Free The Curse of the Holy Pail #2 by Sue Ann Jaffarian

standing next to the sofa to my left turned his attention to us first and stuck out his hand to Mr. Wallace. "Dell, beautiful eulogy."
    Mr. Wallace took the offered hand. "Thank you, Jackson," he replied, pumping the man's hand firmly.
    The name sounded familiar to me. In a flash of recall, I remembered that Steele had mentioned a Jackson Blake who was a senior vice president at Sterling Homes. I would have bet my next meal this was the same person. I didn't have to wait long to know I wouldn't have to go hungry.
    "Jackson, I'd like you to meet Odelia Grey, the paralegal at my firm that handles most of the corporate work for your company."
    I thrust out my hand and we shook. Jackson Blake was about six feet tall, with an athletic build, and somewhere in his mid forties. Up close, his dark hair appeared more salt and pepper, and his eyes were dark and piercing, like he was taking a photo of everything, including me, and storing it away in his memory bank. He wore a beautifully cut dark suit, similar in style to those Steele preferred.
    Earlier today when Steele had mentioned this man's name it had struck me as odd that I could not recall hearing it before. I had drafted the minutes of both the board of directors meetings and the shareholders meetings of the privately held Sterling Homes for years and could not recall any officer named Jackson Blake. Of course, I thought, I could simply be forgetting, but it still nagged at a corner of my brain like a pesky hangnail. Sterling Homes was not that big of a company in its operation, only in its profits.
    A blond, petite, and very chic woman sat on the sofa next to where Jackson Blake stood. She was very pretty, with the sort of fashion magazine looks that money and a good surgeon could maintain for years. Mr. Wallace bent down and kissed her cheek.
    "Oh, Uncle Dell," she murmured quietly. She dabbed at the corners of her flawlessly made-up eyes with a linen handkerchief.
    Mr. Wallace shook his head in helpless silence as he introduced me to her, then he turned to me. "Odelia, this is Karla Blake, Jackson's wife and Sterling's daughter." He next focused on a slightly built man sitting next to Karla. "And this is Kyle Price, Sterling's son.
    Next to her brother, Karla started sniffling. Jackson put a comforting hand on her shoulder, which was no bigger than a child's, and I saw her discretely shrug it off. He withdrew his hand and I looked up in time to see him shoot a quick, cold look to the back of her head. Geez, now there's a happy couple.
    Karla Blake, or rather Karla Price, I did know, by name only, from the corporate minutes of Sterling Homes. She sat on the board of directors, though her brother did not, and was the chief financial officer of the company. The woman seemed brittle and pale dressed in a costly and unwrinkled black sheath, with her light honey hair pulled back in an immaculate chignon. Then Karla's look turned to me and I saw that in spite of her dabbing, her eyes were as clear and dry as a desert sky and just as blue. They pierced me with the same inspection and calculation as her husband's eyes had before her. In silent self-conscious response, my hands reached down to smooth out the many creases in my limp, lightweight navy and white two-piece dress purchased over two years ago on sale.
    In turn, Karla and Kyle each politely took my hand and nodded as I gave short but sincere condolences. They appeared to be in their mid to late thirties.
    Kyle Price was not as well-turned-out as his twin sister and her husband. He wore a plain white shirt, khaki pants, and an outof-date tie that had been pulled away from his neck, exposing his considerable Adam's apple. His brown sports jacket bunched in the shoulders. He was clean shaven and wore his hair long, but not well cut like Greg's. He had the same light eyes as his sister, but they lacked the intensity. He gave me a small, sad smile as he acknowledged my condolences. Kyle Price looked ill at ease and fidgety, like a