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

between vics. It’s not great, but it’s a start,” he said.
    “I was driving west on Oracle Road looking for Congresswoman Strong’s office for no apparent reason.
    “The missing hairdresser works at the largest salon in Tucson. The shop is three blocks away from Strong’s campaign headquarters.”
    “Yes, Schlep? Tell me what you found.” I encouraged him; otherwise we’d be on the phone for an hour.
    “I started with the missing hairdresser’s clientele, and kept digging. They have tons of clients. I zeroed in on the list of clients at the salon she worked at. Not easy, Cassie. Some clients pay in cash plus they have all of the snowbirds in and out. But it turns out our socialite frequents that same salon.”
    “Schlep, you just said it’s a huge shop. There may be no connection to one another if she was buying services from someone else.”
    “I know. I’ll see if I can find a crossover in appointments when the two might have encountered one another. It’s a start.”
    I agreed. It was a start. It felt like we were on to something.
     
    ONE FULL WEEK HAD PASSED. The images loomed large, splayed across Sandra Vickery’s thirty-inch monitor.
    This time the photographs didn’t sicken her. She leaned back in her chair, feeling her face grow warm with delight and anticipation. What to do? What to do? The slut needed to be fired. Soon. Maybe something more for her? Maybe.
    The toxicity in her blood and in her heart and mind led her to only one conclusion.
    The next morning she researched libraries. Not the nearest one. Not the second nearest one. She drove over forty-minutes across town.
    She signed in as a new user with a new email address. With that identity, she joined all the major players in the social networking game.
    And she posted. Photographs. All of them.
    The damned be done, she thought.

Chapter Ten
    MICHAEL SCORES, THE co-anchor on both the five and ten o’clock news hours, sat at his desk rushing to powder his face and apply a tad of lip gloss. Jessica Silva walked in, air-brushed to perfection.
    “In walks the princess,” he said, pulling out his aerosol hairspray and fluffing up.
    Jessica tilted her head and said, “Why don’t you take that lethal can of hairspray into the bathroom? And why the cynicism?”
    “You tell me, why is it that you always get the breaking stories? I thought we were a team.”
    “We are great co-anchors, Michael. What’s this about? I get some of my own stories. You get some of yours. Everything else is divided up between us. Do you think we’re in competition with one another?”
    “How’d you get the story on the congresswoman?”
    Jessica sat down in her chair, patting down a few unruly strands of her long black hair.
    “I got a tip. I happened to have a film crew out with me on the site of the near drowning. The tip was viable. The crew was good enough to tag along with me.”
    Michael fussed with the scars of adolescent acne on his right cheek. He shuffled his shoes on the floor in front of him. Then his knees started shaking.
    “I guess you have good tipsters,” he acquiesced, with a derisive grin.
    “You would, too, if you’d pony up your charming personality,” Jessica said.
    “I’m the one that set you up with my brother. Prince Charming, the real estate guru. Remember?”
    “Yes, I do remember the day I met the better half of your family. And thank you for the introduction. Now, we have a job to do. Amiable co-anchors, right?”
    Michael Scores stood from the chair. It was almost airtime and he wanted to get in the chair and primp, one more time, and breathe to center himself. Still, he rose.
    “Wow. Is that a new suit?” Jessica asked.
    “Yes. Saville Row.”
    “Of course. It’s certainly rich looking.”
    “Jessica, don’t undermine me. Don’t underestimate me.”
    “Why would I do that? This isn’t a game of Last Man Standing. We just agreed we are a team, remember?”
    Scores did not agree to anything.
     
    AS JESSICA SILVA