Greg was going to be livid when he found out what was going on, but that wasn't a reason to leave him stranded at the airport.

My head was occupied with my to-do list for the next hour, so I didn't hear the noise until I was almost on top of it. I stopped dead in my tracks and listened. The hair on my arms stood at attention. Sure enough, there it was again. It wasn't my imagination. There was definitely a noise and it definitely had a regular rhythm to it-squeak, squeak. I let go of the breath I was holding.

The door to Steele's office was slightly ajar. I knocked lightly before slowly pushing it open. Steele looked up just as I poked my head in.

"Got nothing better to do on a Sunday, Grey?" he asked casually. Except for the cast on his left forearm, you'd never know that he'd been assaulted just three days prior.

"I-um-1 forgot something," I lied. "Couldn't wait until tomorrow.

"You mean this?" He reached down behind his desk with his healthy arm and raised up the Holy Pail. It was no longer wrapped in the protective plastic Amy had put around it.

Stunned, I said nothing.

"I found it in the box of documents Sterling sent over the day he died." He looked at me with disgust. "I can't believe you had this all along and didn't tell anyone."

"But I didn't have it," I tried explaining.

He banged the box down on his desk. "Grey, I almost got killed over this!" he shouted.

"Honest, Steele," I shouted back, "I didn't have the lunchbox until yesterday morning. I hid it in the box of documents to keep it safe. Detective Frye even knows it's here. I told him yesterday afternoon."

Steele started to say something, but thought better of it. With his good hand, he motioned for me to come in and park myself in a chair across from him. I did just that and noticed that the closer I got, the paler he looked. There were shadows creeping around his eyes and he looked road weary. He was dressed very casually in a white T-shirt and navy blue warm-up pants. A ball cap emblazoned with the Lakers logo was perched on his head. It was a sporty look I'd seldom seen him wear.

"You okay, Steele?" I asked. He seemed to be far away.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

He squinted at me like he had a headache, and I remembered that he'd received quite a bash to his head.

"How's your head?" I asked. "Can I get you something? Advil maybe?"

He shook his head. "No, I've already taken plenty." He took off the ball cap and carefully felt the top of his head. "These damn stitches hurt like hell."

Gingerly, he replaced the cap. He looked at me expectantly. It was my cue to begin my opening remarks to the judge.

"Like I said, Steele. I just got the box yesterday. The person who stole it had it buried in a park in Tustin"

"And that person dug it up and gave it to you, just like that?"

"Well, not exactly."

I gave Steele a summarized version of the past few days, including my visits with Stella Hughes, Carmen Sepulveda, Willie Porter, Lester Miles, and Amy Chow. I also told him about the stabbed body of Karla Blake and the dead body of Jackson Blake, finishing off with the ransacking of my home and my abducted cat.

"And all this happened just since Thursday night?"

"You could say I've been busy."

He shot me a sardonic smile. "Too bad we can't bill the time to Sterling Homes."

He lost himself in thought again. I was getting antsy, feeling each minute tick by like the setting on a time bomb.

"And you really met William Proctor?" he finally asked in awe.

"Yes. In fact, he's the one who clobbered you. Or it was his bodyguard." I shrugged. "One or the other."

Steele leaned back in his chair and studied me a long while. Squeak... squeak... squeak. I studied him in return, waiting for his next comment.

"You have the note with you?" he finally asked.

I handed Steele the note the cat-nappers left. He read it slowly, thinking as he did so.

"So," he said, looking me square in the eyes. "Now you're going to take the box, drive all the way to Paramount Ranch, and bargain for your cat's life. Is that the plan?"

"That pretty well sums it up," I said with a nod. "Except for one small hitch: I have no idea where Paramount Ranch is."

Picking up the Holy Pail, he stood up and came around the desk to stand in front of me. He handed me the box.

"I do know where it is," he said to me. "Come on, I'll drive."

"You'll what?" I said, not believing my ears.

"I'm coming with you."

What was it about people wanting to tag along with me on dangerous outings?

"Absolutely not," I told him, standing up to face him. "Besides, you can't drive. Your arm is in a sling and a cast, if you haven't noticed."

"Not to worry, Grey, it's not my shifting arm."

"They told me to come alone," I argued, pointing at the note Steele still held in his hand.

"No, they didn't," he said, heading for the door. "They said no cops. Not the same thing at all."

I sighed in defeat. Only a lawyer could slant a ransom note to read in his favor.

TWENTY-SEVEN

PARAMOUNT RANCH, IT TURNED out, was up near Malibu Lake in the Santa Monica Mountains. According to Steele, it was, and sometimes still is, used as a town for movies and TV shows. It finally dawned on me where I had read about it. It had been mentioned briefly in some of the Chappy articles. Paramount Ranch was where much of The Chappy Wheeler Show had been filmed.

Before leaving the office, I called Boomer. Fortunately, he was home and happy to take charge of both the dog and picking up his boss. He lived in Huntington Beach, not far from Greg's shop. It was on our way.

I needn't have worried. Steele's car was a Porsche and he drove like a bat out of hell. We made it to Huntington Beach in record time, dumped off the dog, and gave Boomer Greg's flight instructions. I also handed him a note to give to Greg explaining everything.

"Is that a rock on your hand, Grey?" Steele asked as we sped up the 405 Freeway.

Steele moved in and out of traffic deftly, but it would take a few more miles before I released the death grip I had on the armrest.

"Yes, Greg and I just got engaged." I looked over at him. Steele's attention was fixed on the road, his eyes hidden behind expensive sunglasses. He weaved and bobbed like a boxer through the Sunday early evening traffic.

"Go ahead," I said with annoyance, "take your best shot. Tell me how Greg must be out of his mind. Tell me how I should grab him before he comes to his senses."

Only then did Steele's head turn momentarily my way. "Actually, Grey, I'm thinking he's a lucky man."

I whipped my head in Steele's direction, but his eyes were riveted back on the road, his face unreadable.

"Excuse me," I said, "but did that knock you got on the head cause a personality change?"

"I'm trying to be nice to you, Grey. Don't get used to it."

We rode in silence until we reached the 101 interchange. We were making good time. Barring a traffic snarl, we might even be early.

"Know what I was working on at the office?" Steele asked once we were heading north on the Ventura Freeway.

Looking straight ahead, I answered dryly, "Resumes from Hooters for your next secretary?"

A sound came from his throat that sounded like a chuckle, but his lips never moved. I wondered if he was practicing ventriloquism.

"Good one, Grey. And well deserved." He cleared his throat.

"I was going over those documents Price sent over the day he died. I saw them when I went to drop something off in your office. That's how I found the lunchbox. Did you get a chance to look any of it over?"

"No, never even opened the box until yesterday when I hid the lunchbox in there."

"Odd thing is, they aren't Sterling Homes documents on Howser, but look like Howser internal documents. In many cases, originals."

"You think Kyle gave them to his father?"

"Could be," Steele said as he sped up and passed a truck. "Some of those documents mention Karla Blake by name. Others were generated by her. They were probably lifted from her office. Seems she was working with Howser, which supports what you were told by that girl."

"You mean Amy Chow?"

"Uh-huh. Price told me several times in the past six months or so that his kids, including Kyle, were trying to get him to retire. From the documents, I'd say Karla had positioned everything and was just waiting for the day.

"Once Price was out of the way," Steele continued, "and with the board stacked with her own people, she could pretty much run it any way she wanted."

"You mean a merger with Howser?"

He shook his head. "I don't think that was her plan. Although there were confidential memos in those files talking about it as a possibility, but they originated with the Howser people." Steele cast a brief glance my way. "But there did seem to be a lot of side dealing going on and promises of big contracts in the near future.

"No, I think Karla Blake wanted to be the queen of her own castle, not a lady-in-waiting at Howser-not even a well-compensated one. She was too independent to be folded into a big company like Howser"

"Was Sterling Price thinking of retiring?" I asked.

"Thinking about it, yes. He talked about retiring and traveling with Stella. But no decision had been made on his end. He started thinking seriously about it after his pal Wallace retired. And he might have done so right after that, had Karla not pushed him."

I thought about that a moment. "You mean, if she'd left her father alone, he probably would have retired on his own and handed her the company?"

"Pretty much." Steele glanced at me again. For a fleeting moment, I could see my reflection in his sunglasses. "Want another news flash?" He looked back at the road.

"I contacted the attorney for that touchy-feely Center this morning. He's a law school buddy of mine. Price had the purchase of the place in the works for his son long before Kyle supposedly told him anything about Karla."

"This is all so confusing," I said without enthusiasm. All I wanted was my cat back. Then I could marry Greg and forget about Sterling Homes and the nut jobs that populated its annual company picnic.

I thought about what Steele just told me. In my head, I shifted facts around, seeing where each might fit. It was a lot like shopping for shoes. I slipped the information on, checked for comfort level, discarding and moving to another until it clicked.

"I stand corrected," I said to Steele. "When you think about it, it's actually pretty simple. If Sterling was already toying with the idea of retiring, he probably would have left the company to his daughter, especially since his son had no desire to be involved. And being the fair man that he was, he might have bought the Center and given the house to his son to equal things out. But instead of letting things move along naturally, someone got antsy and jumped the gun. If Kyle told Sterling about Karla's plan, Sterling might have decided not to retire and to boot her from the company for being so cheeky. And with Stella's indiscretions, his plans for leisurely travel with a companion would have been disrupted."