The Curse of the Holy Pail #2 (24 page)

"So the car accident was just an accident," I said. I thought about the American Executive article. Two of the four owned the lunchbox at the time of their deaths. Two sold it just before their deaths, or disappearance in Proctor's case. "So there is no stupid curse.

Willie shrugged. "Depends on your definition of curse, little mama.

I twitched my nose at my apparent new nickname.

"Fisher didn't have a car accident," Willie continued. "He was despondent over his bride's departure. Two days after she left, he drove his car into a tree at seventy miles an hour."

My whole body shuddered at the news. During the story, I had been clutching my nearly empty coffee cup so tightly it had almost caved in. I leaned over and placed it on the coffee table. Thinking about Fisher, I wrapped my arms around myself and tucked inward in a poor imitation of a pill bug.

"This is insane," I finally said when I could talk. "Why don't you just send an anonymous letter to the police?"

"Boy, Odelia, you really do live the straight and narrow. Probably don't watch much TV either." He shook his head at my naivete. "Letters can be traced right down to where the paper was manufactured and who licked the flap. Besides, legally, what has she done wrong? She didn't kill Fisher, I doubt if she killed Price, and she sure as hell didn't kill me."

He picked up his coffee again and took another sip.

I leaned back against the sofa to mull over a few things. Willie seemed to understand my need to cogitate. He picked up the white bag, pulled out a scone, and took a big bite.

"Nice," he said to no one in particular.

NINETEEN

"You KNOW, WILLIE, I may be a bit thick-headed, and heaven knows I've been accused of such, but I still don't get it," I said. "If you want revenge on Stella, but don't think she's the one who killed Sterling Price, why do you want me to find Sterling's murderer?"

He finished chewing before he spoke. "Think of it as a business deal. You want to solve the murder. I want the lunchbox. By my giving you the background on the Holy Pail, you may be able to sort out the murder."

"So you think the murderer took the box?"

"Not necessarily, but I do think they're connected." He sipped more coffee between bites of scone. "I also did a quick background on Sterling Price. He was a nice guy, no hidden agenda, no skeletons in his closet. Just an elderly businessman with an established company. Even his corporate competitors liked him. Whoever poisoned him did it for personal reasons and personal gain."

"Poison is a very personal weapon," I said.

"Exactly."

"But why do you want the box?" I asked. "You owned it once, and if you stole all that money, you surely don't need the hundred thousand."

"What I want, Odelia," he began, wiping his mouth with one of the napkins the bakery had tucked inside the bag, "is to deal with Stella once and for all. To make her pay for what she did to me."

A horrible thought crossed my mind. "Whoa," I said in horror, both hands held up, palms out to him. "I don't care one whit about getting revenge on anyone. And if you think I'm going to lead you to Stella so you can kill her, you've got another thought coming."

Willie let me rant. He was about to say something when Enrique opened the front door and slipped in. He said something to Willie I didn't understand. Willie nodded back at him.

"Now, Odelia, back to business," Willie said, taking one of my hands in both of his. He moved closer to me and looked into my eyes.

"I have a lot of friends among the collectors. And, unfortunately, due to my unique situation, I can't contact them and warn them. But I do know that as long as the Holy Pail and Stella both exist, no owner will be safe." He smiled broadly at me. "I may have relieved some dim-witted folks of their money, but I do have some loyalties.

"Now, Stella may not have killed Sterling, but I'm damn sure she's connected somehow. I want her nervous. I want her to suffer. I want her to know the Holy Pail can never be hers. Ever. I want her to know she can't screw with my life and get away with it."

I jerked my hand away from him. "I told you, I won't help you kill her."

I started to get up, but Willie grabbed me by my shoulders and forced me back down. His face was inches away from my own. His breath smelled of coffee and tobacco. Enrique didn't move a muscle.

"I am not going to kill her!" Willie yelled at me. "I'm a thief, not a killer."

I looked at him, jutting out my chin in stubbornness. "Then what do you want?" I yelled back.

Willie let my shoulders go and sat back against the futon. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. I remained seated, but shifted away from him. We sat still for a minute, like two boxers sent to their corners.

"All I'm asking you, Odelia," he said, returning to a calm voice, "is to give me the box so I can destroy it, preferably right in front of her bitchy little nose. Once ruined, no one will want it and she won't see a dime. Everything she's planned and done and given up in the past several years will be down the drain."

Willie ran a hand over his thinning hair. "That's what I should have done. Should have taken the damn box to the parking lot of Investanet and driven my car over it. Better yet, I should have left it behind one of the tires on her car."

His last scenario appealed to my sense of drama.

"But I don't have the Holy Pail," I told him. My voice walked the tightrope of hysterics. "And I don't know where it is."

Willie put his glasses on and looked hard at me. "You sure you don't have it tucked away somewhere? Someplace no one would ever look?"

"No," I said in frustration, "though everyone seems to think I do"

I looked at Willie, then at Enrique. My brain buzzed fluorescent with insight.

"Oh my gawd," I cried out, "you're the two guys who broke into my office two days ago, aren't you?"

Neither said anything. Willie looked at Enrique; Enrique at Willie. Eyes communicated silently, speaking this time a language I could understand.

I jumped to my feet. This time Willie didn't make a move to stop me. He didn't have to. Enrique's young, strong body blocked the door. If I left without permission, I was going to have to go through him. I remembered the gun, but he made no move for it.

The fear I had when I first arrived returned in full force. I could feel it bubbling and boiling inside me, tainting the blood in my veins with foolish bravado.

"You almost killed one of our attorneys!" I screamed up into Enrique's face. "I thought you weren't killers!"

I steeled my shoulders, ready to do whatever I needed to get out of the apartment. Briefly, I thought about running the other way, toward the bedroom or bathroom. The idea of putting a door between me and them was appealing. But who was I kidding? Even if I were wearing sturdy sneakers instead of sandals, I'd never be able to outrun either of them, especially Enrique. And even if I could manage to outrun them, then what? Even if the door had a lock, it wouldn't take much for them to break it down.

I thought about screaming, but in this neighborhood, I didn't think anyone would pay it any mind.

My mind flipped quickly to the women's self-defense course I had taken shortly after I had been shot. I looked up, directly into the large, dark eyes of my target. Automatically, my knee jerked up, fast and furious, between his legs, the force of my entire two-hundred-plus pounds thrown behind it.

TRUST ME, WHEN I fantasize about a young, hunky man being on top, this is not it.

I coughed and sputtered as air re-entered my lungs. The room spun slightly. I was on the floor, flat on my back, with Enrique on top of me, straddling my hips. My arms and hands were at my side, trapped by his strong legs. A cold metal cylinder pressed hard against my temple. I closed my eyes tight. My stomach lurched dangerously.

It wasn't that I was a bad aim with the trusty old knee, just that Enrique was a mind reader with the reflexes of a jungle cat. He had anticipated my not-too-original move and grabbed my moving thigh the instant my foot left the floor. Memories of mama or not, he had lifted my thick leg and yanked, dumping me hard onto my back. He followed through with his own body, knocking the wind out of me.

"Get off me," I ordered in a half-choking, squeaky voice.

I opened my eyes and studied Enrique. His face was impassive, but his arms and neck were taut with corded muscle. He continued to push the gun barrel into the side of my head.

"Please," I added, trying to keep tears out of my voice.

"Odelia," I heard Willie say from somewhere above me. He moved into my line of vision. "You have to listen to me." He crouched down next to Enrique. "What happened to that attorney was an accident, I assure you."

I looked at him briefly before turning my head away. The gun barrel stayed at my temple and followed along.

"I want to get even with Stella," Willie said, "not kill her" He placed a couple of fingers on my chin and moved my face toward him, forcing me to look at him. "I want to destroy the Holy Pailfor everyone's sake."

"But I don't have it," I told him through tight lips.

Willie smiled down at me. His fingers lightly stroked my chin. "I want to believe you, Odelia. God knows, we've searched everywhere-your office, car, even your home."

My eyes popped until they hurt. "You've been to my house?" I asked through dry lips.

Willie smiled and nodded. "Last night. It was convenient that you took your dog with you. Enrique here just finished going through your car. Nothing. Big zero."

I closed my eyes tight. No wonder Seamus was hiding under the bed. No wonder Wainwright sniffed the dust mites out of the carpet. Both of them knew my home had been invaded. Stupid me.

Willie gave a little snort. "We were searching your place while Stella sat on your front doorstep waiting for you. She didn't have a clue. Too bad we didn't find it. Could have taken care of business right then and there."

I mumbled something.

He bent down closer to me. "What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you.

I cleared my throat. "I said, thanks."

Both men looked at me oddly. "Thanks for what?" Willie asked.

"Thanks for not making a mess."

Willie Porter laughed heartily and stood up. He said something to Enrique. The young man grinned, moved the gun from my temple, and slowly raised himself off me. My skirt was bunched up high around my thighs, but I didn't care. I stayed on the floor, unmoving.

The two men stood above me. I made no move to get up. Enrique tucked his gun back in its place and held out a hand to help me. I refused it. Willie said something again in Spanish and both men moved away from me, giving me space and watching. Finally, I rolled partially to my side and onto my knees. I took it a little at a time, giving the remaining dizziness time to subside. From there it was a short haul to set one foot flat on the floor. I followed with the other foot and raised myself erect. I faced the men as I unfolded my bruised body. My eyes burned into theirs-first Willie's, then Enrique's.

"Shame on you," I said to Enrique in a quiet voice. Sheepishness flickered in his eyes like a sputtering candle, and just as quickly, they returned to their previous unemotional condition.

Once I was standing, I allowed Willie to steer me back toward the sofa. I clutched my gurgling middle with one arm. Enrique softly said something in Spanish. I caught the word cojones somewhere in the mix.

Willie seated himself on the coffee table directly in front of me. He took my hands. I looked down at them, but didn't jerk away. I still was not sure what was expected of me-not sure what I wanted to do or believe.

Willie and Enrique were the men who had vandalized Woobie and clubbed Steele into unconsciousness. They had violated my home and broken into my car. They were looking for the Holy Pail. They thought I had it.

I wanted to go home, lock the door, and not come out until Greg returned and coaxed me out with a cookie, like I sometimes entice Seamus out from under the bed with a tuna-flavored treat.

"Odelia, look at me," Willie said softly. Obediently, I raised my face to his. "I promise you, we didn't mean to hurt that attorney. We thought the place was empty. He took us by surprise and, well, things happened. We also don't want to hurt you."

I lifted a finger to the spot where the gun had been and rubbed it thoughtfully. I was looking into the eyes of a criminal and wanted to believe he wasn't a thug or a killer. A person should have some redeeming qualities, shouldn't he?

"It's true," he continued, "we are looking for the lunchbox. We were told you or someone in your office had it."

"By who?" I asked, totally bewildered. "Who did you talk to? Who would say such a thing? Was it Carmen? The woman you spoke to when you left your number?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "That old biddy didn't say a thing. Just took my number and said someone would call. When it was you who called, I was sure our informant was correct."

My eyes bore into his.

"We paid someone for the information," he confessed. "When I first heard about Sterling's murder, I contacted one of the employees there, someone mentioned in the newspaper, and pumped her. When I asked her who she thought had the box, she gave your name right off. Said Sterling gave it to you the day he was murdered."