On The Edge (8 page)

“So back to the
Jackson
Heights
game.
You won, and—?”

“And Marcy Sharvis was the head cheerleader. She had this short little skirt, a really tight sweater, and these pom poms…”

“Oh my God!”
She squealed. “Did she keep her uniform on?”

“Part of it, I shoved the skirt up. But we had to lose the sweater, you know. It's a guy thing. We used the pom poms for a pillow in the back seat of my Chevy, so her head was surrounded by these blue and white wispy puffs. I can still remember how she looked, lying there. Course, she wasn't there for very long. It was my first time and all.”

Joss broke into peals of laughter, holding her stomach.

He grinned. “Fortunately for you, I've developed self-control over the years.”

“Thank God!” She managed to get out, still laughing.

“Okay, you next.
First time, who and where.”

She gulped some water and wiped tears from her eyes. “Damn, you crack me up. I don't have nearly as funny of a story to tell.
Mark Williams, in college.
We went out, he got me drunk, drove me to a secluded spot. He had a small car, so he threw a blanket out on the ground. That's about all I can remember, except how much it hurt. I cried
,
he was pissed because he didn't come, and he drove me home. I never saw him again.”

Jake's face tightened. “Did you call anyone? Report him?”

She shrugged.
“For what?
He didn't rape me. I thought it seemed like a good idea at the time, but apparently he didn't have the finesse to pull it off. There wasn't much good about it, but it was mutual.”

“That sucks, babe. I hate that story. Tell me a better one.”

“I'm not giving you a list of the guys I've been with. There aren't that many, but it feels a little weird, Jake.”

“You started this line of questioning.
The last one, then.
Who was your last boyfriend, and why did you break up?”

“That's easy. I can do that. Fred Deane, a guy from the restaurant where I worked.
Great big hulking black guy.
You'd have thought a man with such God-given gifts might have known how to use his assets a little better. He was pathetic!”

They laughed again. Jake was relieved. He liked to see her happy, not melancholy.

Joss wiped her hands on a napkin and moved behind him, slipping her arms around his neck. She laid her head on the back of his shoulder. “I'm not going to ask about your last girlfriend. I might not like it. I should warn you, I have this little jealous streak.”

He leaned back into her. “Good to know. You've got nothing to worry about, beautiful. I'm faithful to the core, a real one-woman man. And it excites the hell out of me to think that you're my one woman.”

“Me too, baby,” she said softly, rocking against him. “I just wish that other stuff was behind us. I'm afraid to go back to the house, Jake. Something's not right there. It frightens—no, terrifies me.”

He moved one hand to cover hers. “You don't have to go back. I've decided to enlist some help from the department, to get things over with faster. I'll make arrangements tomorrow. But you should stay here. Don't go back, Joss.”

“I won't,” she agreed, hugging him. “I'll stay right here.”

Chapter Seven

Jake tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt. Even after eight years on the police force, he'd never gotten used to wearing neckties. There was no getting around it in the uniformed division, but once he became a detective, he saved ties for special, or necessary, occasions.

He always wore a suit coat and kept a tie stuffed in the pocket just in case. A sharply dressed detective with a badge clipped to his jacket usually achieved better results than a laid-back one. Jake fidgeted with the tie again. Roland Watkins hadn't sounded pleased to take his phone call, even less thrilled to make an appointment to meet. The lawyer seemed to be playing head games, making him wait.

From his seat in the outer office, Jake could see through the glass window panel beside the front door. In the hallway hung a plaque with a directory of people who had office space on that floor. Of the twenty names listed, one jumped out at him. Eugene Tuttle.

Where have I heard that name?
The memory escaped him. It was an unusual last name. Jake chuckled, remembering Tuttle on the old TV series
M*A*S*H
. Trapper and Hawkeye had invented the man as a lark. He never existed, but everyone insisted they knew him. Captain Tuttle, the invisible man.

“Mr. Gilford? Mr. Watkins will see you now.” The buxom brunette behind the desk rose, leading the way to the inner sanctum of the office.

“Thank you.” Jake tried to ignore the woman's tight fitting skirt, but each sway of her hips made it difficult. He estimated that she poured her ample figure into clothing two sizes too small for her. In previous times, he might have enjoyed easing her discomfort by helping her out of the garments—he'd always thought bigger girls had more to love.

Since he'd met Joss, he wanted to stop mentally undressing every woman he met. He'd been truthful when he told her he was a one-woman man. He'd never be unfaithful to her.
But it didn't hurt to look, did it?

The secretary opened the main office door and held it, requiring Jake to squeeze past her. She smelled sweet, like bubble gum mixed with a rose-scented perfume. Her gaze seemed to admire him as she said, “Here you go. Mr. Watkins, this is Mr. Gilford.”

Jake smiled, letting his gaze roam over her quickly. “Thanks again, uh—”

“Betty,” she supplied, batting her lashes.

“Thanks, Betty.” She appeared to appreciate his attention, and he hoped he boosted her morale.
If it made her feel good…
Hell, it made him feel good, too. Besides, he might need her help in the future.

She slipped out, and he turned to the lawyer seated behind the desk. Roland Watkins signed paper after paper, apparently hoping Jake would go away.

He cleared his throat and stepped forward, trying tact first. “Mr. Watkins, I'm Jake Gilford, a detective with the KCPD. We spoke on the phone, and I mentioned that I'm helping Jocelyn Wheeler settle her father's estate.”

The lawyer stopped writing and raised his eyes.
“Of course.
Hello, Mr. Gilford. Have a seat.” He motioned to the two chairs in front of his desk.

Jake smiled at the man, taking in his appearance as he sat. Watkins, probably fifty years old, had thick dark hair slicked back with gel. He was tan and seemed fit. Jake guessed him to be a golfer. A man didn't get that tanned walking to and from his car. “Actually, it's
Detective Gilford.
I'm with David Taylor's outfit. I believe you know him.”

Watkins didn't bat an eye. “Yes, I know him, he's a good man.”

“He was a friend of Edward Cooper.”

“An old friend, perhaps.
Edward didn't socialize much in his later years.”

“Why is that?” Jake leaned back, crossing his legs.
“Poor health?”

“He suffered from prostate cancer for the last five years of his life. After his first surgery he was in remission for a few years. His symptoms reappeared, and the doctor found the cancer had metastasized to his lungs. Nothing could be done at that point. Edward died nine months later.”

“Nine months.” Jake mulled that over. “Do you know why he didn't try to contact his daughter earlier? If he had, they might have had the opportunity to at least meet.”

“Edward had conflicted feelings about the girl. He didn't plan to contact her at all. I convinced him it would be the best thing, since she's his sole heir. He could go to meet his maker knowing he'd done what he needed to do.”

“You convinced him,” Jake repeated, trying to keep the skepticism from his voice. He highly doubted this version of events, but no one could refute it.

“Of course.
He harbored feelings of guilt. He never felt like he did enough for the girl. This was the least he could do.”

Jake snorted. “Leaving her everything he owned is a lot more than the
least
he could do, Mr. Watkins. According to the will, the estate is valued in the millions.”

Watkins shrugged, an insincere smile pasted on his face. “He never knew his daughter, Detective. Edward suffered miserably because of that.”

“Really?”
Jake paused to mull the statement over.
Suffered miserably?
He saw an easy fix for that. All Edward Cooper had to do was pick up the phone and call Joss. They might have had their reunion long before the man kicked off.

The lawyer stood up and moved to a small table at the side of the office. From a carafe, he poured coffee into one mug, took a sip, and returned to his desk.

“I'm good, thanks.” Jake waved a hand.

“Sorry, Detective. I thought we were about done here. You have more questions?”

“Yes, I do.” Jake uncrossed his legs, pulled the notebook from his jacket pocket. He read from it for a moment then said, “
Save Our Wildlife
. What can you tell me about them?”

“Edward contributed to them at the highest level. He was very interested in the cause of animals.”

“Interested in hunting them, that's pretty obvious,” Jake added. “But why would he care enough to leave them millions? I find that rather incredible.”

Watkins settled back into his chair. “Edward was concerned about the humane treatment of animals. He hunted, but he was ethical and followed the rules. Besides, he didn't leave them millions, Detective Gilford. Miss Wheeler gets the money, remember?”

“I remember. But the funny thing is
,
someone's trying to scare Miss Wheeler out of the house. Strange things are happening there. That's how I became involved.”

Watkins' phone buzzed. He ignored it, staring at Jake, who continued, “It's not going to work, though. I don't scare as easily as Miss Wheeler. We'll figure it out, or just sell the house, makes little difference to me. She'll get her money either way.”

Another buzz had Watkins glancing at his phone. He frowned before saying, “Excuse me.” Punching the red flashing button, he spoke into the receiver, “Yes? Okay, put him on.” He swiveled in his chair, his back toward Jake. “What is it,
Devon
? I'm in a meeting.”

Jake paid attention to the one-sided conversation.

“Why can't you use their van? Oh, I see. I suppose you can use the truck. The keys are hanging in the mud room.
Devon
—
drive
carefully, and don't leave the gas tank on empty, please. Okay, I'll see you.” He rotated back to face Jake, replacing the receiver. “Sorry about that.
Kids.”

“Ah, I love kids.” Jake smiled. “What does your son do?”

“He works at Starlight Music. They provide disc jockey services for all kinds of events, wedding receptions,
parties
, whatever. They're supposed to have their own van to haul equipment, but lately it's been
in
the repair shop more than out.”

“That'd be a very interesting line of work. I bet they use all kinds of electronic gadgets in a job like that.”

“They do. In fact…” Watkins hesitated, appearing as if he'd said too much. He refocused and stated, “Enough about that. You have more questions? I really must get back to work.”

“Just a few.”
Jake glanced at what he'd jotted in his notebook.
Save Our Wildlife
, corporation officers
Ross Whitcomb, William Rust and Eugene Tuttle.
Eugene Tuttle!
That's where he'd heard the name. Someone had used that name to rent an office on the same floor as Watkins, in this building.
What a coincidence
. “Have you ever heard of Ross Whitcomb?”

Watkins thought about it.
“Can't say that I have.”

“What about William Rust?”

Another blank look.
“Sounds familiar, but I can't place him. Sorry.”

“Eugene Tuttle?”

“Nope,” Watkins answered, a little too quickly.

“Are you sure about that? Eugene Tuttle? The sign in the hallway says he has an office on this floor.”

“There are a dozen offices on this floor, Detective. My partners and I have eight employees right here in our own suite of offices. I wouldn't begin to keep track of who else comes and goes in the building.”

“Really, not even here on the same floor? You haven't met him in the elevator perhaps?”