“I’m already on it. Printing right now.”
The individual owner was a pain doctor, known in the community as a drug dealer in a white coat. With his background he was also transparent, having been forced to cough up several years of office records and endure lengthy background checks.
Nothing in particular stood out with the couple. The husband owned a large title insurance company, along with another dozen real estate investment properties. I made a note to ask Jaxon Giles if he’d ever heard of him.
The wife had swapped out a career as a botanist to be the stay-at-home mom, and then find her place in the community doing philanthropic work. Tennis clubs. Bridge clubs. And now the acting director of the Southern Arizona Bonsai Society.
“Unsettling,” I said.
“What?”
“I don’t know. It’s too ordinary, I suppose.”
Schlep offered me some coffee. I had already overdosed.
“Then at least come and see my koi pond,” he said.
“Calming, huh?”
He laughed. A silly half-laugh.
We strolled in to his backyard and the wonderment he had created overpowered my senses. Brilliant scents of lavender and roses. The sound of trickling water in the pond. Textures of rich Talevera pots, forged metal sculptures, and the wispiness of bottle brush plants. And the shimmering sight of the koi.
“You have a piece of paradise back here.”
“Thank you. I use it as my church.”
I looked across to the back wall of his small and perfect yard. Perfectly manicured rows of oleanders and bamboo. More pots filled with bonsai plants.
“Shit!” I screamed.
“You’re scaring me. And I’m used to your bad mouth.”
“Come on. How many people belong to a bonsai club?”
“I don’t know. I can find out in seconds.”
“The news anchor. Michael Scores. My friend told me he belonged to a bonsai group here. And then, the owner of the cabin. The wife. She’s the friggin’ acting director of that same society.”
Schlep walked over to the wall that boasted his collection of bonsai. “I’ll run the numbers, Cassie, but you have to remember Tucson is a small town. If you dig deep enough everyone will know someone that’s connected to someone. Call it the empirical theory of six degrees of separation, but in tights.”
“Schlep, we need to reduce that to one degree of separation. I’m digging in to anything and everything. By the way, you’re a good man. I’d like carte blanch to come veg in your backyard sanctuary.”
Schlep shook his head, which meant an overwhelming yes.
MANNING JOINED ME AT the coffee shop. He had chosen the furthest table on the patio, the one with the broken legs, in spite of the fact the patio was largely cleared. It wasn’t so early. I couldn’t get there until after ten.
“Seriously?” I said, putting my arms on the wobbly table.
“Your smoke. It bothers people.”
“I quit. It’s why I’m so damn pissy lately.”
“Next maybe you could give up your bad mouth.”
“The files I gave you? Your turn. What’s your take?” I said.
“I poured over them last night, with a pour of gin. We had the info on the cabin owners. Give the department some credit, Cass.”
What he didn’t know was that my intuition, bouncing between bonsai trees, had my stomach in a French knot shooting out those distinctly gnarled branches.
“You’re right,” Manning offered. “I can’t find a single link between Karl Marks and your guy. Except for that bullet. Let’s get over to the hospital.”
“Crap. I just sat down,” I said.
“With a to-go cup. Serves you right, because ten o’clock isn’t exactly the crack of dawn, Ms. Slacker.”
THE FRESHLY MADE BED in the hospital room gave me hope. No sign of its previous occupant. Maybe my guy had been released.
Manning and I headed for the nurses’ station.
“Are you family?” the nurse presiding at the floor’s main reception station asked.
“Yes,” I said in a firm and falsely polite tone.
“He’s been moved back up to ICU. You should have been notified. It seems he has developed an infection.”
“What kind of infection?” I demanded.
“You’ll need to talk to his doctor, since you’re family and all.”
She knew I wasn’t family. She must have known that his only living relatives were a mother in hospice in Florida, and a sibling with unknown whereabouts.
“Cassie, you can’t just go into ICU,” Manning said.
“Like hell I can’t.”
I pushed the so-called screening button, and announced myself as family.
Manning sheepishly lagged behind.
We were stopped at the inside nurses station. I couldn’t believe it when Manning flashed his badge.
“He has an infection at the wound site. Obviously, it’s bad. We’ve had to increase his sedation. He won’t know that you are here.”
Manning backed away, but I went in to the room. So many tubes. So many IV’s in his veins. Oxygen. Loud monitoring equipment. Beeps. Ugly growls. Disharmonious hums.
A doctor came in. A resident.
“He’ll be okay?”
“He’s in ICU. We’re doing our best.”
Not yet a real doctor and already an asshole. I hoped he’d never ‘fly-up’. My guy was not well. I knew it. It was bad.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
CHIEF DROPPED ME back off at my car near the coffee shop. I had to get my brains cooking. Nicotine worked that groove for me. Caffeine wasn’t cutting it. I decided I would remain bitchy rather than stink of smoke.
With the top down, and my tunes cranked up high, I drove to Jaxon Giles’ office.
“Thanks for coming here, Cassidy. It helps,” Jaxon said.
“Sure. I just wanted to see you face to face. I appreciate your apology, and I offer mine.”
“How is your man?”
“Not good.”
“But I thought he could talk to you today.”
I instinctively put my hand near my heart. Jaxon understood to let it go.
“We have an overlapping shift of people following Vickery. She doesn’t seem to be a menace, except for that I admit we’ve lost track of her two times.” I said.
“She’s a clever one. Don’t think twice that she wasn’t involved in turning on the tail you had on her.”
“You’re talking a serious talk.”
“She’s a serious home-grown terrorist dressed in Oscar de la Renta and diamonds. She’s vicious. Venomous. A vituperative vixen. ”
“I might be inclined to agree, but don’t go leaking that to the press or she’ll nail you for libel.”
“The truth is that inside I think she’s broken. Fragile.” He put his hands to his face and drew a long breath. “Thanks for the update, Cassidy. If there’s anything I can do over at the hospital, let me know.”
“I don’t know what that could be, but I appreciate the gesture.”
“Let me walk you out.”
“No need. You’re busy.”
“I insist. Besides, you smoke, right? I have a cigar in my pocket, along with a pack. I can use a break.”
This just wasn’t my day. I tried hard not to become ever more the bitch, asking that we just have a break in his non-smoking break room.
We drifted far away from the case that tore us both to shreds. We talked about his relationship with Jessica, and how she wanted to cool things for awhile. And I had a smoke.
“She’s intelligent and sharp. I mean, just for now maybe it’s a good idea. But that may mean Vickery sees an open door and she won’t let that door slam shut.” I said.
“I’ve thought of that, but I would not dare say that to Jessica.”
“Right. As long as you know what might be around the corner. Gotta run, Jaxon. Thanks for the break.”
“I’ll still walk you to your car.”
A beautiful brand new copper Lexus sedan pulled into the parking lot.
Jaxon noticed my eyes glazing over.”
“One of our top residential producer’s. The guy is a machine. And single, if you want an introduction.”
Pause.
“Cassidy? Are you okay?”
I was more than okay. Here before me was this magnificent car, and the sides of it were covered up with blatant real estate signs.
Magnetic signs.
“THIS IS GOING TO DRIVE Carson and me crazy,” Schlep said when I called him at five the next morning.
“That’s fine. I’m already mildly insane. Join my club.”
“Mildly? The sun isn’t up yet, Cass.”
I ignored him. The guy never slept and I knew it. “It makes sense. So much sense. The guy is using magnetic signs. On. And off.”
“It means that we lose huge ground we’ve tried to gain. No lettering on vans. Lettering on vans.”
“There can’t be that many magnetic sign companies around.”
“Cassidy, think about it. The Internet. One sign, or a dozen, could have come from anywhere.”
“Please. Just check it out for anything local. I have something I need to do.”
Schlep alerted to the sound of my voice. “I don’t like it, whatever it is.”
“I’m simply going to join the Southern Arizona Bonsai Society. That’s all.”
“It’s never that all with you. Be careful.”
He heard too long a pause while I tried to come up with a witty retort. I failed.
“What else?” he asked.
“Damn it, Schlep.”
“What else?”
“I have an appointment with the hypnotherapist.”
“God. Again? Why?”
“Because I think she can help me recall some details from the night I was at the cabin. And she’s my anti-smoking coach. Cut me some slack.”
UNDER THE GUIDANCE OF Jean Clancy, I felt myself in an odd state of consciousness, delving into my subconscious. I could still feel the sturdy but buttery supple leather sofa that supported my body, but I smelled pine. And something sweet and rich.
Even though I have intuition and gut instincts, I’m no psychic. I needed the talents of someone like Dr. Clancy to draw out what I already knew.
“Back at the damn cabin. Karl Marks is in a pool of blood on the bed.”
“Why do you suppose you need to go back there?”
“Something.”
“Breathe. Look around. What is it that draws you back?”
Time froze. I had no concept of it.
“If you can’t feel it, Cassidy, look. See it.”
I took several deep breaths. More pine scent. More of the rich perfumed air.
“It’s the stack of business cards next to him. Most are his. A small assortment of other cards.
“One is related to a domestic case I’m working. I loathe domestic cases and usually farm them out. This one is different.”
“What’s on the card?”
“It’s what’s not on it. A generic card. No name but for the business.”
“What’s on the card, Cassidy?”
My breathing labored. Now, very shallow. I could feel my fingernails dig into the skin of my crossed arms.
“All right. It’s time to bring you out.”
Within seconds I as wide awake and refreshed, with a vague idea of what had transpired.
“It’s those business cards you saw back at the cabin,” Clancy said.
“Yes.”
“You need do nothing, but I suggest you go back and look at those cards.”
“I have copies of all of them.
“Wait! I only have copies of the front of the cards. There was something scribbled on the back of one!”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I SPED DOWN SWAN ROAD, urgent to get back to my laptop. I had all the magical information. It was just scrambled with a few egg shells tossed into the mix.
The late May desert sun failed to intimidate me, even though I didn’t bother to put the top up on my car and the blazing hot leather seat sizzled my thighs.
My cell phone rang through the Bluetooth. Not exactly an ideal thing when the Mustang’s top was down.
“Schlep?”
“I finally got around to checking out your spy camera in that brooch of yours. I think you might have captured more than Marks on the lens.”
“I’m almost home. Call you back.”
Looking through the files on Marks, I highlighted some findings. No car. I knew that. No car keys. A small key ring was found in the deceased’s jeans with one house key to a slum residence on the south side, along with one unidentifiable safe key, or safety box key, most likely fitting a home safe, only no safe was found at his property. The wallet was complete with a driver’s license and a debit card. Thirty-one dollars. Forty-two business cards. Twenty-three were those of the vic’s. Since he had no business, I could presume they were CFM calling cards. The additional cards belonged to various businesses. Exterminator. Doctor. Strip Clubs. Plumber. All the usual.
I printed out the scan of the business cards and the report on the tire tracks on the side of the house. Everything Manning had shared with me. The sand on the hard earth provided only a partial. Not enough to reveal any evidential findings of a tire treadmark.
I changed clothes into what I thought might be befitting of a bonsai person. A little tree person. An old tree person. A crooked tree?
I ended up with jeans, a tailored top and a straw hat, and walked into the modest building that housed the bonsai society.
After a brief tour, the membership recruiter asked if I would like to join.
“I’d like to do a little research. It’s quite a drive for me to get here. A commitment for me. Is it possible you have some materials for me on classes, resources, maybe other members?”
“We can’t really afford printing, but everything is on our website. You have been to our website, right?”
“Of course.” In all my years as a private investigator I always hated even the smallest white lie. “I’d like to know if any of my friends are members.”
“Well, you’ll have to ask your friends. Our membership list is confidential. Once you become a member you can access that information.”
“I didn’t realize this is a secret society.”
“The membership fee is $45.00. You’ll need to fill out the application form and your membership will be confirmed via email, along with your password.”
“I’ll just take care of that now. You can get me set up”
“The board reviews the applications. It will take a few days.”
“For bonsais?”
The good news was that I never gave the snot my name. A waste of my time. Schlep could get me that membership list in five minutes.
SCHLEP AND CARSON both came to our makeshift office in the back room of the bookstore. Surely they were ready to charge us rent, but we usually walked out with a purchase or two. And I donated a ton of my books for them to give away for any goodwill or cause.
“Who’s watching Vickery?” I asked.
“Giles and Silva took a much needed vacation. We’re off the case for two weeks per Giles. Meanwhile, I have a couple resumes for you to replace—”
“Of course. We need more shadows on our team.”
“But we come with good news,” Carson said with her melodic whisper of a voice.
“I could use some.”
“First, we have the list of all the members in Tucson’s illustrious bonsai society. A couple names popped up. Scores, for one. And Sandra Vickery is some mucky-muck on the board.”
“Confirms those two must know each other,” I said.
“Seems like everyone knows everyone around h
ere. That camera in your pin?”
“The brooch?”
“Yup.” Schlep turned his tablet so that I could see the images of Karl Marks the night at The Dancing Saguaros.
“What am I looking for?” I asked.
Schlep zoomed in.
“Holy shit!”
“Exactly. Now it’s not like this dive is a hotspot in town. Why would a guy like Michael Scores be hanging out here? And baby, he seems to only have eyes for you.”
“I’ll give you it’s creepy. What else do you have?”
“Between Carson and me, we have three computers running lists. I developed my own algorithm program a few nights ago, based on our work,” Schlep said.
“And?”
“Nothing yet. It’s going to take some time. We started out with no dots. Now it’s like we have too many. The program will identify patterns. Bits and pieces. It will develop quickly, like honey combs, and with all of the perfect spaces and places.”
“This is for the white van?” I asked.
“And the salon’s private parties, and for what it’s worth, the owners of that cabin, and all those business cards found there. Anyone that knew anyone, several degrees out, should show up.”
“But six degrees of separation means the entire population on this earth, remember?”
“Aha! But this is different. It has a built-in weeding out factor. We’re excited about it, Cass.”
I sighed. “Then I am, too.”
“We’ve turned up one small piece, but whether or not it’s relevant we don’t know,” Carson piped in.
“Do tell,” I said. Sometimes I liked it when someone told me it might be nothing.
“It’s the list of owners of the cabin. I did some probing, pretended I was a buyer and wondered why it went off the market. When I reached the wife of the couple that holds an interest in it, she let something slip. I asked if it was ever leant out to persons and she hesitated. Then she told me she has a stand-up guy that sometimes comes in. Usually when she’s there.”
“An affair? Who’s the guy?”
“That’s where I defer back to you. I was just an interested buyer, after all.”
Bye Bye Bones (A CASSIDY CLARK NOVEL Book 1) Page 14
