Close To The Edge. Kylie Brant

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      Jacey could appreciate the sentiment. Wheeler and Associates had been her brainchild. She’d been the one with the dream, the ambition, and the guts to see her vision come to life. She’d close the doors before she’d see it run improperly. “So you want me to look into the backgrounds of your grandchildren, then let you know what I find out.”

      “That, and I want your personal observations on each.” Catching her look of surprise, he tapped his cigar on the railing to remove the ash, and then continued. “Any firm could get me the information I need, but you…you travel in the same circles. With your social connections, there isn’t a party or snooty affair you couldn’t get an invitation to, and that, my dear, is why I chose you. I’ve always thought if you really want to see what makes a person tick, observe them in a social arena like the one inside.” With a jerk of his head, he indicated the gathering on the other side of the doors. “Over time, everyone shows their true colors, and whether you love that type of thing or hate it as much as I do, these events can be a mine of information.”

      The words cast a decided pall over her earlier enthusiasm. Glancing through the double doors, she gave an inner sigh. He was right, and she would have arrived at the same conclusion eventually. A good PI used every avenue at her disposal. It was surely a flaw in her genetic makeup that she would have preferred more nights like the one she’d spent in Frenchy’s than time spent at functions just like this one.

      “What do you say, Miss Wheeler? Do you want the case?”

      Without a hint of hesitation she answered, “Absolutely.”

      “Good.” His tone suggested that he’d expected no other answer. He took her hand, pumped it hard twice before releasing it. “I’ll send over a file in the morning that will give you the basic data on each of my grandchildren, as well as my contact information. I’ll want regular updates.”

      She nodded. “I’ll fill you in weekly. Would you like to come in to sign the contract, or should I have it delivered to you?”

      “Deliver it to Garvey headquarters. The less we’re seen together the better chance we have of keeping our association under wraps.”

      Now that he’d enlisted her cooperation, he appeared eager to be alone again. Jacey let the suit jacket slide off her shoulders and handed it to him. “I’ll talk to you soon,” she promised, and turned to walk toward the doors. Before entering the ballroom again, she took one last look at the man who’d just hired her.

      Garvey was leaning heavily against the railing, the cigar in one hand, his jacket in the other. There was an aura of loneliness about his figure, one he would have been the first to deny. She felt a flicker of sympathy. Despite his family, the man was destined to die the same way he’d hacked out a niche in the corporate world. Alone.

      Once inside, she looked for her mother to say her goodbyes and make her escape. But once she found her, Charlotte dashed Jacey’s hopes of salvaging a portion of the evening with a quiet hour or two at home before bed.

      “Did you hire a limo or drive yourself?”

      “I drove,” she said automatically, then immediately wished the words back. That would probably be enough to set her mother off on a disapproving lecture about maintaining appearances.

      But this time Charlotte surprised her. “Wonderful, then you can give me a ride home. After John dropped me here, I gave him the rest of the night off.”

      Jacey blinked in surprise. Her mother wasn’t exactly known for her largesse with employees. “I could call for a taxi if you want.”

      “That won’t be necessary. I’m right on your way.”

      She was at least twenty minutes in the other direction, but Jacey pressed her lips together and did a mental count to ten. She could hardly refuse without seeming churlish, and making it appear that she didn’t want to spend any more time than possible in her mother’s presence.

      Just because that fact happened to be true, didn’t make it any less discourteous.

      Silently kissing away the fantasy she’d had of spending a couple of hours unwinding, she accompanied her mother in search of their hostess. Her temples began to throb. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the headache would only worsen before the evening was over.

      The gates to the huge estate swung open slowly, and Jacey nosed her car up the long circular drive. Darkness had fallen over the meticulous lawn and ornamental shrubbery. She had always thought the home looked best in the dark. With the windows lit from within, the mansion took on a deceptively warm and inviting air. In the daylight, its uncompromising lines and precise landscaping made it seem much more rigid, impersonal.

      Much like its lone occupant.

      “Just leave your car in front. I’ll have cook serve us tea in the drawing room.” As Jacey pulled to a stop, Charlotte’s hand went to the door handle.

      “I really can’t come in, Mother. It’s been a long day and I have an early start tomorrow. But I’ll call you tomorrow night, I promise.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous.” With her usual tactics, Charlotte steamrollered over Jacey’s excuses. “We have to discuss this situation you’re in, and I refuse to do that over the phone.”

      Situation? Jacey rubbed her temples as her mother got out of the car. The hammering within was taking on a life of its own. Had Charlotte overheard Garvey? Or had she somehow caught wind of what had occurred at Frenchy’s? She rejected both notions, even as she turned off the ignition and got out of the car. It would be just like her mother to be talking about her “little hobby,” as she liked to call Wheeler and Associates. She had a feeling that the upcoming conversation was one they’d had many times before, and there was no new ground to be covered.

      Nevertheless, she followed her mother up the ornamental brick walk, and into the house. With her sore knee and headache, she was feeling just bitchy enough to be more blunt than usual when she told her mother to butt out. Again.

      Charlotte was already replacing the receiver to the house phone in its cradle when Jacey stepped into the graceful drawing room. Like its owner, it was carefully accessorized to reflect elegance and good taste. With its paintings and objects of art it always reminded Jacey of a museum. Beautiful, but curiously lifeless.

      “Well, this latest situation you’re embroiled in is embarrassing, to say the least. However, I have thought of a way for you to salvage a bit of dignity from the mess.” Charlotte heaved a sigh, and set her purse on the walnut credenza.

      “Why don’t you let me decide what’s right for me, Mother? I’ve been an adult for some time now.”

      She might as well not have spoken. Charlotte was continuing. “It’s not totally your fault, of course. I must say, I never expected Peter to behave so badly. But he is a man, after all, and you can be assured that people will be more forgiving of his boorishness than they would be of a woman’s.” She sat on the Louis XXIV armchair, and waved Jacey to the nearby matching settee.

      She remained standing, attempting to make sense of her mother’s words. “Peter? My Peter? Why? What has he done?”

      Charlotte looked coolly amused for a moment. “Well, he’s hardly yours anymore, now is he?”

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