Bye Bye Bones (A CASSIDY CLARK NOVEL Book 1) (22 page)

“Meanwhile, I am very concerned. I had the resources to quickly start up a legitimate non-profit which is exactly what I’ve done.”

“It’s still a lot of money,” I said.

“You might need or deserve more. We’re prepared to take this to the end, whatever that may be. And it’s because of you pulling the families and friends together to meet one another.”

“Connie, you should have never done the ditty with a married man. You are now my bump up the ladder toward the goal.”

Connie, exhausted and severely dehydrated, managed to bring her knees up to her chest. Her arms, still chained, flailed. She was now unable to produce the tears she wanted to shed.

“Let me explain your ultimate demise to you. Here is where it gets interesting. I’ve found something new and most exciting. It’s an herb which I’ve studied for months, plus the time it took me to procure this plant. It’s called curare. I think it might be most amazing as an additive to my process. From what I’ve learned it can kill you immediately but I’ve thoroughly researched this herb so I’ll give you only a small amount. You can expect some paralysis, if I administer the right amount, which is my intent. You will be able to hear me and see me but you won’t be able to respond. You’ll be alive. That is what I want. For now. You understand.”

Connie’s arms thrashed as much as the chains would give and then fell limp.

“Just a little bit, my captive not-so-pretty slut, and then we will really talk, except I think it will be me doing all the talking. You are my science experiment as I move forward on to the grand prize. Forgive me that. I think I’m going to like that you will be aware of everything I say and do. That’s what I need to ensure. I’ll give it my best shot. Get it? A shot.” Sandra gave a demonic laugh.

Continuing the one sided conversation, she told her newest guest that the time wasn’t quite right. She wanted to keep good company.

“I’m going to give you a little Brompton Cocktail. You’ll like it. You’ll sleep like a baby.

Vickery administered the drug, waited, and then lowered the arm restraints on her guest. She wasn’t going anywhere. She could now lie on the floor but she wasn’t going anywhere. She kicked the pillow she had been using over toward her guest’s face. By morning her guest would be welcomed with water and a bit of food. Enough food to keep the woman alive a little longer.

“I hate to leave this message on the phone, but I think, except for that stupid fire extinguisher stunt in Mexico, my ex is backing off of me and Jessica Silva. I have seen no sign of her and your surveillance team confirms the same. Thanks for your exemplary service, but I think it’s time to terminate our arrangement.”

My bones, shaking from wet hair and too much air conditioning, told me we were only in the infancy of evil. If Sandra Vickery was a psychopath, which I believed she was, then she was in her quiet time. Unconsciously awaiting the next trigger. I texted him back to respond that I accepted his decision and there would be no further fees. Then I convened with Schlep and Carson. We weren’t leaving him alone with this woman.

“Of course we are,” Carson said.

“You’re up to something,” Schlep said. “What do you have?”

“I’ve been scouring over the masses of files. Manning gave me a detailed list of items stolen during a burglary at Sandra’s residence. The whole scene didn’t feel right from the get-go. The woman lives in an impenetrable fortress. Then one allegedly stolen item popped out at me.”

Schlep motioned his hands in a ‘give it to us’ manner.

“She reported a gun stolen. A Colt M1911. At the scene of Karl Marks in the cabin, and the scene where our guy was conducting surveillance on Vickery, the shell casings found are consistent with that gun.”

“That may be true, but
consistent
with any Colt M1911 and do you know how many of those are in pockets and purses around this city? It’s the semi-automatic of choice for home and personal protection.”

“That means you’re still with me, right, Schlep?”

“I’ve learned never to doubt your instincts.”

“Good. Get our shadow back to work for us, tailing this Vickery woman. I want her working 24-7. I’ll fill in if need be.”

I walked in and took my seat in the supple cochineal-colored leather chair. She brought chamomile tea for us before sitting on the sofa across from me.

“What can I do for you, Cassidy? Your voice sounded urgent and, at the same time, reserved this morning.”

“I need to go under again. I’m missing something. I can feel it but I don’t know what it is.”

Clancy sipped at her tea. I mirrored her actions.

“You want to go back to the evening at the cabin?”

“Yes. In addition, I was recently at a man’s home and I feel there is something there I’m missing. And since those are the only two physical scenes I have to work with, I know there is an answer for me. A clue. Or hint at a clue.”

“Drink your tea, and when you are ready, place it on the table and we’ll begin.”

After taking another sip of tea, I put my cup on the table. In minutes, I felt myself relax as I sank into the soft leather, letting it envelope my body.

“Cassidy, we’re going back to the man’s home. You’re inside. Are you alone?”

“No.”

“Who’s with you?”

“My friend, Tracy. She got us inside.”

“And the owner of the home?”

“Gone.”

“Are you worried about the welfare of this man?”

“No. I mean, yes. I don’t know. There’s trouble.” “What do you see?”

“A shocking display of wealth without taste. I don’t know how he could afford all of the stuff. For sure he didn’t pay a decorator.”

“Tell me where you are.”

“We’re in the living room. Clean. The kitchen is clean. A notepad near a phone docking-station, but nothing on it. I took the top three sheets, just in case I could find any impressions.

“It’s all very clean, for a bachelor. It’s quiet. I feel free to rummage through drawers and my friend helps me. Nothing. Not even any bill stubs. Hardly any mail at all. The trashcans are empty. No computers, laptops or tablets.”

I felt my weight shift on the chair.

“What are you doing now?”

“We’re moving toward the bedrooms, only my friend tells me that the owner took out three bedrooms to make one enormous master bedroom. The house is too big for one bedroom.

“It’s pristine. Manly colors. Mushroom and chestnut brown plaids. Dark wood. Alder wood. Almost as many pillows as I have on my bed.”

“What’s wrong with where you are?”

“It’s too familiar.”

“What’s familiar? Have you been in that home before?”
“I’ve not been here, but something isn’t right.”

“Are you searching the room?”

“There is nothing, not that I expected to find a Gideon’s bible in his nightstand. I’m going into his bathroom. My friend is tired. Afraid. She wants to leave.”

“You are in the bathroom. What do you see?”

“Clean. Opulent. Sexy, I guess. The pillows. All the pillows. And he has almost as many cologne bottles on his counter as I have.”

I took in a deep breath.

“I want to leave, too.”

“Let’s go slowly. Let’s go back to the Mt. Lemmon cabin. You and I have been there together before. Let’s take a real good look this time.”

“The tire treads. The cleanliness. The lack of personal items. The backdoor closing and the sound of a likely American car engine.”

“Go to the bedroom, but remember, you don’t know what’s in that bedroom yet. You don’t know what you’re about to witness.”

“I feel dizzy. It’s the scent. It’s the scent. It’s the friggin’ scent!”

“Ms. Vickery. My name is Cassidy Clark and I’m a private investigator.”

“I know who you are, which is why I knew you would be clever enough to retrieve my phone number. If I recall, you had one of your men following me when I was on a simple shopping spree.”

“True. He was killed that night.”
“Unfortunate. I might have seen that on the news. I’m so sorry. I assume you care for your employees as much as I care for mine.

“Now, what do you want?”

“I’d like to ask you a few questions, face-to-face. Maybe we can meet for coffee?”

“My dear, I don’t drink coffee. Only teas and a special breakfast smoothie I make. You may come to my home at precisely nine in the morning tomorrow. At nine-fifteen you are considered late and I won’t entertain you. I assume you know my address.”

“Precisely nine. I like that,” the voice called out from inside the home. “Join me.”

I followed the sound of her voice, squelching my desire to tell the woman that I sat in my car at the end of her driveway for fifteen minutes. I dared not be early, either. I wasn’t walking on eggshells. I was treading barefoot in a field of scorpions.

“I am meeting you only because I care about the welfare of my husband, Jaxon.”

“He seems to be quite fine,” I said.
Husband my ass.
This woman was mad and maddening.

“Do your homework. He’s running with the bulls and he’s about to get gored.”

“Ms. Vickery, I’m here because I have done my homework.”

Sandra then ran her blender. Her smoothie made of fresh fruit and some powder out of a canning jar. An apparent homemade powder for a smoothie? Magic powder? Michael Scores’ kind of powder?

She motioned me to follow her out to sit poolside.

“If you insist on talking about Jaxon Giles, get over it, because I’m all over him. Take a look in my bedroom. You’re sure to find something of the new man in my life, if just the smell of his sweat and sultry cologne.”

My mind rewound the conversation. Wouldn’t she have said, “I’m over him,” instead of “I’m
all
over him”?

“Do you know Karl Marks?”

“Sure. Dumb man. He did some work around here. I have a lot of land and a big business. I’m always looking for hired-hands to help.”

“And he’s now dead.”

“He was a mess. God only knows what got that man killed. He wasn’t exactly a champion on my payroll.”

“Michael Scores. Do you know him?”

“This is a small city. I know a lot of people in this town through my philanthropic endeavors, and that includes knowing every media person. It’s a ridiculous question.”

“But have you met with him, one-on-one?”

She shrugged. “Likely. Again, for the purpose of gaining some press for one of my charities. I don’t recall.”

I did. The Bonsai Society, for one. Only a name like Vickery could pull in those kinds of favors to raise the kind of money she did for plants.

“Michael Scores is missing,” I said.

She scoffed, “Well, of course he is. I heard he was in some trouble. Big trouble. So, he took off to get some air. And retain a decent lawyer. My understanding is he was free before he was ever charged.

“Ms. Clark, if you aren’t here about Jaxon and how I might ease your mind that I’m not somehow annoying him, I suggest this meeting is over. This is feeling very much like an inquisition. I have no desire to discuss the likes of crap like Marks and Scores. You can show yourself out, but don’t go snooping through any of my cupboards or drawers,” she chortled as she pulled out one of her fancy luxury cigarettes.

I rose from the table. “Thank you. Oh, and by the way. This is so not professional of me, but I’m making an effort to improve my appearance. I had my hair done and even my nails. I’ve been neglectful and I’m not getting any younger. You always present yourself so perfectly. I think I’m on the right track, but I could use some advice. It’s your perfume. So lovely. Sexy but youthful. Sweet and musty. I wonder if you’d share the name of it with me. I’m trying to pull out all of the stops.”

“My dear, you’re out of luck, although maybe not with the kind of money I think you have. I go to France, to a private perfumery. The fragrance is designed exclusively for me. It’s nothing like the perfumeries you might find in an upscale mall. This is Paris I’m talking about.”

I nodded, with a slit of a smile.

Of course she had run an internet search on me. Probably multiple times. She knew I had some money. Nothing like hers. She was playing me, but I now held the trump card. She wore a one-of-a-kind fragrance and I recognized the scent.

Gotcha!

“By the way,” I said. “That perfume is a killer.”

Lovely. She knew she would never be spotted, scurrying back and forth on her property. Even by helicopter, no one could see her. She lived in a lovely world.

The room was overflowing with huge cardboard boxes. Manning was rummaging through one of them.

“What’s all this?”

“Take a look,” he said, and tossed me a plastic bag with pink cloth inside.

“You gonna paint the town pink?”

“They’re our new issued jumpsuits. I’m patterning myself after Joe Arpaio.”