The Curse of the Holy Pail #2

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  "I'm glad you find that so amusing," I said in a huff, crossing my arms in front of me.

  Steele was still laughing. "Well, it certainly makes this easier. Just smell everyone's breath. Or check to see who stopped to buy a gallon of milk between Newport Beach and Paramount Ranch"

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  WE HAD BEEN DRIVING in silence for quite a while, each of us lost in personal reverie, when Steele turned off the freeway. I looked up in time to read a sign for Kanan Road. I had no idea where we were. To me, this area is just a patch of road I zoomed through when driving north to places like Morro Bay or Santa Barbara. Looking at my watch, I saw that it was only five forty-five. If Paramount Ranch was close, we were very early.

  After turning onto Kanan Road, Steele made a right turn into the parking lot of a small cluster of businesses and restaurants. He pulled in to a space near an Islands restaurant.

  "You hungry, Grey?" he asked as he turned off the engine and unbuckled his seat belt.

  "Hungry?" I asked back. "At a time like this?"

  Steele looked out the windshield and smiled slightly. He took off his sunglasses and turned back to look at me. His usual smartass smirk was gone. There was actually concern in his eyes.

  "Paramount Ranch is just down the road. We're pretty early and it's dinner time." He turned to open the car door. "We have no idea what's facing us, Grey. Better to do it on a full stomach."

  Like the drive, we spent most of our meal in silence and ate quickly. Steele devoured his China Coast Chicken Salad-no fried noodles, dressing on the side, please-while I nibbled the edges of my Hula Burger and slurped iced tea. After eating, we both visited the bathroom. By six forty-five, we were back on the road with my heart in my throat.

  As Steele said, Paramount Ranch was just down the road from the restaurant. It was also situated in a state park. From Kanan Road, Steele turned onto Mulholland. We took the windy road until coming to the entrance of the park and Paramount Ranch. He pulled in to the large dirt lot where a couple of cars were already parked. Two women on horseback rode past us. Behind us, I noted an officiallooking building with utility vehicles stationed near it.

  "That's the park ranger's office," Steele said, noticing my study of the building. "Recognize any of these cars?"

  I scanned the other parked cars. "No"

  To the right of the ranger's office, across the exit road, was a building that looked like a large garage. In front of that stood a very small structure that had carved wooden signs announcing public restrooms. On the side of the parking lot in front of the car was a bridge leading to what appeared to be an Old West town. I could make out a few of the buildings through the trees. There were a few people milling about here and there, mostly returning to their cars from the direction of the town. The sign at the entrance to the park had said the park closed at sunset. But since it was summer, it wouldn't be dark for a while yet.

  "It seems odd," I said, "that whoever took Seamus would want to meet in such a public place and so close to where police are stationed." "

  I wondered about that, too," Steele said. He reached into the glove box and pulled out a flashlight. "Unless he was so caught up in the atmosphere of the place that he didn't care or realize there were rangers posted here."

  "You may be right. On the drive up, I remembered reading somewhere that The Chappy Wheeler Show was filmed here. If that's true, I can see why this place was chosen."

  "What's that for?" I indicated the flashlight.

  "Just in case we have to go inside some of those buildings. I doubt seriously if movie backdrops have electricity." Steele climbed out of the car. "Now what?"

  I slid my bag under the seat to be less encumbered and got out of the car, clutching only the Holy Pail. With an aim of his key fob, Steele locked the car and set the alarm.

  "I'm not sure," I said. "The cat-napper told me to walk through the town like a tourist. He said he'd find me." I walked around the car to where Steele stood. "I don't think you should go with me. He might think you're the police."

  "I'm not letting you go in there alone," he said firmly. "He's probably watching us right now. And he might not be alone."

  Steele was right. I scanned the area as carefully as I could, but there were so many trees and bushes. The creep could be just a few feet away and I would never notice.

  Steele handed me the flashlight and moved away from the car, out into the open. He held out his good arm in airplane fashion and started slowly rotating three hundred sixty degrees. The arm with the cast was cradled in its sling next to his body.

  "What are you doing?" I asked in amazement.

  "Showing them I'm not armed."

  "Duh, you could have something in the sling or stashed under a pant leg."

  Deciding I had a point, Steele clumsily undid the sling and stripped it off. With more difficulty, he rolled up both legs of his warm-up pants almost to the knee. Then he went into his airplane thing again, this time with both arms outstretched, the arm in the cast banking slightly.

  "You're as nuts as I am," I told him, shaking my head. "Forget the cat-napper, let's just hope the park ranger isn't watching."

  I waited for Steele to reassemble his sling and roll down his pants before starting toward the bridge. Although it was nearly seven o'clock, the heat accrued from the hot August day had not diminished one whit. It was much hotter here than in Newport Beach. After just a few steps, I felt sweat build on my upper lip and under my arms.

  While crossing the bridge, I noted it spanned a creek. Lots of brush and vegetation crowded both banks. Great, more potential hiding spots. On the other side of the bridge, there was a wide dirt road that branched in several directions from the main road. To the left was an open meadow with a gully near the road. Across the gully were two different-style bridges going nowhere-no doubt props for TV and movie shoots.

  To the right of the main road, where the smaller roads branched out, was the town-several clusters of old wooden buildings, a stable, wooden sidewalks, a miscellaneous wagon here and there. It might have been a Hollywood set, but it looked every bit like a real town from the Wild West that had been abandoned by its occupants and left to the dust of time.

  Steele and I stood in the road and looked down one of the smaller roads. On both sides were more old, weatherworn buildings, some more rustic than others. The windows on them all were shuttered. Slowly, we started walking down the middle of the first road. On the left was one building I was sure would have been used as a jail. A two-story building near it had a balcony across the second floor, and with just a little imagination I could imagine it as a hotel. Directly in front of us, where the road forked, was another two-story building, this one painted in a terra-cotta hue with green doors. It wasn't as weather-beaten as the others, making me wonder if it had been used recently for filming.

  At the fork in the road, we looked up and down in both directions. The smell of fresh horse droppings hung in the hot, still air. Except for the huge, annoying flies that attacked me like kamikaze pilots, the make-believe town seemed deserted. I surveyed the area. All the buildings and spaces between them offered numerous hiding spots. The cat-napper could be anywhere, waiting for us. Waiting to ambush us.

  The right fork in the road was much shorter than the left. With a nod of his capped head, Steele motioned that he would check out the couple of buildings on that side. For a brief moment, he disappeared behind the terra-cotta building. I gave a sigh of relief when he reappeared.

  "Nothing," he said, returning to my side. "Behind this building there's a riding arena, not much else."

  We slowly walked down the middle of the left road. On either side were more Western buildings, including one decked out like a blacksmith shop on the left. It was attached to a long line of closed stables that extended back toward the meadow area. On the right, at the end of the street, was a building bearing a weathered sign that said GROCERIES. Another dirt road intersected the one we were on, and across the road was a structure that could onl
y have been used as a train depot.

  As I checked out the buildings, I had an eerie sense of deja vu, like I had seen all of this before, many times-and probably had in numerous television shows like Little House on the Prairie or Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. I could almost picture the various characters going about their rustic lives, moving in and out of the buildings, dressed in bonnets and heavy skirts that swept the dusty ground.

  Behind the depot and off by itself was a shack that looked like a small, dilapidated log cabin.

  "Should we check that out?" Steele asked, pointing to the shack.

  "I don't think so. He was very specific about walking through the town. `Like a tourist' is how he put it."

  "Then let's walk the town again, Grey. Maybe try some of the buildings. See if any are open." Steele winced.

  "You okay?"

  "Yeah, just a headache."

  We started back through town again, but this time we walked along the raised wooden sidewalk. The first building we checked was the grocery store, but the door was locked tight. The same with the building next to it.

  "Careful, Grey," Steele said. "These floorboards are not in the best shape "

  I looked down and saw that I was about to step on a severely splintered plank in the sidewalk. I sidestepped it and kept moving. We were about to cross a small alley from the last building and approach the terra-cotta building when I had an idea.

  "Maybe we should each take a side of the street," I suggested. "It'll go faster that way."

  I didn't want to leave Steele's side. Though he would never admit it, the heat and physical activity were clearly taking a toll on his recently battered body. But I wanted Seamus back. Maybe if I were alone, the cat-napper would come out of hiding.

  Steele started to say something, but was cut short by someone stepping from the shadows of the alley. It was Kyle Price, holding a gun. Behind him was Stella Hughes. Using the gun, Kyle motioned us into the alley. In a small, tight group, we walked through the short, small area between the two buildings until we came out the other side to the horse arena Steele had discovered earlier.

  "You bitch," Stella growled at me in her deep voice, "I knew you had the box the whole time."

  I held the box close to my chest. Except for Kyle's gun, both were empty handed.

  "Where's my cat?"

  "Your what?" Kyle asked.

  "My cat." They looked at me like I was crazy. "You said you'd trade me the lunchbox for my cat," I said, starting to get upset. "What have you done with him?"

  They stole glances at each other.

  "I don't know anything about your mangy cat, Odelia," Stella said. "We followed you up here. We've been following you since you left your house this afternoon."

  Kyle pointed the gun in my direction. "Come on, lady, give us the box so we can get out of here." He looked nervous and edgy. Perspiration clung to his high forehead like raindrops.

  I clutched the box tighter. "No cat, no lunchbox."

  "Grey," Steele said through tight lips, "they have a gun. Give them the lunchbox."

  "No," I said to Steele. "It's all I have to bargain with"

  "Grey," Steele said, leaning closer to me. "If you don't give them the damn box, they might kill us. They're probably the ones who killed Jackson."

  "Jackson?" Stella stepped closer. "What about Jackson?"

  Both Steele and I turned to look at her with curiosity. She either didn't know about Jackson Blake or was resurrecting her acting career.

  "Jackson was found murdered yesterday at your place," I told her matter-of-factly.

  "But he couldn't have been." Stella's face reflected horror.

  "Why not?" I asked. "Were you there?"

  She stammered. "Yes, I was. All morning. I had an appointment, but she didn't show."

  "Amy Chow?"

  Now Stella looked exasperated, her shock about Jackson disappearing as quickly as a photo flash. "How do you find out these things?" she asked me.

  "I never had the Holy Pail until yesterday morning," I explained. "Amy gave it to me after she stopped by your place and you weren't home."

  "But I was home. She was supposed to come by around eight. Kyle and I were both there." She turned to Kyle with a questioning look.

  "We never saw her," he said, backing up Stella with the whiney voice I remembered from the study. "We left around ten and went to Ojai for the day."

  I glanced over at Steele. He looked rather pale and pasty. He held his bad arm with his good and his eyes were partially closed. With a light touch, I guided him to a nearby bench and sat him down. He didn't resist.

  "You haven't been back to your father's house yet?" I asked as I got Steele settled.

  "No," Kyle said curtly. "We went to my apartment, then to your place."

  "Yes, I wanted to talk to you again," Stella added quickly. "But we got there just as you were leaving. We followed you to your office. When you came out with him," she indicated Steele, "I saw that you had the Holy Pail, so we kept following you."

  Stella looked at me. Once again she adopted a look of horror and disbelief. "Are you sure Jackson's dead?"

  Steele stirred himself enough to answer. "She should be. She's the one who found him."

  "He'd been stabbed to death and dumped into the pool. And Karla had been stabbed, too." I said, watching her closely.

  "Karla! What in the world was Karla doing there?" Stella cried.

  Kyle interrupted. "Stella, grab the damn lunchbox and let's get going."

  I backed away from Stella and held the box tighter. The news of Jackson's death appeared to rattle her. But Kyle didn't seem surprised at all about his brother-in-law and twin sister.

  The time to make a move was now. I only hoped it was the right move, not a clumsy misstep that would land Steele and me in Boot Hill.

  "I know about you, Stella," I told her as she approached me. "I know that you've been hunting this box down all over the nation. That you married Ivan Fisher to get it, and because of you, he killed himself."

  Stella stopped in her tracks and went gray. I continued.

  "I know you tried to get it out of William Proctor, and when you failed, you turned him in to the government on his Investanet scheme. The only reason you went after Sterling Price was to get the Holy Pail. And you're only with Kyle now in order to get it."

  She looked at Kyle, her eyes angry slits. "That's not true, Kyle. Don't listen to her. She's just trying to keep the box for herself."

  "Get it and let's get out of here!" he shouted at her, his voice cracking.

  "I know you think you're Chappy Wheeler's daughter," I said to Stella in a calm, quiet voice.

  "I am Chappy Wheeler's daughter," she said with conviction, turning on me.

  "No," I told her. "You're Catherine Matthews' daughter by Lester Miles. Les told me himself that he and your mother were dating while she was married to Chappy Wheeler. Their marriage was a sham, Stella. The studio made them marry for publicity and to cover the fact that Chappy was gay. Your real father is Lester Miles."

  "You're lying," she screamed at me. "That freak couldn't be my father. My father was Chappy Wheeler, the famous cowboy star." Stella's face was crimson.

  Steele stirred. He was looking at her, watching her carefully. He had shaken off the pain of earlier and was fully alert. Not standing, but alert.

  "I'll tell you about Lester Miles," Stella spat. "He's the one who murdered my father. He killed Chappy Wheeler."

  "By hitting him on the head with the Holy Pail?" I asked.

  I held up the box so that the dented corner was visible and recalled what I'd read in the Los Angeles Times article.

  "These boxes have reinforced corners. In the early seventies states started outlawing them for use by children because the kids were bashing each other with them. Chappy Wheeler was killed by several heavy blows to the head-probably with this lunchbox."

  I looked Stella in the eyes. "That's why you want this box so bad, isn't it? You want to solve Chappy Wheeler's
murder. The murder of the man you think was your father."

  "You're wrong," Stella cried, her husky voice growing deeper with each word. "He is my father. But you're right about the murder. Chappy Wheeler was killed with this lunchbox. Jasper Kellogg found out and called Les, trying to blackmail him. That's when I found out. I overheard him tell my mother that Kellogg knew. When Kellogg died, Les thought that was the end of it. But he was wrong. I intend to make sure he pays for what he's done."

  I noted from the corner of my eye that Kyle was getting restless. I was pretty sure he didn't know about Stella's true reasons for wanting the Holy Pail until now. He probably just chalked it up to greed. Any stability he had was waning with each passing minute. Even the hand that held the gun shook slightly.

  I continued to work on Stella. "Are you sure Les is the killer? Maybe he's protecting someone, someone he loves more than life itself? Someone like your mother?"

  "No, no, no," Stella said, bordering on hysterics. She clutched her face in her hands. "My mother married him because she was afraid. She knew he killed my real father. He forced her to marry him. He took advantage of her."

  Geez, what a couple, I thought. Both Stella and Kyle were looney-tunes. Looney-tunes and armed-a combo that made my teeth chatter.

  "Stella, they've been together fifty years. If Catherine didn't love Les, why would she have stayed all this time? Think about it."

  "No, you're wrong. She loved my father. She loved Chappy Wheeler." Stella leaned against one of the arena railings and began crying.

  "But you didn't go after Jackson for the lunchbox, did you?" I said, moving slightly closer but still clinging to the lunchbox. "No, you fell in love with Jackson Blake. You were going to go away with him, weren't you?"

  Sobbing into her hands, she wailed, "Oh, Jackson!"

  "Did Jackson spend the night with you Friday? Did he come over after you left me?"

  She nodded. "Yes" She looked up. "But he left around four or so. He decided to go for a swim first. He often did ... after. He enjoyed the exercise. When I woke up, his car and clothes were gone. I just assumed..." Her voice trailed off.