The Curse of the Holy Pail #2 (11 page)

"What? Oh, Greg, no. When? How?" The words gushed from my shocked lips.

Greg was referring to his mother's brother, Stuart Foster, a retired engineer who lived in Minnesota, in Bloomington, near the Mall of America. Greg had been close to his uncle. His whole family, both immediate and extended, seemed to live in close emotional harmony with each other-a situation I found difficult to believe, given my own dysfunctional family, until I witnessed it on many occasions for myself. Greg's parents were supportive and loving, like the mom and dad from a family values sitcom. According to Greg, they had raised their two sons and single daughter with a very firm but fair hand. My own parents had believed in better parenting through ignorance.

I had met Greg's uncle Stu four months earlier when he and his wife landed in California during a tour across America in an RV. Greg's mother had hosted a huge barbecue in their honor during their visit, and even Greg and I got into the act by taking them to dinner and the theater in Hollywood.

Now I was crying in earnest. I liked Uncle Stu and his homey, gentle wife, Esther, who was a retired elementary school teacher.

"Poor Esther," I said quietly into the phone. "What happened, Greg?"

"Heart attack, just this morning," he said. "He was fishing with some buddies at the lake. Happened so fast, no one could help."

"You're flying to Minnesota, aren't you?"

"Yes, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Greg," I told him while I located a tissue in my purse and wiped my eyes and nose for the millionth time that afternoon. "It can't be helped. How's your mother doing? Anything I can help with?"

"No, sweetheart, but thanks. Mom and Dad are already on their way there. The rest of the clan will fly out tomorrow. Mom's hanging in there. Dad's actually more shook up than she is. He and Uncle Stu were the same age."

His voice was winding down even more. I wanted to put my arms around him to transfer some strength.

"My plane leaves Phoenix in an hour. I'm at the airport right now. Boomer's putting me on the plane and taking a later flight home. I'll be home as soon as I can." He took a deep breath. "Sorry about sticking you with Wainwright for so long."

"Don't worry about that, Greg. He's a good guest." I made a mental note to pick up more Snausages. Wainwright would be thoroughly, if not irretrievably, spoiled by the time Greg returned. "Be with your family and give them my love. I'll be here when you get back."

"You promise?"

"Yes, Greg, I promise," I told him softly. "Unless, of course, Alan Rickman swoops in and kidnaps me. Then all bets are off."

Greg laughed and gave me a loud, sloppy kiss through the receiver. He knew all about my obsession with Rickman.

NINE

AFTER TALKING To GREG, I grabbed my purse and went in search of a bathroom. I didn't have to look far. There was a small one located just a few steps from the study. A couple of quick repairs to my makeup, a little lipstick, and I would be on my way. But to where? My dinner plans had been altered by a family crisis in Minnesota.

Loneliness for Greg shot through my body like a rampaging fever. I didn't feel like being alone tonight. Maybe I should give Zee a call-might even be able to wrangle a dinner invitation from her. Zee was a great cook, not gourmet, but the type of cooking that stuck to your ribs. And hips. And bottom. And-well, you get the picture. She made a mean chicken and dumplings, my personal favorite of her dishes. The thought of a home-cooked, sit-down meal with people I love almost made me swoon with anticipation. Even the good possibility of being nagged by Seth didn't dampen my hopes for a salvaged evening.

Before I left the bathroom, I pawed around in my bag for my cell phone. My eyes rolled around in my head at the realization of two problems. One, the phone was dead. Two, I had left it on Price's desk in the study. Taking one last futile look in the mirror, I stepped to the door, stopping short before opening it. Voices were being raised on the other side. Not right outside the door, but in the hallway between the bathroom and the study. I pressed my ear against the cool, white enameled door and made out what sounded like two men arguing in low voices. Not exactly yelling, but I could tell that both were vocalizing with a restrained tenseness, though I could not tell what they were saying. I pressed my ear tight against the door and held my breath.

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 long 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?"