Free Bye Bye Bones (A CASSIDY CLARK NOVEL Book 1) by Lala Corriere

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.”
     
    CHIEF MANNING couldn’t prevent giving Karl Marks his freedom. The search of his home had turned up nothing of substance. Nothing they could hold him on. They found more than a few newspaper clippings taped to a wall in his bedroom. Two of them were of Congresswoman Strong and one of the aspiring twenty-three year old model who disappeared ten months ago. There also were a couple dozen articles that seemed to have nothing to do with the case. They were all beautiful women, enshrined on a wall in a creepy house surrounded by packrat droppings.
    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.
     
    MANNING CALLED one thing right. He had no reason to know I had a closet full of beautiful dresses. While it was true that I hadn’t been in a girlie-girl dress in a long time, I knew exactly where to find the skimpy-oh-so-shiny red one.
    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