Bye Bye Bones (A CASSIDY CLARK NOVEL Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

her.”
    Jaxon chortled as he poured himself the red wine into the stem Jessica had waiting for him.
    “Seriously. I’ve never seen her up close,” Jessica added.
    “Don’t let that fool you. She works out every day. She can heave two forty-pound bags of pool salt, one on each shoulder, as if they were a short stack of pancakes.”
    “True. Tough. And mean. She exuded hatred the moment I offered her a glass of red wine.”
    “Oh, yeah. She won’t consume anything darker than pink champagne. But I bet she would drink blood,” Jaxon said.

Chapter Six
    I CHOSE THE BOOTH in the corner of the best dive in town for authentic Mexican dishes with sides of three salsas, warm tortilla chips and a melt-in-your mouth adobada pork. David Manning wasn’t five minutes behind me and I was already licking the salt off the rim of my margarita glass.
    “Must be nice. Drinking while on duty, Cassidy,” Manning said.
    “I have no on-duty days and it keeps me nice. Or at least nicer,” I retorted.
    “You have something for me, Cassidy?”
    “I will after Schlep arrives and we order some food.”
    “What’s up with this sidekick of yours?” Manning asked, while ordering an iced tea with a look on his face as sour as the lemon he requested.
    “You don’t get him. He never fit in on the force because you idiots didn’t recognize his brilliance. You used him as a freakin’ errand boy.”
    Ignoring my comment, Manning announced to nobody but me, “I’m ordering a hamburger.”
    “I’m waiting for Schlep,” I said, still nursing the alcohol-infused lime juice.
    We snacked from the basket of hot tortilla chips and salsa, talking about anything but the cases at hand. Schlep arrived a few seconds before Manning gave up and was going to order. “Shepherd Brown. Glad you could finally join us,” Manning said.
    “Heck. You can call me Schlep. I think I’ve earned that name.”
    I laughed, patting the place on the fake red leather booth seat next to me. I could read Schlep like a polished book of fine poetry. He had something brewing in that boy-genius mind of his.
    He always wore his own uniform which consisted of khaki pants with a belt and a tucked in long-sleeved dress shirt. Short and with a very slight build, he’s also pulled the shirt out from his abdomen. I think he was trying to give the appearance that he was a bit more buff. The thick crepe-soled shoes gave him a bit of extra height. His shirts were always crisply starched, in opposition to his shaggy brown hair that was more fitting in the seventies. I called him a walking hippy yuppie.
    Manning and I ordered but Schlep declined. He wanted to talk.
    “Sir,” he stammered, “you understand that the reason you’ve asked us to work with you on these cases is because we can devote a lot more time than you can.”
    Manning nodded with a slight yawn. Looking at him, I was itching to straighten his crooked tie and drop it down about two inches.
    Schlep continued, “Law enforcement responds reactively, looking for signs of foul play. The PI approach is different. We tend to be more proactive. For example, when your department interviews family, friends and any eye witnesses, your goal is to find out where these women are, correct?”
    “Damn right.”
    “While that’s all good and true, sometimes it helps to dig deeper. We determine not only where these women were prior to their disappearance, not to mention their patterns, but we attempt to determine where they wanted to go. We all know these women had high aspirations for their future, but where would they be going the next day? The next week? Their immediate plans on their calendars?”
    I took over, “Basically, we may not look precisely for the missing person. We look for their plans. Most of these women had aspirations or goals, or were already glowing in the limelight. We’re able to dig deeper into their financial records. Past. Present. And forecasted. Records that maybe you don’t have access to.”
    I