Straight men would have found Edith Fuller a divine cougar with her blonde curls and the merest hint of fresh work to her aged face. Such men would have possibly slept with the small-framed woman, using her to get to her money. I, on the other hand, knew her age, realized that she was Tab’s geriatric, but still sexy, aunt, and had no interest in bedding the diva for her loads of cash.
“Mr. Dixon,” she said, while entering the room. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you face to face. I hear you’re doing respectable things to help our environment here on the island.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, nodding.
We shook hands and she politely bowed her head. I noticed she wore a number of shimmering diamonds on her fingers and wrist—enough gems to monetarily support Bressner University’s environmental d
