On The Edge (11 page)

* * * *

Someone touched his shoulder, and he jumped.

“Time to wake up,” a nurse said gently.

“Wake up?” Jake bolted upright. His back kinked.
How long have I been leaning over the bed like that?
Morning sun streamed through the window. He glanced at Joss. She looked the same.

“Her condition is unchanged,” the nurse offered.

Jake stood up and stretched his back.

“Sorry if your back is stiff, we let you sleep. We figured it was the best thing for both of you.”

“I thought you had rules about ICU visitors.”

“We do. But it was the middle of the night. The doctor went home. Besides, nurses run the hospital.”

“Thank you.” Jake smiled at her.
“So, no change?”

“Nothing yet.”

He checked his watch—seven-thirty—the lab opened at eight. He pulled a business card from his wallet and circled his cell number. “I'm going to leave for a while. If she wakes, or there's any change, could you please call me?”

“Sure, Detective. Does she have any family we can get in touch with?”

“Her mother's in
New Orleans
. I'll track down her number and call.” He placed a kiss on Joss's forehead then headed home to shower and change.

His mind in a fog, he hoped a shower would help. It at least gave him time to make a mental list of things to do. He always worked better with a list.

With half a bagel and a cup of coffee in him, he dressed and searched the house for her cell phone, assuming her mother's number would be in it. He couldn't find Joss's purse, or her phone. They could be in her car, probably parked at the mansion. He hadn't noticed it last night, but it had to be there.

Jake drove to the house and found her car, unlocked. He rifled through it until he found her purse under the passenger's seat. The phone was there, and he searched through it for her mother's number. When he found it he hesitated then shut the phone off. He needed to call the lab and put a rush on the test results first. It'd be better to have something concrete to tell her mother, rather than the fact that Joss was simply unconscious for no reason. Hoping he'd made the right choice, he decided to wait and call her when he knew something.

Removing her keys and purse, he locked the car and returned to his vehicle. The time read just past eight. He dialed the number of the
lab,
spoke with the woman in charge, explaining the circumstances. She agreed to rush the results and would call him as soon as had something for him.

He drove to the office, grabbed another cup of coffee and dropped into his desk chair.

“Gilford!” the chief bellowed.

Jake groaned.
“Yep.”
He headed for the big office.

“Find anything last night?”

“We did. The team found a sophisticated digital player in the ceiling of Joss's bedroom.
Roy
's having it checked out.” He looked at his boss. Apparently he wasn't the only one who hadn't slept well.
Taylor
looked like death warmed over.
“Everything okay, Chief?”

“No! This case is taking too long. I need you on other matters.”

“Unfortunately, there was an accident last night. Jocelyn Wheeler's in the hospital, unconscious. I absolutely need to follow through on this, before I take a new case.”

Taylor
didn't appear surprised, which made Jake wonder how much the man already knew—and if he was looking for a reason to pull him off the case.

The chief stepped closer and spoke under his breath. “When I say I need you on other matters, I expect you to comply. It's not up for discussion.”

“Edward Cooper was your friend. You asked me to take care of this for you. I don't—”

“What part of
'not up for discussion'
don't you understand?”
Taylor
boomed. “Wrap up what you're doing. Turn in your notes to me by noon.”

“Yes, sir.”
Jake backed out of the office.
Like hell
. He'd be out of the office in ten minutes and wouldn't come back until
Taylor
had calmed down. Obviously, something bigger bothered the man. Jake figured he must be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Straightening his desk, the flashing light on the phone caught his attention.
Damned voicemail
.
The only calls he wanted were from the lab or the hospital, and he'd given both of them his cell number. He knew he had to take a moment to check it, so he sat, pushed buttons, and listened.

The first three calls were of little importance. The fourth one made him sit up in his chair. “This is Sandra Kay from the post office. Someone picked up the mail in
box
272
, and we got a pretty clear surveillance camera shot of him. I left it at the customer service desk in an envelope with your name on it. Thanks, bye.”

“Bingo!” Jake slapped the top of his desk. If he'd caught a break, there'd be a picture of Roland Watkins getting mail for Eugene Tuttle, and things would be shaping up nicely. He glanced at his watch. The post office was across town, the hospital closer and on the way. He'd stop and check on Joss first.

A nurse outside Joss's room stopped him.
“One visitor at a time in the ICU.”

He glanced through the window and could just make out the black arm of someone sitting in the chair next to the bed. “Who's in there?”

“She said she was the patient's mother.”

Chapter Ten

Jake forced his jaw to remain closed, but it wasn't easy. He was shocked. Why was Joss's mother here? How had she found out about the accident? “I need to speak with her,” he said decisively, wondering about the woman. Holding up his badge, he said, “Police business.”

“I'll get her,” the nurse agreed and motioned him away from the door.

He moved, but watched the door closely, so the woman wouldn't disappear. He highly doubted she was Joss's mother, but didn't know who in the hell she could be.

The woman followed the nurse from the room, and he approached her. Her skin appeared dark, much darker than Joss's, but that would be normal, he reminded himself. He searched her face for any resemblance. She looked nice enough, but nothing convinced him of her identity.

“You're a police officer?” she asked in a tired voice. Her eyes looked tired too.

Another person who didn't get much sleep.

“I'm Detective Jake Gilford, KCPD. I'm also a friend of Joss's. May I ask who you are?”

“Jocelyn doesn't have any friends in this place. She's only been here
a short while and she's not staying. In fact, I'll probably take her home when she's released.”

“You're her mother?” he asked again, because she hadn't offered.

“Yes, I'm her mother. I'm Miranda Wheeler.”

“I'm sorry, Ms. Wheeler, but I need to see some identification. Joss is in the middle of a police investigation, and I firmly believe someone tried to hurt her.”

“Who would want to hurt my baby?”

“That's what I'm trying to figure out. Could I see that ID, please?”

The woman stared at him with steely eyes then opened her purse and pulled out her wallet. She removed a
Louisiana
driver's license and handed it to him.

He studied the license. Miranda Wheeler,
New Orleans
. The picture looked right, it was obviously her license. Handing it back, he forced his voice to sound soft. “How did you know she was here? I planned to call you, but was waiting for some news.”

“I just knew. Mothers know these things.”

“I see.”
What a load of bullshit.
“Guess more mothers should become detectives.”

“Can I go back to my daughter, please?”

“I'd like a minute with her first.”

Miranda stared at him then nodded and stepped into the waiting room. He entered Joss's room and stood at the side of her bed. She looked the same as when he had left.

“Hey, sweetheart.”
Jake bent and kissed her cheek. “I sure wish you'd wake up. I've got so much to tell you.”

He left his face pressed to hers for a moment then straightened. “I'll be back soon. If you wake up before then, they'll call me. I love you, Joss. Remember that.”

She didn't move a muscle; there was no indication that she had heard him. He hoped she had. On his way out, he passed her mother. “I may have more questions, later.”

“I'll be here,” she replied, before returning to Joss.

Jake watched her go then left the hospital. On the way to the post office, he thought about Miranda Wheeler. Joss hadn't spoken of her much, so he really didn't know what to expect. She seemed decent enough, but these weren't normal times, and the woman was high on his list of suspects.

Anxious to see who else made the top of his list, he hurried inside the old, brick building. Thanking the clerk behind the counter, he ripped the envelope open. He was disappointed to find there wasn't a photo of Roland Watkins inside, but instead a much younger man. A clear shot, the dark-haired man should easily be identifiable, if Jake had any idea who the hell he might be.

On a hunch, he drove to Watkins' law office. Betty was at her desk when he walked in, and he smiled.

“Well, hey, Detective.” She returned the smile. “Did you have an appointment? I'm afraid Mr. Watkins isn't here.”

“No, Betty, I came to see you.” He held out the photo. “Do you recognize this man?”

She took it and looked at it closely. “No, I don't believe I do.”

“It's not Devon Watkins?”

“
Devon
?”
She looked again. “Not a chance.”

Jake's hopes sank. “You're sure?”

“Positive. Look.” She motioned him back to her employer's office. On a side table there were several framed photos. Betty picked one up. “This is
Devon
.”

Jake studied the picture. No doubt about it, Devon Watkins was short and blonde. The man in the other photo appeared taller, with dark hair. “Thanks.” He handed the picture back, and she returned it to the table.

She studied the post office photo again. “Come to think of it, this man does look vaguely familiar. Follow me.” She nodded toward the door, walked out and down the hall. Another secretary sat at a desk around the corner from Betty's.

“Mary, take a look at this.” She handed the picture to the middle-aged blonde woman. “Does this guy look familiar, or am I imagining things?”

“Sure, that's Nick Taylor. He works with
Devon
at Starlight Music, remember?”

“Of course!”
She handed the photo back to Jake. “Nick Taylor, that's it. I've seen him in here a few times with
Devon
.”

His heart pounded loudly. “Nick Taylor. I've heard that name before.”

“Probably,” Mary agreed. “His father's a cop. A high ranking one, I think.
Maybe even chief of something.”

“Chief of Detectives,” he added, smiling grimly. His mind raced with possibilities—none of them good.

“Then you might know him,” Mary said innocently.

He didn't answer her directly. “Thanks so much, both of you. You've been a tremendous help.”

They smiled, and he left them chatting as he let himself out of the office.
Nick Taylor?
What the fuck was going on? Before he could wrap his mind around this new twist, his cell phone rang. He snapped it open and barked, “Gilford.”

“Jake, this is Donna from the lab. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, I'm sorry,” he softened his tone.
“Busy day.
You got something for me?”

“Oh, yeah.
Would you believe dried mushrooms?”

“I'm assuming you mean the psychedelic kind, not Portabellas?”

She chuckled. “I do. They're actually called Psilocybin mushrooms. I can spell it for you.” She spelled the name, and he copied it to his notepad.

“What do you know about them?”

“The side effects vary, depending on the dosage. Generally, they can cause hallucinations, mania, lethargy, depression—the usual psychedelic drug reactions.
Kind of like tripping on LSD, if you remember that far back to your college days.”