Chapter 55

Jake rubbed the knuckles of his right hand, aching and scraped from his foolish decision of a moment ago. Punching the wall was a dumb idea, he thought. Now he had a sore hand and a hole in the sheetrock to patch.

He grimaced, sighed, and cursed himself. I must get better control of my temper! he told himself.

The source of his current irritation wsa, of course, Trent Pickering. What exactly he had against Victoria was difficult to fathom. But whatever it was, he was hell-bent on pinning these bogus murder charges on her - murders, Jake was convinced, that his own wacko uncle George was behind.

He checked his calendar. He had an appointment with a new client at one o'clock - five minutes from now. He rummaged in his desk, found a hammer and a six-penny finish nail, and tapped it into the wall above the new hole he'd just created. He grabbed his photo of the Niagara Falls off the desk; it had a hook in back of the frame, and covered the hole nicely, just as a knock came on his office door.

"Mr. Wallerstein?" His new client greeted him with a fearful look and spoke histatntly. "I'm Janice McCreary - I - I called you yesterday."

"Yes, of course," he replied, trying not to stare. "Please, come in."

There was a lot to stare at, good and bad, as she shuffled by him in her red three-inch spike heels and sat in the guest chair closest to his desk. Even with the heels she was only 5'5", and most of that was leg. She wsa slender, almost too thin, but busty - oddly out of proprtion to her tiny waist and almost flat derriere. She wore a black wide-brimmed hat atop platinum blinde curly hair that was just a shade darker than her Marilyn Monroe look-alike face. A white, billowy blouse was tucked into a black mini-skirt that didn't cover any of Victoria's Secrets when she sat down. Black fishnet stockings completed the cheesecake look.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice," she said when Jake had seated himself at his desk. "I really need your help."

"No problem," Jake replied, thankful to have any clients at all. Ever since the mess with Uncle Al and Uncle George and the rest had started, he'd barely worked any billable hours.

"I hope you can help me. I trust the Wallerstein name. You are related to Dr. Allen Wallerstein, are you not?" That explains the look, Jake realized.

"He was my uncle."

"Oh my gosh. Was?" She covered her red-lipsticked mouth with a white-gloved hand.

Jakes eyes narrowed. "He was murderd a few weeks ago. I thought all of his clients knew."

"Oh, dear," Janice said, nearly in tears, just as breathlessly as Marilyn would have. "I hope that doesn't make this harder for you. What I need is - may be - related to your Uncle's death, I'm afraid."

Jake leaned forward, catching a whiff of her Chanel No. 5. "Ms. McCreary - "

"Janice. Please." Her gloved hand settled on his forearm.

He cleared his throat, gently pulled his arm back, tried to ignore the biological response his body was having to her presence. "Janice. If you know something about my uncle's death, I need to hear it."

"I'm not sure," she said, shaking her head and sitting nervously upright. "All I know is, I think I'm being followed. It started after my... surgery." She shifted in her chair, heaving her chest ever so subtly.

Oh. That surgery, Jake thought. Uncle Al's specialty. Good job, Al. 36D's. Real art work.

"What do you think they're after?" Jake asked, trying not to stare.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked exasperated, and glancing down at herself.

"You think they're stalking your breasts?" Jake asked, not knowing what else to say.

"Of course. These breasts are worth $40,000 apiece. Should anything happen to them, I - I - "

"Ms. McCreary - Janice," Jake corrected himself. "I'm not sure what a person would gain by stalking your breasts. Do you have any other ideas as to why someone might follow you?"

"It has to be that," she said. "You see there's... insurance involved."

"Insurance? I don't understand."

She grimaced, swallowed, then, finally, looked up to meet Jakes's eyes for the first time. "Mr. Wallerstein, I -"

"Jake, please."

"Thank you. Jake, I took out a policy on my body with Dr. Wallerstein. They're guaranteed for life... his life. And now that he's gone..."

"You've filed to collect with Lloyd's?"

She looked at him, startled. "How did you know it was Lloyd's that insured me?"

Jake shrugged. "Who else? Okay. So let me guess. Your policy states that if Allen dies, you hvae some period of time to wait before you can collect."

"I get free follow-up surgery anywhere in the world, if needed, for five years. After that, if there are any problems, I get cash. And it's been four and a half years."

"My guess," Jake nodded, "is you've got much less than six months to live. If Uncle George has anything to do with it." And he does, I'll bet, he thought grimly.