Close To The Edge (Westen #2) (13 page)

“There’s nothing unusual about that. People die with outstanding loans all the time.”

“True. And I know for a fact Chloe told her client the exact same thing.” Bobby scooped up another cherry with her fork and licked it into her mouth.

“Why the big investigation?”

“Because the nephew swears his uncle has never trusted banks, didn’t have a bank account of any kind, and hated them so much he’d never stepped foot inside of one. His uncle blamed the banks for his father’s death during the depression.”

“That should be easy enough to check. Like I said before, we’ll just go visit Harley Evans over at the bank. You’ll have the answers you need in no time.” He forked up the last bite of his pie and ate it. He licked his lips as if he’d settled the matter the way he’s just devoured his desert.

“Are you in that much of a hurry to get rid of me?” she asked, only half teasing.

“Oh, I didn’t say I wanted you to leave.”

Gage’s voice deepened and Bobby glanced at him sideways. He’d gone completely still. He watched her with such intensity she shivered. So this was what it was like to have a man’s undivided attention.

Suddenly the cool spring air blowing in through the truck’s vents wasn’t enough to stop the heat between them. What she needed was an arctic burst straight from a blast chiller.

“Come here.” He slipped his hand behind her neck and nudged her closer.

The fierce look in his eye and the pressure of his hand on her neck drew her to him. She parted her lips, darting her tongue out to lick them.

“Wait,” he commanded and stopped her within inches of his lips. He reached forward with his other hand and ran a finger over the corner of her mouth. “Got it.”

Mesmerized, she watched as he pulled his finger away. A dollop of cherry pie filling clung to the tip. His gaze locked on hers, he slowly brought it to his lips and licked the sweet treat off. “Delicious.”

Her heart jumped two beats then remembered its job.

The pressure on her neck increased again. This time he didn’t stop until his lips were on hers. He tasted like molten cherry pie. Hot. Sweet. Dangerous.

His grip on her neck tightened. He pulled her in closer until she was pressed flush against his chest, his lips demanding in their claiming of hers. She opened her mouth under his assault and he slipped his tongue inside. His hand gripped her hair, holding her still as he devoured her.

She cupped his face in her hand, the skin scratchy from tiny whiskers poking through. She ran her fingers back and forth over them, leaning in closer. More. She wanted…no,
needed
more.

He eased the grip on her hair and the pressure on her lips. Slowly he withdrew. She whimpered, a needy puppy sound, trying to recapture his lips with hers. He refused her, resting his forehead against hers. She opened her eyes and stared at him through her own passion-induced haze. His pupils were so dilated with such need she barely saw the deep green rim of his irises.

“Damn, woman. Is it always going to be like that when we kiss?”

His words and their implication of repeated efforts sent shivers of delight through her. In all her life she’d never had this affect on a man, or he on her, not even the chemistry TA in college she’d considered marrying.

Gage scooted back into the driver’s seat.

When had he vacated it?

He started the engine then sat staring out the window at the slow swish of the windshield wipers. He gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles blanched white. Bobby wiggled back into her seat, setting the empty pie containers between them.

“To answer your question,” he said after a moment, his voice sounding strained and thick with emotion. “I don’t want to get rid of you. In fact, I have plans for you.”

“Like filing?” She tried to lighten the mood. Things just felt too serious, too intense.

Loosening his grip on the steering wheel, he turned to stare at her. Slowly he smiled, sending her pulse back into overdrive. “Yeah, filing.”

He turned the car and headed back to town.

“Where are we going now?”

“To see Harley Evans over at the bank about your case.”

“Oh, I just remembered! He isn’t there. They told me he called in sick today.”

“Harley called in sick?” Gage stared at her. “You’re sure?”

“If he’s the loan officer, then yes. The blonde lady said he called in sick today.”

“That’s odd.”

“Why?”

“Harley Evans has never missed a day of work in thirty years.”

“You’re sure?”

Gage nodded once. “He just received the award for it last week. It was in the newspaper.”

Bobby laughed. “I guess he deserves one.”

“He might, but his job at the bank is the center of his life.”

Bobby shook her head, a little bewildered. “I don’t think I’d ever get used to living in a small town. People know your every move.”

“Yep. It’s one of the things I love and hate about it. And one of the reasons I can’t wait to get back to the city. People know your name and care about you. People also know your routines and if you do anything unusual everyone gossips about it.” He turned left at the red light and headed east of town.

“Just the same, let’s go check up on Harley. That way we can get back to some serious work.” He grinned at her once more. “Like filing.”

Chapter Seven

B
y the time they pulled up in front of Harley’s house the rain had stopped. The two-story Victorian sat on a side street nestled on a half-acre lawn among other houses all built about the same time. A flagstone path led through the neatly trimmed lawn, edged with purple and yellow flowers, to the front entrance. Hanging pots of white flowers and standing pots full of red ones decorated the wraparound front porch. A large American flag hung from the flag holder mounted on the side of the house. Two white Adirondack rockers sat off to the side where the owner could sit out on a warm summer evening and visit with their neighbors. The picture-perfect, peaceful, mid-western home.

Gage knocked on the front door. No one answered, so he knocked again. “Harley? It’s Gage Justice.”

Bobby wandered across the porch to the front window.

Gage opened the screen door and knocked a third time, this time directly on the front door. “Harley. You in there?”

“Gage?” A slight tremor laced Bobby’s voice.

“What?” he asked peering at her through the screen.

She continued to look inside. “Is Harley Evans an older man with white hair, glasses and a little on the small side?”

“Yes.” A frisson of dread slithered up Gage’s spine.

Bobby had grown very still and pale as she stared in the front window. “Then you better come see this.”

He stepped to her side and pressed his face against the front window’s glass. A man lay sprawled facedown on his floor, glasses off-kilter on his face, a pool of blood beneath him. His chalk-white skin and open, sightless eyes pronounced his death. “Shit. That’s Harley.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

For the first time since he’d met her yesterday, Bobby sounded nervous, almost scared. Gage grasped her by both elbows to keep her from falling to her knees. “Sit here,” he said as he led her to one of the rockers.

Once she was seated, he pulled her head toward her knees. “Keep your head down. Inhale slowly.”

She followed his instructions without arguing, which in itself spoke to how shaken she was. “I’ve…I’ve never seen a…a dead body before.”

“It’s a shock, I know.” He pulled her collar away from her neck, kneading her shoulders and neck with his hands. “The first one gets to everyone.”

“You’re used to this?”

“When I was undercover in Columbus, I saw more than my fair share of dead bodies. Some in the line of duty, others, well, in the drug scene you see way too many overdose victims.” He felt her relaxing beneath his hands. He bent sideways and peeked at her. The color had returned to her lips. “Feeling better?”

“Uh huh. As long as you keep doing that.”

He kissed her on the nape of her neck. “As much as I’d love to spend the hour massaging you, I need to get inside to see what happened to Harley. If you think you’ll be okay.”

She straightened in the chair. “I’m fine now. What do you need me to do?”

The woman had grit, he’d give her that. “You don’t need to do anything. Sit here and I’ll go inside.”

She looked up, a determined set to her jaw. “No. I’m a private investigator now. I need to help.”

The last thing he needed was her mucking up a potential crime scene. Yet, he wouldn’t even be here checking on Harley this early if she hadn’t been investigating something that was probably little more than a banking error.

“Okay. First I need a pen and paper.” He flipped open his cell phone while she fetched both items from the big black bag she carried. He dialed the station. “Cleetus. I need the number for the county Crime Scene division.” Bobby jotted the numbers down as he said them aloud.

“Okay. Got it.”

“You got something you need help with, Sheriff?” Cleetus asked.

“No. We’re over at Harley Evans’ place and he’s dead. I don’t know if it’s an accident or something else, yet. Send Daniel out here. For now you’re on overtime at the station and see if you can get Wes or Mike in for the day, too. Send one of them to the bank and find out if Harley actually called in sick today.”

He started to hang up then had another idea. “Cleetus?”

“Yes, Sheriff?”

“Until we know exactly what happened out here, our official comment is “no comment”. And Ms. Roberts is simply helping at the office, no mention of her PI status. That’s to everyone, the paper, the town council, even the Baptist Ladies Association. Got it?”

A soft snort came from Bobby. She was certainly getting a lesson about small-town politics today.

Satisfied with Cleetus’ part in the process, he dialed the county CS division and walked over to his truck. When Frank Watson answered, he gave him the details and address. Behind the front seat, Gage grabbed two pairs of powder-free latex gloves from the small box he kept there.

“Okay,” he said, pocketing his cell phone once more. “Raise your right hand.”

“Why?”

“Because if you’re going inside, you’re going in official, as my deputy. You’ll do what I say, and no one can question your presence in a potential crime scene.”

“Oh, okay.” She raised her hand, her eyes narrowed. “You’re not doing this just so I’ll have to obey you as my superior, are you?”

“I could get so lucky.”

He swore her into duty. Then he opened the screen door once more. “Let’s take a look inside.”

“Aren’t we supposed to wait for the CSI people?”

“We’re not going to remove or disturb anything. Frank won’t be here for the better part of half an hour. I just want a better look from the inside.” He handed her two gloves. “Put these on.”

Grasping the doorknob with his finger and thumb, he turned it. It was unlocked.

He shook his head.

Small towns. No one locked their front doors.

With his foot, he pushed the door gently open. Somewhere in the back of the house came the strains of a classical song. A grandfather clock in the front room clicked off the seconds.

Gage stepped inside. Two odors met his nose. Neither one comforting. Crime shows never told people how dead bodies, especially those that died suddenly, smelled.

“Oh God,” Bobby whispered behind him. “Is that what I think it is?”

“You going to be okay?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at her. She was holding her nose. He tried not to laugh.

“I think so. No one ever told me how bad the stench would be.”

“That’s something you never get used to.” He pulled his service revolver out of its holder and held it down at his side.

He ventured farther into the house, stopping them both in the living room’s doorway.

The furniture, Victorian-period, velvet-lined couches and chairs, lay in a meticulous rectangular grid. All accept the solid-oak coffee table—askew where Harley’s body lay next to it. The far wall was lined floor-to-ceiling with built-in oak bookshelves. Each shelf had the books lined in order, spine out. The wall opposite the window held precisely hung, framed maps. Antiques, if he had to guess.

“You stay here until I’m sure Harley’s the only one here. And don’t touch anything until I get back. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” She saluted him and leaned against the doorjamb.

A quick tour of the house, both upstairs and down, showed nothing but the same well-cared-for antiques and vintage décor. Assured no one lurked in the shadows of the rooms, he holstered his weapon and headed back downstairs.

Bobby hadn’t moved from the living room door but had turned so she couldn’t see Harley’s lifeless body.

“The rest of the house is clear,” Gage said as he joined her. He grasped her by the shoulders, turning her to look in the room once more. “Don’t look at the body. Just tell me what you see.”

“Okay.” She paused, looking carefully around the room. “This was a very neat man. Everything has a place and everything is in its place.”

“Good. What else?”

“Our victim likes expensive things. Leather-bound books, antique furnishings. Probably expensive whiskey in those crystal decanters on that table beside the sofa.” She pointed to the maps. “He’s also a collector of rare maps I bet.”

Gage nodded at her. The woman had a good eye. “Very good. You’re a better observer than most rookie cops. Now work your way toward the body. What else do you see?”

“The corner of the Persian rug is flipped up by his feet. The coffee table is crooked. Papers are scattered on the floor and table.”

“Any conclusion?”

“It looks like he tripped and hit his head.”

“Very good. This could be nothing more than a tragic accident. That’s what the crime scene people will let us know. Or it could be something more, like a murder staged to look like an accident.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“To throw us off, make us not look any further into the case. They’d probably hope we’d give up quickly. This is a small town with limited funds and resources. In the past two days, since you literally fell into my arms, you’ve seen me call in the county fire department, the county arson investigator and now the county crime scene unit.” He held her gaze. “In fact, you might even say you brought all this crime with you.”