Chapter Twenty-Six
SCHLEP PLANNED TO MEET with Carson Greer, face-to-face. Steadfast to his assignments, he forgot that one condition of her employment with my firm was that she would stay home as much as possible.
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.
SANDRA VICKERY RELIED ON HER team of spies and arrived early at the popular restaurant to guarantee a good table. When busy and without a reservation, the restaurant wouldn’t seat guests until their full party was present.
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.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
TRACY MCCLENDON DROPPED by my home on a quiet and glorious Saturday morning in the desert. It had rained overnight, and the magical smells of the wet creosote and flowers still covered with droplets of water seemed almost sacred.
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? Eve
n 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.”
AFTER TRACY LEFT for work I started in on my pacing. My little pupcakes, Finnegan and Phoebe, knew that signaled that I’m going bye-bye, and they would do their best, usually successfully, to come with me. Phoebe was already looking for my hobo purse to jump into without me noticing. Except the bag would jiggle and move across the wood floor.
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.
SCHLEP HURRIED IN TO the back room of the bookstore, out of breath.
“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?”
“Fair question. Because, for now, we are the village. It’s territorial, not that we all aren’t after the same goal. Manning is pissed off at our lack of performance, mad as hell about my shenanigans with the Marks guy at the cabin, and I know he knows I’m still working the Marks case.”
“What do you have? For us?”
“A familiar name. A flashing epiphany moment.”
Schlep feigned a faint, then put his elbows on the table and stared at me with sparkles in his azure eyes.
“What kind of safe zone have you established for our perp?” I asked.
“I’m sorry. They’re broad. Triangulations are almost impossible because we have to include all of metropolitan Tucson.
“More than geography, the connections might be of importance. The hairdresser. We could place her with the socialite, even though she wasn’t the vic’s stylist.”
“Exactly. I’m looking at any and all connections. Cosas Buenas. Remember, we looked for a list of clients that went there?”
“Yes, and it wasn’t a good list. Lots of cash patrons. Snowbirds with no client records,” Schlep said.
“Did you know that the salon has a private room for spa parties?”
For the first time, ever, confusion registered across Schlep’s face.”
“Never mind. I’m a woman and I didn’t know it. We need to revitalize that list with the names of any women attending private parties there.”
“Why would the salon have their names?”
“Because they have the most reputable salon in all of Tucson, and they’re business-minded. They’ll have made an effort to get names.”
“You want me to get the names of every person that has attended every private function at that salon?”
I shrugged and sunk my head down into my shoulders, and grinned. That turtle thing. “In, let’s say, the last two years. Carson can help.”
“I take that as an affirmative. We’re on it.”
“Just one thing,” I added.
“What?”
“They have six salons in the area. Start with the salon on the northwest side. That’s where the stylist works and our socialite frequented.”
“I’ll give Carson those closer to the eastside.”
“Why?”
“It’s where she lives.”
“It’s where you live, too.”
“I don’t want her to feel pressured to go out. She has those little rug rats, you know.”
I admired Carson. She was remarkable. On her own, with three small children, and managing to be a great employee and keep a smile on her face.
I wasn’t so sure I admired myself. My career was great. My personal life sucked. What I wanted most always seemed to be one step ahead of me, always turning around to pull at my heartstrings. Mom was gone and I couldn’t call her up in heaven, as hard as I tried, just to tell her about what I’d fucked up that day. I guess I had the wrong number. My failed marriage was just that. A failure. And I wanted those crazy and wild rug rats messing up my house, my yard, and my life.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JAXON ARRIVED TO PICK up the discharged Jessica Silva, with his gift from Jessica hidden in a big pack.
“You needed a new woman in your life. What’s her name?” Jessica asked.
“Really, a new puppy?”
“No. A new woman. I was so worried about leaving her at your house. My neighbor could only watch her for so long.”
“She’s a beauty, Jessica. Just like you. I love her already.”
“So, what’s her name?”
“What do you like?” he asked.
“She’s your dog, but I guess I like Marlo. Or Antoinette.”
Jaxon laughed. “Seriously? I guess I need to think about it.
“Okay. You had a Gecko. A desert name. Let’s brainstorm desert names.”
TUCKED BACK INSIDE HER own home, with Jaxon and the nameless dog beside her, Jessica caught up on her social page comments.
“She was drunk!”
“I heard someone slipped her a roofie.”
“Maybe she has that disease that Annette Funicello had. You know, she acts all drunk.”
“MS. The poor woman has MS.”
“I saw her drinking wine at lunch. Drunk!”
“Close down your laptop,” Jaxon said. “We have better things to do. I’d like to introduce you to Lizzie. As in lizard. Gecko’s counterpart.”
“I’m so happy to meet you, Lizzie. I hope you can like me in spite of the press.
“Oh. I am the press.”
CARSON GREER CALLED ME the next morning.
“I’m working this list Schlep gave me. I have some concerns, Cassidy.”
“I wanted you two to work as a team. The vans?”
“I’ve milked that list. I have it down to about four hundred. From the thousands, that’s pretty good, but this is about the salons.”
I was not good at managing. Never was, and here I had my own company of six people. Me, Schlep, now Carson and three surveillance guys.
“Work with Schlep, Carson. Please.”
“You don’t understand. He’s asked me to check into the Cosas Buenas salons on the east side. I understand the business, from the owners down to a struggling nail tech. All the inner workings. I know the private rooms. And I believe our best lead will come from the northwest. I think you’ve already told Schlep as much.”
“I don’t see this as an issue. Follow your instincts. I believe in those feeling, call it from your gut, or a woman’s intuition. Put your talents to the highest and best use. I’ll send you anything you want.”
“Thanks. I have everything I want, now, including your support.”
“You go, girl. But I’m going with you. We c
an call it a business expense. Anything else?”
“I’m worried about how Shepard Brown might take my invasiveness, after he told me to look at the eastside.”
“Call him Schlep. He likes it. He deserves the name. He wears it like a badge of honor. We both tried to keep you on the east side near your home and your kids. And we all know that his mind functions on a higher plane than we will ever understand. At the same time, we get hunches. He doesn’t. He operates from his cerebral va-va-voom state.”
“Schlep is kind of doting on me. Anyway to have him knock it off?”
“How do you mean?”
“Today I received ten boxes of disposable diapers, and a toy for my two-year old. No acknowledgment. No note.”
“It would be the kind of thing Schlep does best, when he’s not memorizing the encyclopedia of words that have yet to be invented. He has a good heart. Accept it. He didn’t leave you a note on purpose. Unacknowledged, which is what he wants.”
“Okay. I’m still working the white van list, and the salon list, right?” Carson asked.
“These are our only two less-than-viable leads. Work them. Sometimes these can turn out to be the good ones.”
THE STATION’S GENERAL Manager called Jessica Silva into her office. She wasn’t looking forward to another private meeting.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. You’re letting me go back on the air tomorrow. I know there are ramifications.”
“Tell me about all those that you perceive.”
Jessica pulled out two printed pages of all of the comments posted to her social page.
“I’ve seen these.”
“My doctor suggested I go to the police and file a report. What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to do what you need to do. It’s a double-edged sword, and you know that. The station has no official comment.”
“And you, personally?”
“I think you’re in a pickle, quite frankly. If it were me, I’d want to nail the sunovabitch that gifted you that drug.”
Bye Bye Bones (A CASSIDY CLARK NOVEL Book 1) Page 10