The Curse of the Holy Pail #2

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  The voices began moving away. I concentrated on the direction the sounds were heading and decided they were moving into the study. Opening the door as quietly as possible, I peeked out. With only one eye to the small crack, I could see just inside the doorway to the study. It looked to me like the backside of a man's dark suit coat retreating into the room. I could not see the other person.

  With as much stealth as I could muster, I opened the bathroom door and eased out into the hallway. Sucking in my gut and pressing my big butt against the wall, I attempted to flatten myself out of view, hoping to make myself invisible merely by willing it so.

  The doors to the study were of the double variety and whoever was in the room had not shut them completely. Moving slowly away from the wall, I peered through the crack between the doors. I could make out two people-a man in a dark suit and a woman in a gray dress. Once again I heard what I thought were two male voices and realized that one of the people was Stella Hughes. I squinted through the crack and saw Stella grab the man by both his arms and try to pull him to her.

  The man pulled away and turned, giving me a good look at his face. It was Jackson Blake.

  "Not here," he told Stella gruffly.

  "Yes, here," she demanded. "It's been days since I've seen you."

  She pulled him back to her and pressed her lips to his urgently. Jackson did not pull away immediately, but kissed back, their lips locked in passion. I watched as she lifted one of his hands to a breast. He fondled it as they kissed. Finally, he broke off and retreated from her.

  "No," he said. He walked a few paces away from her and ran a hand through his hair. "Everyone's here. I can't afford for Karla to find out about us. She already suspects something."

  "I don't care if she knows," Stella hissed. "The old man's gone. You're in charge of the company now. Isn't this what you wanted? Wasn't this what we planned? To be together?"

  Jackson looked at her a long time, his face registering no emotion that I could see from my perch. With an audible sigh, he moved to face her, taking her hands in his.

  "Yes, and we will be together," he said in a soothing voice. "I promise. Just not yet. Maybe in a few months, when this all settles down. I may be running Sterling Homes, but the board of directors controls it. And, if you'll remember, Karla is an officer and board member."

  Stella jerked her hands from his and turned her back to him. He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

  "If we were together now, darling, people would be suspicious," he told her, his voice oozing like honey on warm biscuits. "We have to let the dust settle. If we're patient, it will all fall into place. Everything we want." He nuzzled her ear. Stella's stiff shoulders relaxed.

  Cautiously, I moved closer to the door, trying to hear and see better. I was worried that I would get overanxious and fall through the partially open doors right into the middle of the room. Ta da! Here I am, folks, eavesdropping.

  "I might know something about the lunchbox," Stella told him.

  He turned her to face him. "Really?"

  She nodded. "That woman, the fat one from his lawyers', may know something."

  Jackson raised his face to the ceiling, mulling this piece of news over. "Hmm," he said, looking back at Stella. "I understand she was one of the last people to see Sterling alive."

  Nothing. I know nothing! I wanted to stamp my foot and shout it at them, but I held my tongue and my place at the crack between the doors.

  "She told me Sterling gave her a Zorro lunchbox as a gift," Stella said. As soon as she said it, she stretched to rub her cheek against his.

  "The police told me about the Zorro lunchbox and said they checked it out," Jackson said. "Maybe the old man also gave her the Holy Pail and she's keeping quiet about it. Maybe she intends to sell it on her own."

  "Maybe," Stella purred in her kitty-growl voice. "I haven't figured out yet if she's that smart. But I intend to."

  Excuse me! It was difficult, but I reined in my indignation and forced myself to keep still behind the door.

  One of Stella's hands reached around to feel Jackson's buns under his suit jacket. "Mmm. I sure do miss you, Jackson."

  Jackson Blake chuckled. "I know you do, baby." They stood there awhile, cheek to cheek, with Stella groping his other cheeks. "Soon, I promise," he assured her again.

  "Soon's not soon enough," she said in a sultry voice, moving her hand from his butt to the front of his pants.

  Jackson grabbed her wrist and playfully pulled her hand away from his privates. "We can't, Stella, not here."

  "Shit, Jackson, you're no fun," she teased. "Think how exciting it could be with Karla and everyone else right downstairs." She started for his fly again, but this time he pushed her away firmly.

  "No, Stella. I mean it. I have to get back before she wonders where I am."

  Stella stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Go then, go back to your little tight-assed heiress." Her voice was no longer a purr but a snarl.

  "Stella, please," Jackson pleaded.

  "I said go, Jackson."

  With that, Jackson shook his head and headed for the door. My heart stopped in fear of being discovered. But suddenly, Stella seemed to change her mind. She grabbed Jackson's arm and turned him toward her. I siezed the opportunity to tiptoe back into the bathroom. Silently, I shut the door and pressed my ear to it once more. I heard Jackson walk by, his stride confident even on the carpet. I held my breath, hoping that Stella would follow him soon and not need to use the bathroom on her way back downstairs. I waited so long I began to think she had walked by without my hearing. Finally, I heard her footsteps and waited until she was down the staircase before I moved a muscle.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I grabbed my purse, which I had left on the vanity, and slowly opened the bathroom door. First, I looked down the hallway. Next, I glanced toward the study. Both doors were wide open now, and there was no sound of anyone nearby. Quickly, I made a dash for the study.

  I originally had planned to call Zee from there, but now I just wanted to get out of the house. I grabbed my phone, but before I could leave, I heard people coming up the back staircase. They were talking low. Crap, there was no time to run for the bathroom. Near me was a door. Opening it, I found a small closet and squeezed in. It was very stuffy and held mostly office supplies and storage boxes. I kept the door open a crack for air and to know when the coast was clear. From it, I had a clear view of the desk.

  Odelia, I told myself silently, you should have just told whoever is coming that you had come back for your phone. After all, it was the truth. But no, you didn't think of that, did you? You had to hide, making it impossible now to get out of this gracefully.

  Sheesh. I could be such a nag. Stella would not have to wonder too long or hard about my intelligence, that's for sure.

  Through the crack of the closet door, I saw Stella come into the study. Behind her was a man, but this time it was definitely not Jackson Blake. With her was Kyle Price, Sterling Price's son. And this time, if my ears guessed correctly, they closed the doors to the study behind them.

  "Why haven't you returned my calls, Stella?" I heard Kyle Price say before he came into my line of vision. His voice was nowhere near as deep as Stella's. Instead, it was a nasal whine, somewhere between the tones of a petulant child and a bored teenager.

  "I told you, Kyle, that we need to keep our distance or people would become suspicious," Stella answered impatiently. She walked over to the desk and turned to lean against it while facing him. From my hiding place, I saw mostly her back and a bit of her left side.

  Kyle came into view now. As soon as he stood in front of her, he leaned in to kiss her. She coyly moved her head away.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  "Nothing. I just think we need to cool it until this settles down."

  Kyle Price slid his arms around Stella's waist and leaned in again for a kiss. This time she let him follow through, allowing him to kiss her lon
g and deep. I heard him say to her, "God, baby, I miss you" One of his hands squeezed her left breast as he kissed her again.

  Were my ears deceiving me, or was this similar to the conversation I had just overheard between Stella and Jackson, but in reverse roles?

  Stella still seemed hesitant about Kyle's amorous advances. She put her hands on his chest and held him back while she studied him. After a few moments, she reached up a hand and outlined his waiting lips with a single finger.

  "I'm supposed to move out of this house in two weeks," she told him, her voice shifting back into purr mode. "But I don't have anywhere to go." Now she rubbed both of her hands up and down his chest. "Maybe I can stay with you until I find something?"

  Kyle smiled at her. "You may not have to move, Stella. This is my house now."

  "What?" she asked, pulling away to look at him better.

  "This is my house," he repeated proudly. "Dad put me on as joint tenant. Now that he's dead, it's mine and I'm moving in. He also just bought the Center, which also becomes mine now, free and clear. He signed those papers the day he died."

  Immediately, my mind went back to the papers I notarized for Price. I could not remember exactly what they were, but they did have Kyle's name on them. I wrote a mental note to myself to check my notary journal for the types of documents Price had signed.

  "But why, Kyle?" Stella asked. "Why would he do that?"

  "Because he wanted us to be happy, Stella. You and me." He kissed her lightly again while she mulled his words over. "I told him about us," he told her between kisses.

  "You what?" She sounded shocked.

  "I told him about us. That the baby was mine."

  "No, Kyle, you shouldn't have." Stella said, growing agitated.

  Baby? I clutched a hand over my mouth to keep from gasping from the news. Stella Hughes was pregnant? Menopause, maybe. But pregnant? Suddenly I was glad I had stuffed myself into the closet. Geez, the Price family was better than the stuff that won Emmys for daytime drama.

  "Don't worry, Stella. He was only mad at first." Kyle was dotting her face with little kisses as he spoke. "Besides, I had some good leverage. It was in his best interest to do it."

  Stella seemed speechless. She pulled her face away from Kyle's lips and looked directly at him a long time. "What do you mean?" she asked warily. "What leverage?"

  "Information, Stella. Information the old man needed." Kyle lifted her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Information he was happy to pay for." He let go of Stella's hands and started unbuttoning the front of her dress as he talked, his voice becoming more nasally as he spoke. "Let's just say I finally managed to kick my sister off her golden pedestal."

  Well, this was an interesting development. Kyle seemed pretty meek to me when I met him downstairs. What information could he have sold to his father in exchange for a house and the Center, whatever that was?

  Stella remained silent as Kyle continued working her buttons. I wanted desperately to see the look on her face, but all I saw was the side of her head tilted up to him. The little bit of her face I could see reflected no emotion. She and Jackson seemed to both have a talent for blank faces when the need arose. Kyle looked back at her with slavish adoration.

  Silently, and still looking at Kyle, Stella finished undoing the front of her dress and lowered it. Then she unhooked her bra and released her full breasts. Kyle wasted no time moving his mouth to one naked nipple, then to the other. Stella's hands moved to grasp his butt, as she had done to the unwilling Jackson. She said something to him I didn't catch, but it caused Kyle to lift his face from her boobs and glance at the doors. Straightening up, he walked out of my view. I heard the study doors open and shut and thought he had left-hoped he had left. Then I heard a faint click that sounded like a lock. Kyle returned to Stella, who had now shimmied out of her dress and was working on removing her hose.

  "Everyone's downstairs," she told him in her husky voice. "No one will come up here today."

  Oh, yeah? Personally, I felt the study was seeing far too much traffic.

  TEN

  "ARE YOU OUT OF your mind?" Zee nearly shouted at me from across our table at Mi Casa. A few people from neighboring booths glanced over at us briefly, then went back to stuffing their faces with enchiladas and burritos.

  Following Stella and Kyle's copulation in the study, during which I did a fairly good imitation of the see-no-evil, hear-no-evil, speak-no-evil apes, I made sure the coast was clear and skedaddled out of there. Downstairs, I said my goodbyes to the Wallaces and headed for the front door, my car, and fresh air. I needed to slough off the sleazy feeling that covered me like morning film on teeth.

  "Odelia," I heard someone call just as I reached the foyer.

  It was Stella Hughes, moving toward me from the living room. Once she was in front of me, I found it difficult to look her in the eye. I mean, what do you say to a woman you just witnessed being bent over a desk with her knickers around her ankles?

  "Odelia, I did so enjoy meeting you. Perhaps we can have lunch sometime?" she asked, again wearing the plastic smile.

  Apparently, Stella was wasting no time getting to the bottom of my intelligence level. Glancing quickly at her face, but still avoiding her eyes, I mumbled something like, "Yeah, sure. Call me at the office." Then I fled.

  Zee's home was closer to the Price house than my place, but I decided to go straight home. From there I called Zee. Seth was at a meeting and not expected for dinner, she told me, so we agreed to meet at Mi Casa in an hour. So much for my fantasy of chicken and dumplings or anything else homemade. But I do love Mexican food, and Mi Casa has great stuff. Before going to the restaurant, I changed into loose shorts and a cotton shirt and gave Wainwright a quick walk, apologizing the whole way for Greg's continued absence.

  Instead of responding to Zee's outburst, I ignored her and continued munching on tortilla chips and salsa like a power saw at a lumberjack competition. There's something very satisfying about food that goes crunch. It's almost therapeutic the way it appeals to both the sense of sound and of touch, with taste thrown in as a bonus.

  I buzzed through one chip, then another, until Zee grabbed the bowl and moved it out of my reach.

  "What?" I said to her irritably.

  "What? Did you just ask me what?" she asked, trying to keep her voice down. "You just announced that you spent the good part of an hour in a closet spying on a couple having sex, and you ask me what?"

  I shrugged, attempting to be nonchalant about the spying accusation. "But I think I got some info about Sterling Price's murder, at least some possible motives. And I'm dying to know what dirt Kyle has on his sister."

  "Dear Lord," Zee said, addressing a pinata shaped like a burro hanging over our table, "she is out of her mind." She looked back at me. "Didn't we go through this when you decided to stick your nose into Sophie's murder?"

  I said nothing, but waved to a busboy to bring more chips.

  "Wasn't getting shot in the behind-almost killed, mind you-" she continued, "enough warning to stay out of this sort of thing?"

  I looked at my friend and started to say something, but our food arrived. I clammed up until our waitress, dressed in a white off-the-shoulder embroidered peasant blouse and full red skirt, left our table. Next, the busboy showed up with a new bowl of chips and fresh salsa.

  "But don't you think it's odd that the Holy Pail disappeared the same day Sterling Price died?" I asked Zee. "The very same day I first saw it?"

  Zee said nothing. She was in the middle of her usual food ritual of making sure everything was just so. We had both ordered enchiladas rancheros, but hers were both chicken while one of mine was shredded beef and the other pork. First, she scraped the sour cream off her food and plopped it on my plate, then followed suit with the guacamole, both of which I was happy to receive. Next, she scattered the chopped tomatoes, cilantro, and onions that were on one side of the plate evenly over the enchiladas. Finally, she daintily scooped up salsa from the bowl in
the middle of the table with a spoon and sprinkled it over everything, including her rice and beans.

  I simply smeared the extra guacamole and sour cream over my enchiladas like Spackle, dug in, and waited for her response.

  "I do think it's odd," she said before taking her first bite, "that the lunchbox is missing. But that doesn't mean you should be sticking your big nose into it."

  I chewed the food in my mouth before answering. "But don't you see? They, whoever they are, think I have the stupid box."

  "But you don't, do you?"

  "No, of course not."

  "So what's the problem?" Zee took another bite, chewed and swallowed before going on. "Just let the police do their job. They really don't need you, Odelia. Especially that nice Detective Frye. Doesn't he have enough on his mind without worrying about you again?"

  Earlier, I had told Zee about Dev Frye being on the case and about his wife's recent passing.

  We ate in silence for a while before I started up again. When I latch onto an idea, I'm like a starving dog with a soup bone.

  "But don't you think it's odd that all those previous owners of the Holy Pail died?"

  "Odelia, there are such things as coincidences. I bet if you look into those deaths you'll find a reasonable explanation for each of them. After all," she said, getting agitated, "it's just a silly lunchbox!"

  My thoughts exactly.

  Joe had not been able to provide me with further information on the three dead men mentioned in the American Executive article about the Holy Pail and Sterling Price, so all I had was the magazine's brief account of each. According to the article, Jasper Kellogg, a resident of a small town in upstate New York, had died from a heart attack at the age of sixty-eight; Ivan Fisher was fiftysix when he was killed in a car accident on an icy road outside of Chicago; and William Proctor, the owner prior to Price, had been lost at sea during a storm, along with his wife. He had been fortytwo and his sailboat was discovered battered and abandoned off the western coast of Mexico. Zee may be right.