Bye Bye Bones (A CASSIDY CLARK NOVEL Book 1) (8 page)

The “good cop” detective, in a calm low voice said, “No. We have to eliminate you as a suspect. We need to recreate a timeline. So you need to think. I want to know where you lived about eighteen months ago, and where you lived and worked until today. Simple.”

Looking up, with eyebrows raised, the suspect responded, “Long time ago in my life. Don’t remember. I’m more of a free-range type.”

Manning asked, “How about the last three months? Last month?”

Marks said, “I was mostly drunk or stoned. No trouble, though. I ain’t no killer.”

“Listen, Marks, we have a search warrant. Right now your home is being ripped up inside and out. Care to comment?” Manning stretched his legs and crossed his arms. Bad cop, cool guy thing.

“I’m a lady charmer. And I read the newspaper. I take a few clippings that interest me. There might be a few on a wall. I’m a self-declared lothario and an interested citizen. None of that should put me behind bars.”

“The ladies like you?” Good cop.

“Fall into my fucking lap for a free dance.”

Manning said, “You’ve been diagnosed with erotomania delusions. Care to respond?”

“Above my vocabulary.”

Good cop said, “I suppose you have one woman undeniably in love with you, Mr. Marks?”

“Two. Three. Sometimes five. For me, it’s only about the one with whom I reciprocate my love at any given time. I treat her good at the time.”

“Love the one you’re with. You like the pretty ones?” Chief Manning drilled.

Karl Marks chortled, “They all love me. Not a crime there.”

“We’re going to need a list of those female devotees of yours,” Manning demanded.

“Lawyer me up.”

Manning stood, tossing his chair under the table toward Marks. “You’re going to need a Philadelphia lawyer.”

Having skipped breakfast, and wondering if the lawyer might be interested in new office space, Jaxon agreed.

The attorney was seated at a coveted patio table at the busy restaurant. As Jaxon approached, he stood and extended his hand.

“I don’t mean to bring you here under false pretenses,” the attorney said before sitting back down. He consumed his first big bite of the Maddy’s Madness, a chicken, bacon, Swiss cheese and artichoke sandwich on fresh bread.

That meant no real estate deal, Jaxon thought, but he was famished and dived into his own hot sandwich, Colette’s Cordon Bleu.

Small chit chat. Why are we here, Jaxon wondered?

“I asked you to join me, off the record, because we go back so many years and I respect you. I’m giving you a head’s up, Jaxon. Your wife, ummm, ex-wife has engaged my firm’s representation. She asked for restraining orders against both you and Jessica Silva.”

“That’s preposterous! You and I both know you need to have facts behind these orders. I have restraining orders against her. She has nothing.”

Raising bushy eyebrows while managing to squint, the lawyer nodded and said, “And I agree. Totally. For your information, I’m not representing her. But she’s a client with my firm. The lady isn’t about to stop there. That’s my take on it. Remember, we never had this conversation.”

Jaxon took a few bites of the sandwich, enjoying the unusually hot Tucson sun so early in the year. They sat in dappled light, protected by a few palm trees. The restaurant had turned on their misters to cool off the crowded patio.

His pleasure for the weather withered quickly as the man’s words set in. “You’re warning me about something,” Jaxon finally said.

“You’re a smart man. In my opinion, as a good friend you don’t know well, I advise you to
act
like the woman has a restraining order against you. You see her? You walk away. Same with your girlfriend.”

They found plenty of evidence of drugs, but no drugs. If they busted him on paraphernalia, he’d be out on the streets in a few days, max, and mad. Schlep and I agreed with Manning. We’d get more out of Marks if he remained free in his own crazy world. He agreed to continue weekly mental health meetings at the Pima County facility.

Schlep immersed himself in trying to find out everything about Marks. With Schlep at that helm, it meant that we would have a background check on him ten-fold of what the police department could dig up.

Neither of us thought he was good for all of it, but we had to look at this objectively. With the discovery of some of the missing persons’ news clippings on Marks’ wall, maybe the cases weren’t as interwoven as we thought.

I had worn it to a disastrous New Year’s Eve party. Excited that my date would pick me up in a stretch limousine, my mood cratered the second I climbed into the car and realized Date Boy was soused. He’d been out barhopping for hours. He’d been intoxicated for days, I surmised.

Maybe I’d have better luck with the dress this time.

Makeup was easy. I had tubes of stage makeup so thick you could sink into it like quicksand.

Next, I had to choose the right wig. Blonde and long or a blonde flirty short one. I had several black ones, ranging from curly to Cher-like straight. Long, cropped and spiky, or the dark brown one, styled into a French twist that would fade into any crowd. Being a red head, I had a couple of the bright red ones. Long with sexy fat curls, and one meant for rockers.

My sister once told me that everyone ‘knows’ what they say about redheads. I didn’t know but deduced it meant they were skanks.

I selected the long skank red one.

After securing a gaudy brooch to my dress, I made sure that the camera it housed was working.

Taking one final look in the mirror, I was satisfied. Even Manning wouldn’t make me.

I drove straight to The Dancing Saguaros Lounge, a not-so-fine establishment Marks was known to frequent.

Jaxon spotted the trouble when he saw two dead Joshua Trees in Jessica’s front yard. They were healthy a week ago.

“Why don’t you finally say yes and move in with me, Jess? I’ve never liked you living behind the false security of a community gate.”

“I know. I know. Everyone and their scum uncles have the code. But you know why I won’t move in with you. I have crazy long hours, Jaxon. You have crazier long hours. Between our schedules, neither one of us would get any sleep.”

Jaxon pulled her body toward his chest. “Our schedules aren’t the reason we wouldn’t get any sleep, Babe.”

She laughed, telling him to shut up and pour the margaritas.

They sat under the evening sky. The bright stars seemed close enough to snatch with outstretched arms. Early blossoms from the jasmine vines fragranced the air. Jaxon tore open the bag of tortilla chips, his contribution to the meal.

“Tell you what, let’s stop talking about security or lack thereof or your deranged ex-wife. At least for a night, but preferably for a lifetime,” Jessica pleaded.

“What would you like to talk about? I’m a great conversationalist.”

“I don’t know. The
chubasco
coming in this summer. The fire burning up near Sedona.” Pausing for effect, Jessica said, “I know. Let’s talk about your ex-girlfriend.”

Jaxon gagged, “Who? You mean Connie?”

“Yeah. Connie. I’m sorry. She’s been on my mind today.”

Jaxon matched the intensity in Jessica’s brown eyes with an equal focus.

“I had one brief relationship after divorcing Sandra and before meeting you. She wasn’t a rebound. I would call it more like my get out of jail card. She’s a lovely woman, and was one of the top residential agents in the valley.”

“Why did you break up with her?”

“We knew our relationship should have stayed on the platonic side. There was no chemistry between us. She broke it off with me.”

“Why, my handsome prince?”

“One guess.”

Jessica blurted it out, “Sandra. Oh my God! What the hell did she do?”

“Connie’s not—how can I say this? She’s not a real looker, but she’s very smart. Sandra’s threats were directed toward Connie’s teenage daughter who had won a beauty pageant in San Diego.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would she be more interested in the daughter? What did she do?”

“Connie and her daughter were with me in the parking lot of Hacienda del Sol, when Sandra walked up to me. That woman, whom, by the way, we weren’t going to discuss, has this uncanny ability to find anyone’s Achilles’ heel. She had to know there wasn’t anything serious between me and Connie. But she didn’t know about the teenage daughter. She started threatening the girl. She told her, in Sandra’s own malicious way, that she needed to get out of town.

“What I didn’t know was that Connie’s 18-year-old girl had run away three times. The girl, maybe heeding Sandra’s words and maybe not, took off. A while later, Connie packed up and moved to Houston. She told me it was in search of a more lucrative real estate career but I knew why she moved. The girl’s father lived there. She assumed the daughter might be with him.”

“I know it’s an unapproved topic, but since we’re on the subject, has Sandra ever dated since your divorce?”

“I know Ms. Prim and Proper had a fling on a beach in Mexico, in an old van, and with a Mexican. She dated a married man for a while but he ditched her as soon as he recognized her twin sister She Devil.

“When she and I married I was upset that she didn’t take my last name. Not even hyphenated. She obviously needed to hold on to her legacy of being the heir to the Vickery Pools fortune. Now I’m grateful to all the heavens that she never took my name.”

When Jessica finished the last of her green corn tamale, she stretched her arms above her head, nodding toward the pool. “How about we go skinny dipping?”

Jaxon sipped down the last of his margarita and took off his blazer. “First, you broke the rules talking about my ex, so it’s my turn.”

In response, Jessica pulled her legs up to her seat to sit Indian-style, and folded her arms against her chest, saying, “Go for it.”

“I told you our stake-out guy is off the job, at least for now. I’ve engaged someone else.”

“You told me. The author. Cassidy Clark.”

“Right. Her time is limited, but she has a team. Even though she tries to keep her identity under wraps, her reputation in town probably keeps some of our traveling criminals driving straight through the valley. She or her main sidekick, Shepard Brown, will be calling you.”

“I’m good with that. I’ve already researched her. Now, take off your pants. The water is perfect.”

“Because of our schedules, we need to do a brunch? Are you in, Cassie?”

“First of all, I’m not dating anyone.”

“So what. You have a few friends, don’t you?”

“A few, and you’re one of them. And why brunch?”

“Easy answer. I’m working tons of evening hours with my new position as an investigative reporter. One of our evening news anchors, Jessica Silva, and I have become close. And to boot, I’d be taking the entire top crew of reporters from the station. I’m dating one of the guys from her station. Don’t remind me what I told you about a black woman dating a white man. I’m head-over-heels for this guy and to hell with all my old taboos.

“Tohono Chul? Say ten-thirty on Sunday? They serve the meanest Eggs Benedict.”

“Good on all counts. Welcome to the 21
^st
century.”

Mingling near or with the suspect is another thing. My blood starts pumping faster, my senses are on steroids and my mind is crystal sharp. I can dress up and slip into full character, like when my idiot ex-husband dressed up like a gynecologist, speculum and all, and made a complete ass out of himself at a Halloween costume party.

I entered The Dancing Saguaros with my best southern drawl, ready to charm. Even if Marks had caught a glimpse of me down at the station, he would never recognize this southern belle.

The appealing dialect, or the red dress or the long red hair, did the trick. Ten minutes after finding a free table, the goofball suspect slowly meandered my way. The small slab of rough mesquite wood table I rested my elbows on felt sticky from spilt drinks. The four men and the woman who soon surrounded me didn’t seem to notice.

The woman was probably a skank like me as I presented myself. Even though she didn’t have red hair she certainly was dressed like me.

“May I buy you a drink?” the fatso with the too-short tie and crappy hat with a broken feather asked me.

“I don’t know. You can see I have a full glass on the table with another on its way from one of these guys hanging around me. Truth to tell, there are more pricks inside this bar than on the marquee of dancing saguaros outside.”