Bye Bye Bones (A CASSIDY CLARK NOVEL Book 1) (12 page)

“Don’t we have another gal that signed on with us to do research from home?”
“Carson Greer. A young mother. Brilliant on the computer,” Schlep said.

“Why don’t you take the newer registrations you want and give her the rest of the list? Manning is on my ass and I don’t blame him. We’re moving at a glacial pace on this one.”

“Done. Meanwhile, it might get worse.”

“How?”

“My source tells me that there was a leak to the media. Everyone will know you’re working this case and that you have no leads.”

“Just great. Your source leaked a leak to you.”

“Pretty much.”

“The good news is that the media isn’t going crazy over these missing persons. Michael Scores’ report got nowhere. Not yet. I think there are more outcries about the FBI not coming up with anything on Congresswoman Strong. Just in case, I’ll call Jessica Silva. If anyone can put a spin on this in our favor, it’s her.”

“Cass? You don’t watch the news? Listen to it? See it?”

“Puts me in a downer mood. Including Jessica’s reports. Why?”

“She started slurring her words on the air last night. Ended up with her head down on the desk.”

“She couldn’t have been drunk,” I retorted. “She’s no Paula Abdul.”

“No one is rushing to judgment which is a good thing. It could be as simple as anxiety or lack of sleep. Could be a brain injury or hypoglycemia. Actually, there are forty-six conditions that could cause slurred speech in—”

“Gotcha, Schlep. I take it she’s at the hospital?”

He nodded, with a sudden fall in his voice, “Yes.”

“You’re damn good. Why the sour face?”

“I still feel bad about leaving you up in that cabin, alone.”

“Nonsense,” I snapped. “You didn’t leave me up there. I never gave you an address. And speaking of that case, I’m working it. Manning hasn’t given me his okay, but I’m not charging him. I think he’s up to his eyeballs with paying us for the missing women and getting zip back. Something in my bones wants me on the Marks’ crime. I’ve hired myself.”

“So you said. You walked in on it.”

“There is one tiny thing you could do for me, since in effect I hired our company.”

“And without pay. Sure. What?”

“It’s likely Karl Marks had an attorney. Maybe his family wants justice for his murder. Someone might be willing to talk. Death always comes with a territory. Find out if the attorney or family has something to say.”

“I’ll have it to you this afternoon.”

“What about the Giles case?”

“The lady, Sandra Vickery, played all nice Mr. Giles. Even wanted to take him to lunch. In return, he thinks she’s up to something.”

“I agree.”

When he arrived, Michael Scores was sitting in the austere hospital room next to Jessica, with an elaborate bouquet in a Baccarat vase.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jaxon roared. “You did nothing to help her on the set. Just sat behind your damn big desk.”

“Calm down, Bro. I was doing my job. Being a professional. Jessica had all the help she needed, immediately.”

“He’s right,” Jessica said. “He did his job.”

Jaxon bent down to Jessica, hating to see her in bed, attached to an IV. He kissed her. Tenderly. All over her face and down the arm nearest him.

“I’ll see you soon,” Jaxon dismissively said to his half-brother.

Michael didn’t move.

“Seriously, Jaxon, the show must go on. From what I know Michael did a great job. And I’m the laugh of the valley,” Jessica moaned.

“From what I know your viewers are concerned about you. What are the doctors saying?”

“After pumping my stomach and shoving down oxygen, they ran initial tests. They’ve already done a brain scan. So far they haven’t found anything on the very dark side. And before you ask, there was no alcohol in my system.”

“I would have never thought that. I’m totally worried.”

“Additional tests will be taken tomorrow. Or all night tonight. You know how they keep us up in this expensive Shangri-La.”
“What kind of tests?” Michael asked.

“Everything, I suppose. I did pass out at my desk. On the air. Something’s up.”

He drove to the house on the east side, not graciously welcomed by Carson and her ornery two-year old son. Carson’s infant twins were sleeping.

“Sorry. I saw the sign on the door. I didn’t ring the bell.”

Carson used her fingers to brush back her cropped black hair while asking her son to pick up some of his toys, which lathered the home in full-spectrum color, mostly the Lego Land primary ones.

“I should have made it clearer,” she said. “No interruptions, including light tapping. Now, what possibly, between geek-to-geek, could you not have just emailed me?”

“I’m not sure,” Schlep stumbled. “I have a list of registered vehicles that we need you to look through.”

“You sent me that list.”

“I see you’re busy, but every minute that you can give us, we need you. The white van is our only viable clue.”

“You told me it was a white utility van.”

“Yes, but an eyewitness isn’t always reliable. I need you to—”

“Look at every white van in southern Arizona. I’ve already started. What else?”

Schlep shuffled his feet on the worn wood floor. “I don’t know. I guess I want to tell you that I know you’re a single mom raising three kids. I don’t live too far from here so if you ever need anything.”

“I fare quite well on my own. That’s why I chose this career position.”

Embarrassed, Schlep turned a shade of rose, which was red for his pale skin. “Okay. Be sure to log your hours.”

“Can I count the time I’ve wasted with your visit?” Carson asked.

Schlep moved toward his car, considering the probability that he had another Cassidy Clark personality on his hands.

Sipping the Petite Sirah, she saw Jaxon enter as her shrimp and lobster bisque was being served. He rolled in looking like a finely hand-wrapped Cuban cigar. Pride. Integrity. Charisma in a body.

She melted.

After watching him shake his head while talking to the hostess, she waved to him.

Hard to miss her. Not only had she chosen the most commanding table, she was dressed to the nine-hundreds.

He scowled, straightened his back, and walked to her table.

“You can’t ask me to leave, Jaxon. I was here first and I just ordered their
duxelle
mushroom filet.”

“You’re right. They seem to have lost my reservation so I’ll just wait at the bar until my client arrives.”

“Oh, I heard about your girlfriend. How horrible.”

“She’ll be fine. And thank you for referring to her as my girlfriend rather than that bitch or bimbo.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Since you’re here, and your friend must be running late, why don’t you sit down and at least have a drink with me?”
Jaxon looked around the restaurant. No open tables and the bar swarmed with noisy patrons. He regarded her alone at the table.

She delivered her planned speech. “My dinner date stood me up, so I am a legitimate party of one.”

He cocked his head, contemplating the situation. With a lost reservation, and his guest not yet here, he would not get a table anytime soon.

“No thanks. This has got to stop. You running in to me. Tucson isn’t that small. I don’t know how you know where I’m going to be, but it’s not with you.”

Vickery lifted up her breasts, puffing up, with a lifted chin. “I’m trying to make amends.”

“Have you really turned over a new leaf or is this another game?”

“I’ve turned over several leaves. I’ve let go of the past and those leaves are now composting. Rather stinky, you know, as composting goes.”

“I’m understandably reserved, Sandy.”

She smiled, and then continued to sample the bisque.

“Why do you insist upon calling me Sandy?” she asked.

“Because Sandy’s the one I met and fell in love with, long before Sandra came along, and then along came Sondra.”

She was right. It was his term of endearment!

She laughed. “Well, it’s better than
along came a spider.”

He signaled Sandra for a pause in any conversation to call his client, now twenty minutes late.

“What’s wrong,” Sandra asked, as her filet was delivered.

“First no reservation. Now, no guest. Maybe I got the date wrong.”

It pays to know people. Or rather, pay people for what they know. She had cancelled both his guest and his reservation.

“I seem to remember you messing up your calendar all the time All isn’t lost. Order some dinner.”

He reached into his trousers pocket, pulled out a money clip, fingered a twenty and slapped it on the table. “This is it. No more. I’m not kidding you. Stay away from me and I don’t care if you are in any room first. You will leave.”

“Why go?”

“Because I made it very clear, I will not partake in any meal with you. Not now. Not ever.” His words gentle but firm.

Removing himself from the table, he found his way out the front door.

Sandra felt the nausea set in. Light-headed, she steadied herself, stood up, and ran toward the door to take chase. Realizing the hopelessness of the situation, she pulled her body toward the lobby wall and dropped her head.

The maître d’ walked over to her. “Ma’am? Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

She raised her head and with vitriol replied, “Of course I’m okay. Bring me another vodka.”

She was feeling much better. The rage refueled her system.

I had just wrapped up my final edits on my new manuscript and fired it off to my editor. The break was indeed a spiritual release. It felt like the freedom of the legs of a fine wine dancing down the crystal glass that showcased its beauty.

Seeing her wear the old happy face and hearing her voice back on high-octane soprano made it all the more a great morning. My dogs, my pupcakes, ran up to lick her from her face to her toes.

She handed me the envelope as I poured the iced tea.

“What’s this?”

“It’s the official invitation. You’re invited to my divorce party.”

“Already? It’s done?”

“Not quite, but we’ve reached an amicable agreement, which means it was in my favor.”

“I don’t know, Tracy. Divorce parties always seem so negative. So bitter. Nagging and ragging and sagging hags.”

“Hey! Watch it,” she said.

“You know what I mean. It’s just when you get a group of divorcees together it’s a recipe straight out of the Titanic. The divorcees are the iceberg, if you get my
drift
.”

“Not this one. A friend of mine at the station booked the party room at
Cosas Buenas
Spa and Salon.”

“I’ve heard of that place. I certainly didn’t know they had a party room.”

“Sure. Mostly for bridal parties, or a girls’ night out. We’re just putting a little spin on it. Full bar, catered, massages, facials, and nails. You have to come.”

“You had me at the full bar.”

We toasted with the Tejava tea.

“Are you still seeing Michael Scores?” I asked.

She grinned.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Have you finally realized that your old thoughts about culture and race have changed? Even television commercials feature interracial couples. It’s a non-issue. You are living in an archaic past.”

“I am adjusting to the idea quite well. Hell, if things don’t work out with Michael, I may just go green. I’ve always been fond of Kermit the frog.”

I called ahead. No one was using the magic room at the police station.

I entered the private space, closed the door, and let the dogs out of the tote. Eagerness, laced with some amount of trepidation, triggered an element of expectancy as I rolled up the map of Southern Arizona. Beneath it, all of the missing women’s names and photos still presided over the great wall of sadness.

Rather than sitting back and staring at it, which is my usual M.O., I started pacing again. What the devil was up my craw, I wasn’t sure.

Schlep called and offered to come down.

“Not this time, Schlep. I need to do my thing. No offense.”

“None taken. I don’t want to be around you when you do that thing you do.”

What was I doing?

I returned to face the wall. This time I ignored the words—even the names. Instead I just looked at the faces. All of the pretty faces.

Ten minutes? Twenty? I lost track of time, mesmerized in the tones and details of such beautiful photographs, all submitted by family members.

I didn’t have to read any words. Write down any words.

I remembered them!

With Manning leaving me alone for a change, I called Schlep and asked him to get to the bookstore.

He took it as an order, which I suppose it was.

“Got here as fast as I could,” he said, grabbing his tablet from his scuffed leather satchel.

“I think I have something. Damn. I know I do. It’s just going to take a village to figure this out.”

“Then why aren’t we convening with Chief Manning?”