The Curse of the Holy Pail #2 (27 page)

I leaned back in the comfort of the luxury car and thought about what Willie had said. If he was to be believed, then Stella was hunting down the Holy Pail, going from owner to owner in her quest. There did not seem to be any corporate intrigue connected with her past behavior, only a single-minded pursuit of the lunchbox. Only Kellogg had escaped her plotting. I wondered where Kellogg got the box? Willie had said that Fisher bought it from Kellogg's son.

Before hitting the road, I had transferred the box of Chappy documents belonging to Lester Miles to the trunk of Zee's car. In my tote bag was Joe's copy of American Executive. Even though Willie had said that Jasper Kellogg had never met Stella and had died of heart problems, I still wanted to talk to someone about him. The article gave the name of the small town in which Jasper Kellogg had lived in upstate New York. Jasper wasn't that common a name, and Willie said that Fisher had purchased the lunchbox from Jasper, Jr. I powered up my cell phone, glad I had remembered to recharge it last night.

Zee glanced over at me, but said nothing. Reaching forward, she turned down the music and went back to driving.

Long-distance information had nothing on a Jasper Kellogg in that particular town, but there were three other Kellogg listings, including one for a J. David Kellogg in another town in the area. I jotted them all down on the back of an envelope I found in my purse.

The first Kellogg listing was a Michael Kellogg. No answer. I dialed the next one for a James Kellogg. On the third ring, someone answered. It was a boy's voice, maybe around eleven or twelve. I told him I was trying to reach Jasper Kellogg, Jr.

The boy hesitated, then said, "You mean Uncle Dave?"

J. David Kellogg-why not?

"Maybe," I told the boy. "Is your Uncle Dave Jasper David Kellogg, Jr.?"

"Yeah, but he hates the name Jasper. That was Grandpa's name."

"Does your Uncle Dave live in ... ," I paused to look at the name of the town Information had given me, "Bentwood?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"Thanks, I have his number, I'll try him there."

I was about to hang up when the boy stopped me. "But Uncle Dave's here." I paused. Could I be that lucky? "He and my dad are working out back. Want to talk to him?"

"Why yes, thank you."

There was a clunk on the other end of the line and the thumping of fast footsteps retreating from the phone. I could hear his young voice calling out for his uncle, announcing a phone call"some lady." More footsteps-slower and heavier-getting louder as they approached the phone.

"Hello?" said an adult male voice. He sounded laid-back, but not lazy. There was spring in the tone.

I took a deep breath. "I'm looking for Jasper Kellogg, Jr.," I told him.

"You found him."

"Mr. Kellogg, my name's Odelia Grey. I'm sorry to bother you.

"Then just cut to the chase, miss. Got a truck in pieces in the driveway." I pictured Kellogg in a mechanic's jumpsuit covered with grease.

"I'd like to ask you some questions about the Holy Pail, Mr. Kellogg."

"You mean that damn lunchbox of Dad's?"

"Yes, sir. If this is a bad time, I can call back."

There was a pause. Then I heard him call out to someone. "Kenny, get me a beer like a good boy. And take one out to your daddy. Tell him I'll be a few minutes." Then I heard a deep sigh.

"Can I ask you something first, Della?" David Kellogg said into the phone.

"Odelia," I corrected him.

"Odelia, got it." I heard him thank someone. A pop-top sounded, followed by a long pause and audible swallow.

"First, Odelia, I want you to tell me why all of a sudden people want to know about that damn beat-up lunchbox. Last week, someone saying he was a cop called from some beach town in California."

"Was it Detective Devin Frye of Newport Beach?" I asked.

"Yes, I believe that was the fellow. Earlier, some slick PI showed up at my house, and now you're calling, all asking about some hunk of junk my dad kept in the garage for nearly forty years. Something I sold years ago." A slurp of beer. "Tell you what," he said, giving off a short laugh, "I'm beginning to think I should have sold it for more money than I did."

Dave Kellogg would probably throw himself under his disassembled truck if he knew how much was currently on the table.

"Mr. Kellogg, I know Detective Frye. He's a good man and investigating a murder."

"That's what the man said." "

I don't know how much Frye told you, but the present owner was killed a week ago, and the lunchbox went missing. As for the private investigator, I spoke this morning with the man who sent him."

Zee shot a wide-eyed look my way.

"As for me, I knew Sterling Price, the man who was killed, and I have a few questions of my own. Seems a lot of people are looking for that lunchbox, and I want to know why. I was hoping that knowing more about its background will help me figure some things out."

"So it's true, the last owner of the lunchbox was murdered?"

"Yes, Mr. Kellogg, he was poisoned."

"Over a kid's damn lunchbox?" Another big chug-a-lug.

"Honestly, no one knows yet. The police are looking into it." I stared out the windshield. The freeway was winding through some low hills. "Mr. Kellogg, I'm calling on a cell phone from a moving car. If we get cut off, stay put and I'll call right back. Okay? It's important."

"Sure. No problem."

"You said your father had the box for forty years. Do you know where he got it?"

"Sure. My dad used to live in California. Worked on some of the very first TV shows, mostly on the sets, building them. A real pioneer."

"Did he work on The Chappy Wheeler Show?"

"That's the one on the lunchbox, isn't it? The one where the star got killed?" he asked.

"Yes, that's right." "

I believe that show was the last one he worked on. After the

show closed down, he and my mother came back East. This is where they both grew up. He worked in New York City for a long time, building sets for shows, before retiring."

"Do you know how he got the box?"

Kellogg called for another beer before answering. "I remember Dad saying he found it in the garbage at the studio. This was shortly after the show closed down. He took it as a souvenir."

A souvenir? "Are you sure?"

"Hey, Jimmy," I heard Kellogg shout to someone. "Didn't Dad say he found that old lunchbox in the trash?" I heard a voice respond, but couldn't make out the words.

"My brother remembers the same thing." More mumbling. "Yeah, I should tell her that, huh?"

"Tell me what?" I asked, growing excited.

The connection grew weak. I heard Kellogg talking through static and then he was gone. I gave the car time to ease along the highway before hitting redial. Kellogg picked it up on the first ring. Zee had turned off the music completely and was engrossed in my half of the conversation.

"Tell me what?" I asked Kellogg again.

"Something my brother and I remembered after the investigator was here. Something strange." He paused to drink, gave a mild belch, and excused himself before moving along with his story.

"Shortly before our dad died, he was going through all the old stuff in the garage. He had read somewhere that old lunchboxes were becoming popular and valuable. So he got out the lunchbox from that Western show and started cleaning it up.

"I remember he was having trouble fixing the handle because of his arthritis, and asked me to help. There was a big dent, too, on one corner of the box. We fixed the metal ring that held the handle."

Another slurp of beer. I was beginning to crave one myself.

"But before I could start working on the dent," Kellogg continued, "Dad stopped me. After that, he wouldn't let anyone touch it. Kept it wrapped in plastic. Said he read something about it being more valuable as is. About a week later, he told us he thought he had a buyer. Claimed he was going to get top dollar for the thing. `Big money' was how he put it."

I remembered seeing the dent on one corner of the box the day I was at Sterling Homes.

"Do you know who the buyer was?"

"He said someone from the show," Kellogg said. "That's right, isn't it, Jimmy?" Kellogg asked someone on his end. "Yeah, that's right, Odelia," he confirmed, speaking to me once again. "One of the actors from the show. That's all he said about it."

Hmm. Lester Miles, a known collector of memorabilia, came instantly to mind. I watched the road. We were almost to Glendora.

"Do you remember seeing anything strange or unusual about the lunchbox?" I asked Kellogg.

"Well, it really wasn't a kid's lunchbox, just a model or mockup of one. But outside of that, not really. Once Jimmy caught Dad going over it with a magnifying glass, but he never let on what he was looking for. After Dad died, I had no idea how to get in touch with that buyer he always talked about. Ended up taking out an ad in a newsletter for people who collect stuff. Sold it to the first one who contacted me, some guy in Chicago, for nine hundred dollars."

"Nine hundred dollars?"

"Yeah, I had no idea what it was worth, so I left the price open and waited to see what would happen. The guy offered five hundred. I asked for twelve, we compromised on nine." He chuckled. "Truth be told, I about shit when he offered the five hundred. Just said twelve to see what the fool would do. We split the money between the four grandkids. Said it was from their granddad."

His last comment made me smile. "Your father died from a heart attack, correct?"

"That's right. He had a bad ticker and emphysema. Smoked like a chimney. He was a walking time bomb."

"Mr. Kellogg," I said to him, "thank you for being so helpful and answering my questions. I only have one more."

"No problem. Shoot."

"Before your father died, did a woman call him about the lunchbox? Or has a woman called you about it since his death? A woman with a very low voice, almost like a man's?"

"Funny, that investigator asked the same thing. The cop just asked where Dad got it from." A pause. I waited. "As I told the PI, I don't recall Dad getting a call before he died, but he might not have told anyone if he did. But right after I sold the box to that man from Chicago, I did get a call from a woman. She was mighty upset about it already being sold and offered me a lot of money to get it back for her. I told her no, but gave her the name of the guy who bought it. Told her she could buy it from him herself."

Geez, Kellogg set up Fisher and didn't have a clue. Better he didn't, I thought.

"Thank you again for your time, Mr. Kellogg. You've been most helpful"

"No problem. But I've got one last question for you, Odelia."

"Sure, go for it. Seems the least I can do," I told him.

"Do you have any idea what that old lunchbox is really worth?"

I hesitated, not sure if I should tell him.

"Come on, now," he coaxed. "Something tells me you do."

I swallowed. "Someone is currently offering one hundred thousand dollars for it," I told him, hoping to sound casual.

"Damn! No wonder it's missing!"

TWENTY-TWO

"WHAT A CUTE LITTLE City," Zee remarked as we exited the freeway and wound our way through the city of Glendora. Following the map, we headed north, toward the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains.

The city was almost Norman Rockwellish. A few turns here and there and we found ourselves driving through a small downtown area, passing under large banners that advertised a weekly farmers' market and an upcoming choir concert. Seconds earlier, we had passed the post office, police station, library, and city hall. I craned my neck to get a good look around. The fire station could not be far.

"Look at all the craft and antique shops," Zee said with glee. She glanced at me with hope. "Think we could stop on the way home and check out some of the stores?"

With all the stuff I had just learned from Kellogg, the last thing on my mind was shopping. But Zee did drive us here, and shopping was a favorite hobby. "Sure, as long as it's not too late." An idea dribbled into my mind and out of my mouth. "Hey, why don't you go shopping after lunch while I chat up Lester Miles?"

She shot me a frown. "I don't think so."

I told her to take a right at the next stop sign, a street called Sierra Madre. She followed my instructions.

"So, you going to tell me what Mr. Kellogg said?" she asked.

I ignored her and told her to turn left at the next street. After making the turn, she pulled over to the side of the road and put the car in park. She turned in the leather seat and looked at me. Her dark, round face said she could wait all day. A glance at my watch told me it was twelve fifteen. According to the map, we weren't very far from our destination. I could walk it if I had to. I tapped my freshly done nails on the armrest.

"Oh, all right," I said in a peevish tone. "You win." I undid the seat belt and turned to face her. "I just don't want you mixed up in anything that might be dangerous. I'm already up to my neck-no sense both of us getting mired down."

"I'm an adult, Odelia," she said patiently. "I've given birth twice, had one miscarriage, and buried both a parent and a brother. Trust me. I can handle anything the good Lord brings my way."