On The Edge

by Hill, Jamie

  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?”

  Watkins simply stared at him.

  “I guess not. You see, I'm trying to figure out who the brains are behind Save Our Wildlife. They stand to inherit a bundle if something happens to Joss—Miss Wheeler. Of course, I intend to see that nothing happens to her.”

  “Of course.” The lawyer stood, extended his hand. “Good luck, Detective. If I can be of further help, just call.”

  Jake took his time leaving. He stood, shook hands with Watkins, and slowly exited the office. Watkins watched him impatiently, which caused Jake to move even slower.

  In the outer office, he stopped in front of the secretary's desk. “Betty, do you know Eugene Tuttle? The directory in the hall says he has an office on this floor.”

  She squinted and thought about it. “I don't believe I do. I know most of the people on the floor. We share the elevator several times a day.”

  Exactly as I suspected. They'd become familiar with faces, then names, and would eventually know most of the people in offices around them.

  “Some folks rent offices, but never move in,” Betty continued. “I've seen that several times in this building. Not sure why, though.”

  “Who would I talk to, to find out if Mr. Tuttle ever moved in?”

  She rifled through her desk drawer and pulled out a business card. “MDP Management handles the leases and maintenance on this building. Ask for Susie, she's a friend of mine. Tell her I sent you.”

  “Thanks, Betty.” Jake smiled at her. He took the card and headed for the door. In the hallway, he punched the phone number from the card into his cell phone.

  “MDP Management, Renee speaking,” a woman answered.

  “May I speak with Susie, please?”

  “One moment.” While she placed him on hold, he paced the hallway, looking at suite names and numbers. The directory indicated Tuttle's office in suite 415, but the door there had no sign. Not that the man was even the same Eugene Tuttle as on the Wildlife website, but Jake suspected one hell of a coincidence.

  “This is Susie,” announced a voice on the line.

  “Susie, hi. This is Detective Jake Gilford with the Kansas City Police Department. I got your number from Betty, at the law offices of Roland Watkins and Associates.”

  “Sure! What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “I see the name of Eugene Tuttle on the directory here, same floor as Watkins. What can you tell me about him?”

  “Eugene Tuttle,” she repeated. “Let me check.”

  He heard computer clicks and beeps.

  “Tuttle signed the lease six months ago, for two years.”

  “Suite 415?”

  “Yes.”

  He moved down the hall. “That's what the directory says, but I don't see any signs of life in 415. I'm in front of the door now. There's no name or anything.”

  “Evidently, he hasn't moved in yet.”

  “After six months? Isn't that strange? I can't imagine the rent is cheap here.”

  She chuckled. “No, it's not. But it's not that strange. Sometimes people start a business, which doesn't work out. Then there are people who rent space to have an address, but never actually move in. We don't like that, but it happens.”

  “Tuttle hasn't contacted you to get out of his lease?”

  “Not that I'm aware of. I'm sure I'd know. I handle the accounts.”

  “Do you know if he gets mail here?”

  “I don't. We wouldn't know that. The post office might be able to help you.”

  “Okay, thanks, Susie. I appreciate it.”

  “You bet, anytime.”

  He snapped his phone shut, shoved it in his pocket. Next stop—post office.

  The post office clerk was not as forthcoming with information as she could have been, Jake decided. He tossed a few names around, and had to mention getting a subpoena before the woman agreed to look up the address. Mail for Eugene Tuttle's office had indeed been forwarded to a post office box, number 272, located in the substation where they stood. Security cameras covered all the boxes, but to see the tapes would require a court order.

  Jake hummed as he returned to the department. He could get a court order. A long shot, but a risk he felt worth taking. Something about Save Our Wildlife smelled fishy. He smiled at his own pun.

  He arranged for the court order, then touched base with the members of the surveillance unit scheduled to meet him at the mansion for the night. Confident their plan was in place, he signed out mid-afternoon. He'd be working all night; he wanted to take some time off before then.

  He found Joss asleep on the sofa when he arrived home. He sat on the edge next to her hip, ran a hand over her hair. “Hey, sleeping beauty. I'm home.”

  She stretched, yawned, but didn't open her eyes. “Prince Charming?”

  “Yep, that's me. If you keep your eyes closed, that is.”

  She smiled and opened them. “No way. I love looking at you. I could look at you all day long.”

  He leaned in, pressing a light kiss to her lips. “Gee, that sounds boring. I could think of many more interesting ways to pass the time.”

  Joss slid her arms around his neck. “Tell me some.”

  His mouth moved to her neck. “Do you really want to talk? Cause I can talk, if you like.”

  She covered his mouth with her hand. “Don't talk. Kiss. Keep kissing, don't stop.”

  He smirked and kissed his way around her neck until he reached her other ear. “Why don't we move this party to the bedroom? We can spread out, get more comfortable.”

  “I'd love that, Jake, but I'm so tired. I'm not sure I can move.”

  Pulling back to look at her, he frowned. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled, caressing his face lovingly.

  Jake gazed into her eyes. She'd been lucid since he brought her here, but now, something wasn't right.

  She hiccupped and grabbed her mouth, eyes widening.

  “You okay?”

  “No!” Still holding her mouth, Joss made a gagging sound, and Jake rolled off in an instant. “Oh, God!” she muttered, running for the bathroom.

  Right behind her, he watched her kneel in front of the toilet and throw up. She retched twice more, then sat on the floor. Jake grabbed a washcloth, wet it, and pressed it to her forehead.

  “I'm sorry.” She sat back, clutching the washcloth to her mouth.

  “No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I didn't realize kissing me might make you sick.”

  “Would you stop with the teasing, already?” she muttered crankily.

  “I'm sorry, Joss. Just trying to make you feel better.”

  “I need sleep. That's all it is. I'm so tired.”

  “I wish you'd said something.” His voice sounded irritable now, and he knew it. “If you felt that tired, I would have never started anything.”

  “Don't snap at me!” She stood, washed her face at the sink, then rinsed her mouth.

  “I wa
sn't snapping. What the fuck is up with you?”

  “That's not snapping?” Joss marched from the bedroom to the kitchen. She threw open the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher.

  “What is that?” He followed, even more irritated.

  “What the fuck do you think it is? Sweet tea, same as I always drink.” She grabbed a glass and poured the tea into it. She downed half of it.

  His mind raced. When he'd removed the tea bag to take it to the lab, he thought it'd been the last one. She must have had another. Damn it! Apparently, she'd brought it with her at the same time she picked up her car and a suitcase full of clothes. “Take it easy on that stuff. I think it's making you sick.”

  “You're full of shit. I've been drinking my mama's sweet tea since I was a baby.” She eyed him defiantly and drained her glass.

  “Okay, you know best.” He raised his hands, turned, and strolled off to the bedroom. He changed and glanced at his watch. He had some time to kill before meeting the team at seven. He'd see if Joss was hungry, and grab a bite to eat before going back to the mansion.

  Joss crawled into his bed and burrowed under the covers.

  He stood beside her, wanted to reach out, but didn't. “Will you be okay?”

  “Yes. Go away, Jake.”

  “I assume you don't want anything to eat.”

  “Go away!” She covered her head with a pillow.