The Curse of the Holy Pail #2 (31 page)

"You and Greg getting married?" he asked as he got out his trusty notepad and pen.

"He asked me," I answered.

"Congratulations," he said in return, not looking at me. "Greg's a fine man."

"I know."

Dev glanced up at me. His eyes held mine for a moment before he looked back down at his notebook. "Now, let's talk about this Sterling Price mess and what you know about it."

I told him everything I knew, unloading all the information given me by the various players like unwanted Christmas gifts. I even told Dev about the day of the funeral when I witnessed Stella playing both Jackson and Kyle, and about her visit to my house. I told him how Sterling Price had given Kyle the house and the Center in return for information on Karla's plan to take over Sterling Homes, and how I had witnessed some of the documents on those transactions the day Sterling was killed.

Much of this, he told me, he already knew or suspected from talking to each of the parties in the murder investigation. People had motives, but so far there was no evidence pointing to anyone in particular.

Finally, I told him about Amy Chow and the Holy Pail buried in the park in Tustin.

"So you have the lunchbox?" he asked.

"Now I do," I told him. "Amy gave it to me this morning, before she left town. I stashed it in my office at the firm."

"And she told you she was going to get twenty-five thousand dollars for it from Stella Hughes."

I nodded. "Yes, but she said she stopped by here this morning to collect and Stella wasn't home." Amy's frightened face swept across my consciousness. "Dev, Amy Chow was scared spitless this morning. Do you think she came by here and saw something, like Jackson and Karla?"

"Maybe she saw Jackson's body," he said. "The coroner's early estimate is that Jackson Blake has been dead and floating in the pool a while-maybe since late last night or early this morning. Karla's wounds were fairly recent, fortunately for her, or she would have bled to death."

"Like maybe she came by and surprised the killer late this afternoon?"

"It's a possibility. Could be she was looking for her husband." Dev looked at his notes. "You said he was having an affair with Stella Hughes, correct?" I nodded in confirmation. "And Stella lives here."

"Was he stabbed, too?" I asked.

"Yes, he was. From what we can determine so far, he was stabbed while laying on a lounge chair and then rolled into the pool, probably while still alive."

Dev studied me while he took a pack of gum out of the breast pocket of his jacket and offered me a piece. I took one and together we unwrapped them and stuck them in our mouths.

We chewed in peace. Dev was a big gum chewer and now I knew why. It was relaxing. The spearmint filtered through my mouth, bringing freshness and comfort, much like a Thin Mint but with out the calories. Murder was melting away momentarily, even if it was only as long as the flavor lasted.

"Okay," Dev said, "we know where the lunchbox is, but what did you find out about it?" He shot me a look that demanded an answer. "I know you, you've been busy."

"Well, since you've asked," I began, and I told him the history of the cursed Chappy Wheeler lunchbox, including my visit with Lester and Catherine.

Pulling the photograph out of my bag, I showed it to him. "I think Stella Hughes is the daughter of Lester Miles and Catherine Matthews, two of the actors from The Chappy Wheeler Show. But if that's true, she doesn't know it. She thinks she's Chappy Wheeler's daughter by Catherine; that Lester Miles is her adoptive father."

Dev took the photo and looked at it. He shook his head slowly. "Seems you stole a photograph the last time I worked a murder case involving you. This becoming a habit?"

I started to smile, but it faded to black when I saw he wasn't trying to be amusing. With a big sigh, I squared my damp shoulders and spilled the beans about my morning with Willie Porter and about his wanting revenge on Stella. Of course, I told it with some careful editing.

"Wait a minute," Dev said, stopping me. "You actually met William Proctor, the Investanet guy?"

I nodded. "Yes, this morning in Santa Ana."

He looked at me in disbelief. "And you didn't think that was significant enough to call me?" Dev stood up abruptly. "Damn it, Odelia," he said angrily. "He might be tied to what happened here."

"I don't think so, Dev," I said, keeping my cool. "Willie told me he was a thief, not a killer, and I believe him."

"Willie?" Dev asked, towering over me, scowling down at me. He ran a big hand over his weary face. "Odelia, I know you're not a stupid person, so why would you believe someone like Proctor? Just because he said so? He's a criminal, Odelia. A big-time criminal who made millions lying to people."

I looked away, anywhere but at Dev.

"Please, Odelia, please don't tell me you feel it in your heart." He said it with his right hand placed over his heart for emphasis, his tone laced with sarcasm. It was something I hadn't seen in him before.

"So where's Proctor now?" he asked, trying to get a grip on himself.

"I have no idea."

Dev sat down next to me on the sofa, his face inches from mine. "Okay, Odelia, out with it. The whole story again on Proctor, from start to finish, no omissions, and I want the address and phone number you have for him."

I told him everything, minute by minute of my morning, no delicate exclusions this time. When I got to the part about rolling around on the ground with Enrique and the gun, I thought Dev was going to have a seizure. I even told him about Willie admitting to searching my home and how he and Enrique were the two men who vandalized Woobie.

When we were through, Dev walked me to Zee's car. One of his beefy hands gripped my upper arm firmly, like I was a criminal he was afraid would escape.

"You are to go straight home after you go to the Washingtons," he demanded. "Got it?"

I nodded.

"I'm going to call you later to make sure. Got it?"

I nodded.

"You are not to go out or let anyone in-no one. Got it?"

Nod.

"You still have a security alarm at your place?"

"Yes"

"You are to set the alarm and keep that dog with you at all times."

"Got it."

He gave me a grin, in spite of himself.

"But what about the lunchbox?" I asked Dev.

He let loose his grip on my arm and I felt the circulation return to it. He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out while he thought about what to do.

"Anyone else know you have it?"

"Only Amy Chow, and she's probably hiding in the desert by now."

"Keep it where it is. It's probably safe there and we don't need it right now for anything. I'll stop by on Monday to pick it up."

"Okay."

Dev started to turn away, to go back into the house, but stopped. "Have any weapons?" he asked.

"A purse-size pepper spray and a baseball bat. My dad gave them to me after I was shot last year."

"Get them out and keep them with you. Got it?"

TWENTY-FIVE

THE PHONE RANG. I opened one eye and cocked it at the digital clock. Six A.M. on the nose. Groan.

True to his word, Dev had called me the night before. He called late, around eleven. Said he had just finished up at the Price house for the day, but would have to go back the next. Karla was out of surgery but still clung to life. There had been no sighting yet of either Stella or Kyle.

After assuring him that the hatches were battened down and the pepper spray, dog, and bat were close by, Dev said he would call again in the morning.

Greg, too, had called late last night. Suffice it to say, he was not a happy camper. Not able to reach me early yesterday evening, he had called Zee and Seth looking for me. Seth brought him up to date. Once Greg did reach me, he was sick with worry and ranted for a half hour.

I could have killed Seth. I didn't see why Greg had to know any of this until he got home. It wasn't like he could do anything about it from Minnesota but stew. Before hanging up, Greg had insisted that I give him Dev's number.

The phone rang a second time. The dog was stretched out next to me. He yawned, slightly lifted his large head, and dropped it back down. The cat, curled at the foot of the bed, didn't even make that effort. The three of us were in total agreement.

It had been a hard night. After accidentally setting off the house alarm when I let the dog out on the back patio, I paced the floor, dragging the bat along as a walking stick. Each crunch of tires on the street or scratch of shrubs on the windows set my hair on end like straight pins in a tomato-shaped pincushion.

On the third ring, I reached for the phone and said a sleepy hello into the receiver.

"What's going on over at Stella's place?"

I shot straight up into a sitting position. "Willie?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Where are you?"

"Never mind where I am. Enrique saw you at Price's house yesterday. The news last night said that someone had been killed there?"

"Umm, yes, that's true. Jackson Blake, Sterling's son-in-law, was stabbed to death and thrown into the pool." I swallowed hard. "I found him. And Sterling's daughter has been critically stabbed."

Wait a minute. I rubbed sleep from my eyes. "Enrique was there?" I asked with surprise.

"Of course," Willie said casually. "But he never saw Stella. Where is she?"

"I don't know. Sterling's son, Kyle, is also missing. The police are looking for them both."

There was a long pause. I thought the line had gone dead. "Willie, you still there?"

"Hmm," he mumbled. "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, just rattled."

"Stay put," he ordered. "Don't go anywhere unless you absolutely have to. There's a real sick screwball on the loose."

"The police pretty much told me the same thing."

Willie chuckled into the receiver. "For once, I'm on their side." He paused. "You want me to send Enrique over to keep you company?"

Oh boy, a cute young bodyguard with a gun. How lucky could a girl get?

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said. "Not that I don't find him competent."

Willie laughed lightly. "I'll tell him that." "

I have to pick my boyfriend up at the airport later. I don't think he'd be too thrilled to see Enrique standing next to me when he got off the plane. He's already pretty upset over this." Now it was my turn to pause. "Umm, Willie, you and Enrique had nothing to do with this, right?"

"No, Odelia, we didn't." His voice was heavy with impatience. "I have no beef with the Price family, only with Stella."

The phone went dead. I tried punching in star-six-nine to call back the number, but a recording advised me that the feature was not available at this time. Weary, I flopped back in bed.

The phone rang. I opened one eye and cocked it at the clock: 7:43 A.M. Groan. I picked it up.

"What?" I mumbled into it.

"You decent?" a man asked. It sounded like Dev Frye.

"Unfortunately, always these days," I replied.

He laughed. It sounded like short spurts from a mower.

"I'm on my way over," he said cheerfully. "If you've got coffee, I've got donuts."

"Mmm, a man bearing donuts. How could I refuse?"

Quickly, I washed up and tossed on a caftan. The coffee had just started dripping when he rang my bell.

The first thing I did was ask about Karla Blake. According to Dev, she was still in critical condition. It might be as much as a day or two before she could answer any questions. Still no sign of Kyle or Stella, but they did find blood streaks on the sheets of the bed in the master bedroom. But not enough blood, according to Dev, to have come from stab wounds.

"What about the cars, Dev," I asked. "Did they belong to the Blakes?"

"The Jeep belongs to Kyle. The Lexus to Karla."

"That's odd."

"Maybe, maybe not. If the Blakes arrived together, they might have only brought one car."

I couldn't see Jackson and Karla dropping in for a friendly family visit with Kyle and Stella. If Jackson was there and naked, he had come on his own.

"And you were right about Stella, Odelia," Dev said, taking a bite out of a maple bar. We were sitting at my kitchen table. The animals were lounging on the patio in the morning sun. "Stella Hughes is the daughter of Lester Miles and Catherine Matthews. Her real name is Dixie Miles."

He took another bite and washed it down with coffee. "This is interesting. Stella Hughes was the name of Charles Borden's mother. Stella took it as a stage name in her early twenties. She is, or was, an actress"

"Did you talk to Les and Catherine?" I asked after swallowing a piece of a buttermilk bar.

"Yes, last night. I called them shortly after I saw you. They say they haven't seen Stella in quite a while, that she comes and goes. Said last they knew she was working in Chicago, a play or something."

"Do you believe them?"

He gave a noncommittal shrug. "Hard to say. They sounded upset. Kami and I are driving up there this afternoon to question them."

The phone rang. The clock on the microwave said eight thirty. I excused myself from the table and answered it. It was Zee.