Bye Bye Bones (A CASSIDY CLARK NOVEL Book 1)

by Lala Corriere

  Tracy glowed. “Everyone here knows me, and at least from the news, we all know Michael and Jessica, even though we’re on competing stations. And now, Cassie, you know Jaxon. How cool is that?

  “Everyone, this is my date, Michael Scores. Arranging this brunch was almost impossible, because when he’s not at the station he’s out serving the community. He’s a member of the Tucson Art Museum, the Southern Arizona Bonsai Society, and the Preservation Foundation.”

  Jaxon spoke up, “And I know Michael as my half-brother. Small world.”

  “I had no idea you had a brother, Michael,” Tracy said. She turned to Jaxon. “Never mind. We’ve only been dating a short time. And you’ve hired my dear friend? I know she can help you with—”

  Jaxon interrupted, “My ex-wife is certifiable. She poisoned my dog, and now she’s stalking me and anyone I love. Cassidy’s team has the best reputation in town so she’s now on my team.”

  As I nudged my knee into Manning’s leg with a firm yahoo-moment, I noticed Scores glance away from my gaze.

  Tracy giggled, “I knew this would be the perfect table of guests. And, of course, let’s not forget Chief Manning. We all know him as our local hero.”

  Manning shrugged, uncomfortable with the compliment and the attention. He was ready to order, give me the tab and bolt.

  Jessica piped in, “Chief Manning, I received the information you granted us on this white van. Thank you.”

  “Tell everyone else about what you do, Cassie. It’s so exciting,” Tracy interrupted.

  “I’m working with Jaxon and we’ll take care of him,” I nodded toward the man. “We have another case, unofficially, that’s called for my attention. And, well, the Chief is my good friend. I’ve worked for him for years and we continue to work together on cases.”

  “Intriguing,” Scores said. “What cases?”

  Gold digger for stories. Schmuck. “Client confidentiality, Mr. Scores. We have a good working relationship, and we’re good friends, which is why he’s here. I didn’t know you’d be—my friend’s date,” I said.

  “But, don’t your cases come from lawyers? Maybe the D.A.’s office? Seems odd you’re working with Chief Manning.”

  Manning spoke up, after gulping down a rich dribbling bite of Eggs Benedict. “Cassie saves our department money, Scores. She comes in on a consultant basis and she’s out of there. With our desired results. I think if our accounting is reviewed, you’ll find not one taxpayer objecting to our engaging the services of Cassidy Clark.”

  Scores dug his heals in. I swear I heard them mincing the concrete patio floor. “What about our missing congresswoman? Things have been way too quiet.”

  Jessica Silva pushed her plate away. “You know that’s off limit, Scores.”

  “The public is nervous. We have rumors of more missing women. Care to comment, Chief Manning?”

  Manning lowered his voice in a menacing way as he leaned closer to Scores. “You may recall that I made my comments at the press conference. If you have information on any other missing women, I strongly advise you to inform the police department. Here’s my comment for you. You’re a jerk. Always have been. The pretty boy who gets to broadcast the news. We know what we are doing. And together, you and I—we are not going to cast fear onto our community when we don’t believe it would be in the best interests of our citizens. Think about it. Like any growing city, and because of our border situation, Tucson gets more than our share of missing people. I don’t think there’s a news story there, do you?”

  I’d never seen Manning turn eggplant purple. He whipped off his napkin, pulled back his chair, offered Scores a cursory glare and left the restaurant.

  I’d deal with him later.

  Regarding the rest of the guests at the table, I focused on my new client, Jaxon Giles. I remembered him requesting special protection for his girlfriend, Jessica Silva. Both were high profile personalities within the community. I felt the same disdain for Michael Scores that the chief did, but I had my best friend’s feelings to shield. She’d already heard enough of why her new dream date might not be so dreamy to other people.

  Tracy came up to me and whispered, “This is a fiasco. I thought we were the perfect mix. It was just a brunch.”

  “Too many strong personalities at the same table. Don’t worry. Those personalities come with big egos. It’ll be fine.”

  I grabbed my purse and paid the bill. When I saw Jessica Silva stand, I pulled her aside. Far aside.

  “Jessica, I respect you. This is in total confidence, okay?”

  She nodded, leading us further away from the patio.

  “The time may be close when we should warn a small segment of our population to stay alert. With certain details. The chief is getting pressure from the mayor to keep it under wraps, even after the press conference. The only good thing, even with local blood pressures boiling, is that the disappearance of Congresswoman Strong is an FBI matter. Some of the pressure is off the city. The bad news is that her case is overshadowing what might be the real problem.

  “While I risk pissing off the chief, I’m telling you that I’m not swayed by politics. One of the perks of my job. I may be calling you.”

  Jessica knotted her black hair up on her head, tucked in the ends, looking as if she had just come out of a celebrity hair studio. She grabbed my hand with a firm grip. “I’m available and promise total confidence if you need to brainstorm.”

  AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK Sandra Vickery left the salon at Cosas Bueneas feeling like a million bucks, which was far less than her net worth but a nice emotion just the same.

  The timing wasn’t right. Things weren’t in place. She’d call the marital guru in the morning and tell him that they, she and Jaxon, were taking an unexpected vacation. She’d have to postpone their marital counseling.

  Her own form of therapy commenced. She started by visiting the St. John Boutique. While she fingered the leopard print gowns and the leathers, her mission was to go to the perfume, where she sampled the perfume tester, lavishly spraying on the free aromatherapy that hopefully was laced with plenty of pheromones.

  Her engagement ring had been sized to fit her finger. While at Falls & Falls Jewelers, she spied their love necklace. Rose quartz, chrysocolla, chrysoprase, moonstone and kunzite, all brought together in one place to assure, love, romance and passion.

  Sandra didn’t look at the price. As she returned her credit card to her purse her phone rang. Her lawyer.

  “You aren’t getting those restraining orders, Sandra.” He dutifully pronounced her name ‘Sondra’.

  “What the fuck do you mean?”

  The store clerk raised his unibrow, whispered a thank you and handed her the gift wrapped bag before turning away.

  “This is outrageous. Do they know who I am?”

  “I’ve tried every angle but you have to prove a viable threat.”

  “Both of them took one out on me,” Sandra snapped.

  “Yes. Because they had the needed documentation.”

  She hung up.

  “What a crap of an attorney,” she told no one in particular because the clerk had moved as far away from her as possible.

  Rather than continuing her shopping, she marched to the restaurant that she knew served the best vodka. Jaxon’s vodka. Even though it was the height of the lunch service, she demanded the table for six. It offered the best views.

  Downing her second drink, her jaw relaxed. Her pulse slowed. She looked down at the incredible engagement ring, then unwrapped the necklace she had just purchased. Putting it on, the rage left her body.

  That was stupid thinking, she told herself. Restraining orders against Jaxon and the bimbo were not going to win him back.

  Her fingers glossed over the smooth stones now around her neck. She called Jaxon.

  “You know you aren’t supposed to call me.”

  “Of course, darling, and I hope you’ll forgive me. I wanted to let you know that I have repealed my request for the restrainin
g orders. We don’t need that between us.”

  “Okay. Good to know. Bye—”

  “Wait. Please. I thought we might have a civil lunch between us. I’ll buy. How about meeting me at Sullivan’s? I know you love their steaks.”

  “Sandy, hell, no. Not now. Not ever. Our restraining orders stand.”

  “Our? You mean you and that bitch?”

  Jaxon slammed his phone down on the leather desk.

  Finishing the last olive with the residue of her second drink, Sandra thought about it. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe by calling her Sandy, it was Jaxon’s term of endearment.

  She caressed the necklace again. With its magic, timing could speed up.

  She called the only person that might be considered a friend but the call went to his voicemail.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  JESSICA SILVA COULDN’T miss the new Porsche in Score’s parking place. She loved her old vintage one. Still, a ribbon of jealousy furled around her. New Saville Row suits. Now, this? Either he inherited a wad of money or the guy got a huge raise.

  She approached her desk with an air of indifference, resolved to not say one word about the fancy new car. Not up for his gloating. Not today.

  Scores was drinking his daily energy drink.

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” Jessica said. “I’ll give you one of my grandmother’s lemon bars if you’ll make me a shake. I’m feeling like I need it today.”

  “Run down?”

  “I’m plain tired.”

  “Sure. Why not? As long as your grandmother made them,” he teased.

  “You know she’s gone. But I’m a decent cook and I know how to follow her recipe.”

  “Deal.”

  Michael returned from the station kitchen with the shake and two lemon bars.

  “I said one,” Jessica said.

  “Feeling lousy myself. Why do you think my story on all of these missing women didn’t take? No sparks.”

  Jessica took little pause. “Because it was premature, Michael. You can’t warn all nice-looking women in all of Tucson Metro to be careful. That’s like telling everyone to beware of any cacti growing on their property. And, as an aside, I have no idea why you don’t keep a pulse on our competition. As you know, KOPA aired a short interview with the Chief of Police last week, squelching any mass panic.”

  “I didn’t know about the other story.

  “I slid mine past the news director. Every one of these women has been featured as missing and I strung them together. But you’re right. Premature. It would have been better if I could report no one should wear yellow on Tuesdays.”

  “It’s all in the details and the timing,” Jessica said. “You had neither this time.”

  With air time in ten minutes, she checked her emails, her upcoming stories, and downed Michael Scores’ drink with one of her grandmother’s lemon bars.

  Ten minutes into the broadcast, Jessica began slurring her words, and then she laid her head down on the curved granite news desk at the first commercial.

  JAXON GILES HAD RECEIVED a message from Jessica earlier that afternoon.

  “I know you’re at the steakhouse for a late client dinner. You’ll end up on the patio with your cigars and brandy. Wait for me. I’ll be there after the broadcast.”

  And he waited.

  Sandra Vickery showed up with one of her guests du jour. When she noticed Jaxon, she asked for a table on the other side of the small patio.

  After she lit her Nat Sherman cigarette, her guest left the table.

  He didn’t return.

  Sandra sat there with her cigarette and glass of vodka. She positioned herself to not face Jaxon.

  At first she whimpered, then she sobbed.

  “Excuse me, but I may need a moment with that woman over there,” Jaxon explained to his client.

  He addressed her table with concern. They were once married. Man and wife. She clearly wasn’t there to menace him. And he wasn’t without heart.

  “Are you okay?”

  Sandra drew in a long breath, without looking up. “I am. Thank you.”

  Jaxon sat down. The woman could fake tears like the best of Hollywood talent but she seemed genuinely distressed.

  “I do care for you. I want you to be happy.”

  Her mascara ran down her eyes in streams of unruly black rivers with too many tributaries.

  “Jaxon, you make me happy. I’m so sorry I messed it up. I messed us up. I can be that woman you married, again.”

  “No, Sandy. You know our time is over. We had a good run at it.”

  “I would never hurt you, you know?”

  “You think you haven’t hurt me?” he asked. “Why the hell do you keep showing up, wherever I am, in spite of the restraining order? I smell a stalker.”

  Vickery stood up, threw a wad of green bills on the table, and left.

  Jessica Silva never showed up.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “WHAT DO YOU HAVE, Schlep?” I asked at our office, the back room of the bookstore.

  “No connections with the new missing woman and our other vics. There are over 4,800 white vans registered in Pima County. The witness swears there was no business lettering on it and that she saw both the left side and the back. Arizona plates. Even though an eye witness isn’t completely credible, I believe that it’s a white panel van. Not a passenger van. Even then, we’re talking vehicles registered to everything from cable companies to exterminators to mortuaries. I’m breaking the list down by going after the newer registrations. Maybe it’s someone starting out in business who can’t afford any lettering. There isn’t exactly a box checked for lettering on vehicles. We’re talking about a ubiquitous vehicle.”

  “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.”

  JAXON WANTED TO STOP for flowers but wouldn’t dare spend the time.

  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.”