On The Edge

Chapter One

“I think my house is haunted. Either that, or I'm losing my mind.” The petite woman spoke matter-of-factly, a serious expression on her face.

Jake Gilford looked her over carefully, gauging his first impression. She was pretty, her caramel-colored skin slightly darker than his summer tan. Black-as-coal hair, in springy ringlets, touched her shoulders. Her eyes were a shade lighter, chocolate-colored, and definitely piercing as they gazed at him directly. She was a small woman, but shapely. He couldn't help but notice her nicely rounded breasts straining against her thin t-shirt, and the way her hips filled out a tight pair of faded jeans.
Which doesn't mean she's not a freaking nutcase.
He smiled politely. “Miss Wheeler?”

“Of course I'm Jocelyn Wheeler,” she snapped, stepping back so he could come inside. “I phoned Chief Taylor about my situation. He assured me he'd send his best detective. I assume that'd be you, Detective…?” She shot him a look, which indicated her skepticism.

He forced another smile, and brushed past her, entering the old house.
“Gilford.
Jake Gilford. The Chief told me this was a special case. Something about
he
and your father being old friends—”

“They were. My father died a few months ago, and I'm here to settle his estate—the largest part of which is this house.”

He took in as much as he could of the huge, ornately furnished house. If she stood to inherit everything, she'd become a rich woman. He glanced at her—she fidgeted as she looked around, warily.
A rich, nutty woman.
“I'm sorry for your loss.”

She shrugged, crossed her arms and rubbed them, as if warding off a chill. “We weren't close.”

“Which explains why your father died a few months ago, and you're just now showing up.” He ran a finger over the porcelain statue of a zebra, which sat on a side table. There was a lot of wild animal paraphernalia. He wondered about the former occupant of the house.
Big game hunter-type?

“Actually, I didn't know he was my father until recently. He wrote me before his death.”

Jake arched his eyebrow, surprised. “You never knew him?”

“Nope.
It was just Mama and me all those years. She told me bits and pieces when I asked, but never mentioned his name. We were happy, and I never asked too many questions. Imagine my surprise to get his letter.”

“Yeah.”
He scratched his stubbled chin. Now he wished he hadn't been running late that morning, or had least taken time to shave. He often sported a three-day beard growth, and liked the way it made him look. But, judging by the way she gazed at him, he wondered if it made him look lazy to this beautiful woman who had a hint of a Southern twang in her voice. “Did he offer any explanation about why he stayed away?”

“Oh, sure.”
She dropped into a large, overstuffed, brown leather chair, which dwarfed her small frame. “He said Mama understood, they both thought it was the right thing to do at the time. He'd been traveling through the south when they met, and had their thing. They kept in touch for a while, but when she found out she was pregnant—well, it was a problem. White man, black woman…you know. Some people still had prejudices back then.” She snorted. “Some people still have prejudices now.”

He had to chuckle at that.
“No doubt.
But in my opinion, it's one of the stupidest excuses I've ever heard. It's hard to believe your father had trouble accepting a half-black daughter. He apparently didn't have a problem sleeping with your mother.”

“People can be stupid.”

“As a cop, I understand that all too well. But I still find it strange.”

She cocked her head, and stared at him. “Why's it so hard to believe?”

Jake shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, finally decided to be honest. “Frankly, you're not too tough to look at, Miss Wheeler.” Her eyes widened, and he felt his face flush, but he continued, “I mean, you were probably a pretty cute baby. It was his loss, not seeing you grow up. Any man should be proud to have a daughter like you.”

She rose from the chair, and had to look up, nearly a foot, to meet his gaze. “I guess twenty-four years ago, he didn't think so. There was something about it being delicate in his line of work, but who knows? That might have been just a load of bull. Whatever the case, it seems when he found out he was dying, he wanted to make contact with me. Mama wasn't thrilled, especially when I told her I wanted to come here and stay in his house for awhile. It took a long time to convince her, and I didn't make it before he passed away.” She turned from him. “I would
liked
to have met him, but in some ways, this is easier.”

Her shoulders trembled. For an instant, Jake wanted to reach out and comfort her. Political correctness got the best of him and, hanging back, he chose his next words carefully. “There's something strange going on in the house, here?”

With a quick swipe of her forearm over her eyes, she turned back to him.
“Oh, yeah.
It's more than all the creepy animal statues, too. I hear noises in the night. Not just animals, though there's plenty of growling. I've heard trains, boat horns—all kinds of loud, out of place, sounds.”

“I can see why you'd be on edge.” He hoped his tone was soothing, placating.

“I'm not
on edge
, Detective Gilford. I'm fucking scared shitless.”

He choked back a laugh at her frankness, realizing she didn't want to be babied. She seemed sincere, so maybe there was something to what she said. In any case, he was given the job of finding out. “I understand. Why don't you show me around the house, and we'll go from there.”

“What are you looking for?” Suspicion shone in her eyes.

Hoping to quell it, he smiled again. “I'll let you know when I find it.”

The corners of her mouth turned upward, but she still appeared nervous and wary as she moved about the house. Jake watched her for the first few minutes of the tour. He imagined she had a beautiful smile, wondered what he'd have to do to see it.

When he discovered they were in the kitchen, and couldn't remember how they got there, he decided he'd better focus on the house. Hopefully, there'd be time to focus on the stunning Miss Wheeler, later.

The huge dwelling had two stories above the main floor, and what appeared, at first glance, to be a dark, musty cellar. He saved that for last, figuring whatever he was looking for was, very possibly, hidden down there.

Room by room, Jake checked closets, cabinets, and every little hidey-hole he could find. Jocelyn followed, not saying much, but close by. By the time he'd poked and prodded through the last bedroom on the highest floor, she asked again, “What are you looking for?”

“I'm not exactly sure. I just wanted to get the feel of the place.”

“I've looked for tape players, and other electronic devices, that might make the sounds I've been hearing. There aren't any.”

He shrugged. “This is a big place. Electronics are getting smaller and
smaller,
you may have overlooked whatever it is.”

“I may have. Or this stinking place is haunted. That's the direction I'm leaning, after almost two weeks here.”

“I don't believe in ghosts,” he said firmly, as they returned to the kitchen. “I believe in facts, and hard evidence. If I nose around enough, I'm sure I'll come up with something.”

She pulled open the refrigerator door, and took out a glass pitcher. “I hope so. I can't take too many more sleepless nights. It's making me punchy, and bitchy. I'm sorry; I'm usually not this way. Can I offer you some tea?”

“Sure.” He leaned against the counter, and watched her pull two glasses from the cabinet. While she added ice, a thought occurred to him. “You mentioned you're from the south?”

She nodded.
“
Alabama
, originally.
Mama and I moved to
New Orleans
after Hurricane Katrina.”

“Moved there after the hurricane?” he asked, surprised. Most people had moved away then.

“Mama's a nurse. She had friends there and wanted to help rebuild. There's still so much to be done, even now.” Raising the pitcher to pour, she hesitated when he touched her arm.

“The reason I asked is…most people from the south drink sweet tea. Is that what this is?”

“Of course.”

“I'll take a pass, if you don't mind. I was born and raised right here in
Kansas City
. The only thing I want sweet is my barbecue sauce.”

Without skipping a beat, she poured tea in one glass and filled the other with water from the tap. “Here you go, Detective. I'm afraid I'm addicted to this stuff, so it's all I have to offer you besides water.”

He accepted the drink. “Water is perfect, thanks. Please, call me Jake.”

“My friends call me Joss.” She raised her glass in a toast, and they eyed each other as they drank.

“Joss,” he repeated. “I like that.” Jake continued watching her, and thought, briefly, that he liked
her
. She wasn't in the best situation, but he could tell she had a sense of humor and a feisty attitude. She was certainly beautiful. He hadn't exaggerated when he'd said she was easy on the eyes. It wouldn't take much for him to forget why he was there, but that wouldn't be right. She needed help, and he was determined to provide it.

Her appealing scent was distracting. Jake smelled gardenias, and something earthy he couldn't identify. It took all the control he could muster to step away, finish his water, and set the glass down. “I guess I should check the cellar.”

She reached for a flashlight, and handed it to him. “You'll want this. There's a pull-chain light in the center of the room, but that's it.”

“Thanks. Coming with me?”

“Not a chance. Last time I was down there, I saw something that looked like a lizard slither by. That was it for me.”

Laughing, he opened the cellar door. “Ah, come on! You have lizards down south. I hear they're quite prevalent in
Alabama
, probably
Louisiana
too.”

“Not where I live.” She shuddered and waved him on. “I'll be right here when you get back.”