by Hill, Jamie
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, remembe
r?”
“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.”
“Hey, I resent that. I was a good kid in college.”
“So was I, Jake, but I liked to have fun.”
“Okay. I'm not admitting to anything, but I had a little fun myself.” Changing the subject, he continued, “So these mushrooms, a low dose over a long term—how harmful is that?”
“It can't be good. Actually, it depends on the person, the dosage, and the strength of the particular batch of mushrooms. They lose a little potency when dried, but if she ingested enough—”
“She ingested gallons of the tea, I witnessed that. Any lasting side effects, you think?”
“I wish I could tell you. Ask the docs at the hospital. They can advise you more specifically about her recovery.”
“Okay, Donna, thanks.”
“Oh! I forgot to mention…these mushrooms? This particular strain is indigenous to the South, if that helps at all.”
“It does. Thanks again.” Jake punched his phone off and shoved it back in his pocket. His breathing was rapid, nerves stretched to the limit. He couldn't shake the feeling that the more he dug, the deeper he sank into a pile of shit.
* * * *
The doctors at the hospital were happy to get the name of the drug. Jake left them with Joss, plotting her new course of treatment, while he searched for her mother. He found her at a table in the cafeteria, eating a bowl of soup.
“We need to talk.” He sat in a chair across from her.
“I'm having a quick bite to eat then I must get back to my daughter.”
“The doctors are with her. We found out about the mushrooms. Now that they know what made her sick, they can treat her properly.”
He watched her for a reaction. When she gave none, he pressed on. “Of course, you've known all along. You sat by her side quietly, wasting valuable time—time that the doctors could have spent giving her an antidote for the crap you used to poison her.”
“You're wrong,” she said, without much conviction. “You don't understand.”
“I understand that poisoning someone is a felony, lady, whether she's your kid or not! That just makes it sicker in my book. Your daughter is going to be heartbroken when she wakes up. If she wakes up.”
“Of course she's going to wake up! She'll be fine, and I'm taking her home.” Miranda seemed in denial about the whole thing.
Jake fumed. He leaned in, hands gripping the table, and tried to control his voice so he wouldn't shout. “She almost died! Do you get that? She was whacked out on the drugs you gave her and took a walk off a roof. I held her up by a scrap of fabric. If the other officers hadn't gotten to us when they did—”
He shuddered. He hadn't let himself think about what might have happened, but he knew it was true. Joss had come very close to dying, and people close to her, and him, were responsible for it. He stared into the tearful eyes of her mother. “She almost died.”
“It wasn't supposed to happen that way,” she sobbed. “David promised me. I swear! The tea was lightly drugged—”
“Do you have any idea how much of that tea she drank? She started drinking it when she woke up in the morning. She drank it all damned day long. Hell, she had more in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep.”
Her eyes squinted. “How do you know what she did in the middle of the night?”
Jake inhaled and sat back. In his anger, he'd gone too far. Her mother didn't need to find out about them like this. Her mother, he scoffed. What kind of a mother did this to her child? Still in a state of disbelief, he couldn't imagine what Joss would say when she found out.
His cell phone rang, and he flipped it open. “Gilford.”
“Detective, this is Rhonda at the ICU nurses' station. She's awake!”
“I'm on my way.” He snapped his phone closed and looked at Miranda gravely. “We need to go.”
After her admission, he didn't intend to let her out of his sight. They rode the elevator to the intensive care unit, and he grabbed a security guard from the waiting room. Flashing his badge, he said, “Keep this woman here. Don't let her leave.”
Pointing at Miranda, he said, “Sit.”
“But—my daughter!”
“I'll check on Joss. You wait here.” He turned to the guard again. “I'll call for backup. Someone will be here soon. Do not let her leave.”
“You got it,” the man said and stood his ground.
Jake cast an annoyed glance at Miranda, used his phone to call for a couple of uniformed officers, then headed into Joss's room. He found her sitting up, with both the doctor and nurse examining her.
“Hey,” she said to him.
He tried to sound calm and glib. “Look at you, all awake and pretty.”
“I bet.” She laughed, raising her arms, which were attached to tubes and needles.
“How do you feel?”
“Tired. Kind of achy. I don't remember much…like how I got here.”
“What's the prognosis, Doc?” he asked the doc.
“We need to run a few more tests, but she responded immediately to the treatment. Except for the events of last night, she seems to have no loss of memory. She knew the date, the president, and a bunch of other fascinating trivia.”
“What a relief!” Jake knew it wasn't appropriate in front of the doctor and a nurse, but he couldn't help himself—he slipped his arms around Joss and hugged her to his chest. “Thank God,” he murmured into her hair, as she nestled against him.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I know you saved me.”
He pulled back and smiled stiffly. “Let's talk about that later. Right now, we have a more serious problem.”
“I dreamed my mother was here.”
“That would be our problem.”
“She kept apologizing to me, over and over. Why was she doing that, Jake?”
He couldn't lie to her. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Your tea bags were infused with hallucinogenic mushrooms, something that's common to the South. When I confronted your mother, she said the tea was only lightly drugged.”
“She drugged me?” Her eyes widened and filled with tears. “But why? Why would she do that?”
“That's what I'm going to find out. I'll need your help.” He looked at the doctor then the nurse. “I'll need your help as well.”
* * * *
He left the ICU room and found two uniformed officers standing with the security guard. Miranda hadn't moved; she looked de
flated and worn out. Jake planned to capitalize on those feelings, hopefully to get her to crack. “Thank you,” he told the guard then held out a hand. “Cuffs?”
One officer handed over his handcuffs.
Jake guided Miranda to stand and reached for one of her hands, snapping the cuff around her wrist. “We'll leave your hands in front, as long as you cooperate.”
“What are you doing?” she whimpered.
He cuffed her second wrist. “You're under arrest for the attempted murder of Jocelyn Wheeler.”
“Attempted murder? No!” the woman screamed. The sound of alarms going off drowned out her sobs.
The light over the door to Joss's room flashed red. Someone yelled, “We need a crash cart in here! Stat!” Doctors and nurses rushed into the room, pushing equipment and each other out of the way.
Miranda looked frozen with fear. Jake watched her, trying to get a read on the woman. He was still mystified how a mother could poison her own child.
