The Curse of the Holy Pail #2 (35 page)

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 only 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.

"You didn't go out into the back yard that morning?"

"No. When Amy didn't show up, Kyle suggested we drive to Ojai for the day. We left right after breakfast."

I looked at Kyle. His eyes were darting wildly from me to Stella to Steele.

"Stella, what time did Kyle get to your house? Was it after you woke up or before?"

"Jesus, Grey," Steele said softly. I saw that he was looking at Kyle when he said it.

"Enough, bitch," Kyle snapped. "Stella, get the damn box now or forget about it. We've gotta get out of here."

Stella looked at Kyle a long time."You killed Jackson, didn't you?" she asked him with wide eyes. Kyle said nothing. His eyes moved with the madness of a trapped animal. "But why?"

"Why?" Kyle repeated. He paused to think. Sweat matted his hair. "Because I found him naked and asleep by the pool." Kyle's words gained confidence as he watched Stella. "You must have worn him out, babe. He was dead to the world."

He tried to sneer at Stella, but came across like a schoolboy mimicking a cartoon villain. "He woke up just as I drove the knife home. Didn't say a word, just wheezed. I threw him in the pool. Bye-bye, Jackson."

Stella was sobbing again.

"But what about your sister?" I asked.

For a brief moment, Kyle's eyes went blank and he seemed to struggle inside, searching for something.

"That was ... it was unfortunate," he started to explain, reaching for the right words. "She dropped by looking for Jackson just before we left." He hesitated. "Stella was still upstairs. Karla saw Jackson in the pool. She screamed."

"So you stabbed her," I said, finishing the story for him, "there in the utility room off the garage."

"Yeah, that's right." He hesitated again. More thinking. "But you said she's still alive."