BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6

by John W. Mefford

  Stereotypes usually box people in a particular group, whether they were blond or brunette, or somewhere in between. While I’d taken every opportunity throughout my life to convince others to not dehumanize people by sorting them into preconceived little packages, the young lady wearing purple horn-rimmed glasses had just taken one of my core beliefs and flushed it down the toilet.

  “I may not be looking at you, but I can tell you’re gawking at me,” she said, her eyes fixated on her cell phone screen, her thumbs breaking land speed records.

  “Oh, sorry. Just wondering where we fell on the priority list.”

  “You do know that we have a business to run, and we’re doing everything we can to fit you in. This was not a planned appointment.”

  I leaned a bit closer so just Bree could hear me, my tone even but distinct. “We didn’t plan on one of your models being killed and another one disappearing. This is life-and-death serious. I’d appreciate your understanding.”

  I held my gaze, and she matched it as if she thought I was bluffing or something. Perhaps one of her roles included bullshit police, where she had to sniff out the legitimate appointments from the desperate people trying to get their one opportunity at face time with someone important at PPI.

  Bree shifted her eyes to her cell, typed about a thousand letters in no time, then set it down.

  “Tiara will meet with you in two and two.”

  “Not following your code.”

  “Two minutes and two seconds. It’s an expression. She’ll be out shortly. Does that work for you?”

  I tried not to roll my eyes. “Sure.”

  Located in a high-rise in Uptown, PPI was buzzing for nine o’clock on a Tuesday morning. Over the next few minutes, countless photographers, casting agents, producers, models and actors, and wannabes in those vocations, cycled in and out of PPI, and Bree was the central hub in making it all go. Impressive, especially when you watched her in action and noticed she was able to fit in about fifty text messages in between all the harried activity.

  “Mr. Adams and Ms. Lopes, Tiara is ready for you, down the hall, second office on the right.”

  Through the door, we entered a new world full of color and design. Rimmed with black, white, and iridescent green stripes, the curvy hallway gave the feeling of a being sucked into some type of time-bending vortex. On the verge of getting a headache, we reached the frosted glass door of Tiara James, director of Talent Acquisition.

  Wearing readers connected to a chain that had more bling than any rope I’d seen since dating what’s-her-name, Tiara lifted from her white leather chair.

  “Mr. Adams, Ms. Lopes, it’s nice to meet you.” She walked around, met us halfway into her expansive suite, and offered a firm handshake to both of us.

  “We’re pretty informal. I’m Booker. She’s Alisa.”

  “Indeed.” She gave us the onceover. “Booker and Alisa. A nice little package.”

  Instantly, I got the feeling she was assessing the two subjects before her, every slight bump or callous, the proportion of our bodies, how we carried ourselves. The life of a model had odd similarities to that of a prized cow at the Fort Worth Stock Show. My Uncle Charlie had dragged me there once as a kid. We didn’t exactly blend in with the rest of the crowd.

  “Please have a seat,” she said, extending a hand. “You’re private investigators?” We gathered around an oval, glass table at the opposite end of her office, the nearby wall lined with shelves that were filled with trophies as unique as each of the models walking around this place.

  Folding her hands on the table, the sparkle from her rings caught my eye. A couple of the platinum rings jutted out almost an inch from hands that looked well kept. Wearing a tan blazer zipped up halfway to expose a tight-fitting white blouse, it seemed she’d purposely dressed to match her office décor.

  “Yes. I’m a former DPD cop and Alisa works alongside me. We’d like to talk to you about two of your models, Jade and Natalie.”

  Shaking her head, her sapphire eyes glanced at the table. With her dark mane of hair, I wondered if she’d worn contacts to achieve the crystal blue color.

  “This news is quite disturbing. I can’t tell you how distraught we all are. Jade and Natalie were two lovely girls with a great future ahead of them.”

  Alisa smacked a flat hand on the table, glancing at me before speaking. I’d already told her that we couldn’t run in here and start throwing out accusations and snide remarks. We’d only alienate ourselves from the single connection we had for both Jade and Natalie.

  Her chest lifted, and I could see her push out a bit of air. “Unless you know something we’re unaware of, Natalie is still alive. We just can’t find her. Her roommates haven’t seen her in eight days.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything about Natalie. From what I understand, she hasn’t checked in with anyone at PPI either.”

  Alisa nodded, and I could see a sense of relief wash across her face. But it couldn’t be easy having to convince people that your baby sister is still of this world.

  “Tiara, can you provide us a rundown of all the jobs Jade and Natalie booked going back as far as possible?”

  “Certainly. I gave the detectives the same information yesterday for Jade. She’s only been with us about five or six months. Hold on.”

  She walked to her desk with grace and confidence and came back with an iPad. A few taps and swipes, and then she propped it up so we could see the list.

  “This is Jade’s list of bookings. Not a lot there. She was what we called an up-and-comer.”

  With a quick run-through, two of the bookings got my immediate attention just because they were out of town, one in Naples, Florida, the other in Chicago.

  “These two that were out of town. Can you tell us more?”

  Bringing her readers to her eyes, the heavy chain clanked against the iPad screen. She reviewed the information, her lips moving a tad. They were full, moist. While her skin looked nearly flawless, I could see a couple of gray strands of hair. Still, she was an attractive woman and knew all the methods to keep a young look as long as technology would allow. I guessed she was in her early fifties.

  “These were basic shoots. The one in Naples was for a retirement home. They needed a young, attractive model to play the role of the granddaughter. She was featured on several brochures, using shots from inside a retirement home and on their club golf course. It took three days to shoot.”

  “And the Chicago trip?”

  “Similar shoot, really. This one was for a grocery chain. They needed a lead cashier who was vivacious, full of life, yet still looked like an everyday girl. Jade, with her reddish, auburn hair, olive skin, and a few freckles, fit that role perfectly. She is…was a natural. It’s all so disturbing, Mr. Adams.”

  She pinched both of her eyes.

  “Booker, please.”

  “Booker, yes. I heard just a few details from the detectives yesterday. I almost had to run to the bathroom.”

  She gazed at the sea of trophies, her eyes narrowing on one it seemed.

  “How long have you been a PI?”

  “Almost a year.” I fudged it a bit.

  “Hmm. Okay. Let’s continue.”

  I didn’t take the bait, because I knew Alisa was eager to receive feedback on Natalie.

  “Before we talk about Natalie, do you or anyone on your staff know of any threats to Jade since she’s worked for PPI?”

  “No. And that’s just what I told the detectives yesterday.”

  “That was a quick response. How do you have knowledge of what took place on the road?”

  “When our young ladies go on the road, we send what we call a tag-along producer to go with them. Not to supervise, but we do it to protect our ladies and our brand. We don’t want them to go to a gig that’s supposed to be a commercial for peanut butter and then it turns into a porn shoot. Vultures hover around this industry. And we’re very careful how we operate.”

  I nodded. “Ca
n you tell us how Jade came to work for you?”

  Alisa raised her eyebrow slightly. I think she was eager to move on to Natalie.

  Tiara released a slight giggle. “It’s actually pretty cute. Natalie introduced us to Jade. We brought her in, interviewed her, and did a mock shoot, as we call it. She had no resume or portfolio, so it was a bit of a reach for us. Natalie was very convincing about her friend. Still, it took almost two months for us to take that first step. Loyalty means something at PPI, and that’s one of the reasons we gave Natalie the benefit of the doubt. Turns out she had a good eye for talent.”

  Turning her eyes to Alisa, Tiara thumbed the ridges from her chain.

  “You’re related to Natalie, aren’t you?”

  Alisa looked at me, her lips horizontal as if she’d betrayed her promise to me by not giving away her ties to Natalie. She’d done nothing wrong, except having a resemblance to her sister.

  “She’s my sister. Well, my half-sister.”

  “I can see the resemblance through the cheeks and nose, the shape of the eyes, even those full lips.”

  “You’ve got a good eye,” I said.

  “That’s my job, Mr.—”

  “Booker.”

  “I can spot that perfect model in a crowd of a thousand people in seconds, even if they are all aspiring models. I’ve been working this business for thirty years, so I’ve put in the miles. But to find that extra special talent, the one whose charisma will jump off the screen, that’s a combination of nature and nurture. I can find that talent, but then they have to be dedicated to work like hell at their craft. Then and only then, will they get a shot at true stardom…if the stars are aligned.”

  “Was Natalie one of those special talents?” I asked.

  Tiara straightened one of her diamond cluster rings, admiring it for a second.

  “I don’t want to say anything disparaging about Natalie. She is your sister after all.”

  “It’s okay. To find her, we need all the information we can gather. Please be transparent with us,” Alisa said, her body leaning forward a tad.

  “Natalie was…is one of those so-called special talents. I knew that the moment I laid eyes on her at the coffee shop. Truly, she pops off the lens of a camera. But she was easily distracted by the lure of riches and people associated with it. So her level of commitment has been…uneven, not in proportion to her desire to live like an A-list Hollywood movie star. I know it seems like we throw money around, spending it wastefully on things that don’t matter, but it’s tough to turn a profit in this industry. We have to take advantage of our opportunities when they come along.”

  Alisa took in a deep breath.

  Tiara shared the full list of Natalie’s booked jobs, some in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, a number outside of the state.

  “Can you forward this list? Jade’s too?” We needed to compare her out-of-town appointments with the times Sarah and Monique believed she was out of town, including any that might have been date-related.

  “I’ll have Bree send it to you.”

  “Thank you. Can you include the name and contact information of any folks who Natalie and Jade might have worked with—photographers, other talent? Please also include the names of the producers, the ones who accompanied the girls on the out-of-town trips.”

  She paused just a split second, then the door swung open, a man’s torso leaning around the frosted glass.

  “Oh, Tiara, I didn’t know you were in a meeting.”

  The man had the looks of a model—chiseled chin, thin hair pushed to one side, broad shoulders—but it was his distinct accent that got my attention. Eastern European I guessed.

  “Hi, Chas. Yes, this is Alisa and Booker. They’re private investigators.”

  He took a step toward our meeting table. Lifting from my seat, I shook his hand. It felt oddly soft, as if he’d never pulled a weed or done any manual labor of any kind.

  “They’re working for Jade’s parents, helping to find out who…”

  Shaking his head, he rested both hands on the chair nearest me, as if his oxygen had just been depleted. “Jade’s death is an absolute travesty. The worst thing we’ve seen since I’ve been running PPI. I hope you find the sick bastards who did this.”

  “We appreciate the support. We’ll likely have follow-up questions for you and your staff,” I said.

  “We’re an open book. Anything you need.”

  Alisa added, “Chas, we’re also trying to locate my sister, Natalie Lopes. I wasn’t sure how much you interacted with the talent.”

  “I used to have a closer relationship with all our talent, but over time I was convinced by Tiara and others on my senior staff that I had to let go of the reins a bit. We couldn’t grow as a small business if I had to approve every little photograph.”

  Alisa nodded, looking at me.

  “So you haven’t interacted with Natalie recently?” I asked.

  Crinkling his eyes, he appeared to be searching his memory banks. “Natalie was wearing a gold sequin dress the last time I saw her. I think it was a weekend, and she’d just completed a shoot in Austin and decided she wanted to keep the dress. We had to have a little discussion.”

  I sensed a bit of conflict in his voice.

  “How did the discussion go?”

  Tiara jumped in. “I was there as well. It’s what I was talking about earlier. Natalie just has some maturity issues.”

  “Did she keep the dress?” Alisa asked.

  Tiara looked up at Chas, who shrugged his shoulders.

  “She actually decided we could take the cost of the dress out of her pay. Seemed like a waste, but Natalie was…is pretty headstrong,” Tiara said, adjusting in her seat.

  Chas glanced at his watch, a wide, white band with a raised face rimmed with colorful jewels. “Tiara, let’s catch up later.” He pointed a long finger at her, then turned to me. “And please keep me in the loop on your investigation into Jade’s murder. We need to find Natalie, put her back to work. She’s got that special ‘it’ factor.”

  He walked out the door, his upbeat vibe a bit contagious, if not misplaced.

  “Anything else I can help you with?” Tiara asked, apparently ready to move on to her next task of the workday.

  “The list of coworkers. You were about to respond before Chas walked in. Any problems with adding them to your list?”

  “Uh…yes, I can do that. I just want to make sure all interviews take place here in the office.”

  Alisa’s brow twitched a bit.

  “Look, I don’t really know you, and after thirty years in the business, I don’t know if you’re going to corner one of these young, impressionable kids and get them to admit something that isn’t completely true.”

  “You are right about one thing,” I said.

  “What would that be, Mr. Adams?”

  “We are looking for the complete truth.” My gaze remained steadfast.

  She cleared her throat, words not forthcoming.

  “We’ll be in touch,” I said.

  9

  Dragging her white leather purse as if it carried a hundred-pound weight, Alisa shuffled to the front door of The Jewel. She produced hardly a shadow with the sun shining directly overhead, a sun that in about fifty yards since she left her car in the side parking lot had already created a thin sheen of sweat all along her neck, her thick head of locks to blame.

  While her few hours of sleep last night had made her feel like a new woman in this morning’s meeting at Picture Perfect, the unavoidable swells of emotion had once again sapped her body and her mind.

  One foot in the front door, and a blast of cool air enveloped her face. She just stood there, closed her eyes, allowing her body temperature to slowly recalibrate. She felt like she was swaying back and forth, almost like she’d fallen asleep standing up.

  “Are you a fan of horses?”

  Out of her slumber, she didn’t immediately recognize the voice until she peeked open a single eye.

  Res
tocking the plethora of liquor bottles, Dax was in constant motion behind the bar, which in itself was difficult for her mind to accept as reality.

  “Horses? I rode some as a kid.” She shuffled a few steps, her feet seemingly trudging through quicksand. With her mind a thousand other places, it was obvious she and Dax were not on the same page.

  Dax, the half of the Double Ds with less culinary talent but far more attitude, paused while reaching to a glass shelf. “I was just joking with you, Alisa. It seemed like you’d fallen asleep standing up…like a horse.”

  She held up a finger, her mind plowing through her daze, ready to come out fighting. Just as she opened her mouth to fire off a snide comment about her being compared to a frickin’ horse, she noticed something different about Dax. Typically a dapper dresser—Booker called him the JCPenney cover boy—Dax had on what looked like a T-shirt from a concert of some kind and faded jeans. And what was that above his lip?

  “What’s with the…?” She touched above her lip.

  “Oh that. It’s a mustache, or at least my feeble attempt to grow one. David says I look like a 1970s Texas porn star.”

  She would have laughed out loud if she hadn’t suddenly felt a headache stampeding to her frontal lobe. “Nice.”

  “By the way, your boyfriend is upstairs, I think,” Dax said, returning to his stocking duties.

  That was quick, she thought. She’d left him a voicemail earlier this morning and asked if he could drop by for a new technical challenge she had no clue how to solve. Josh may or may not know how to resolve it, but he had the mind to determine if it was humanly possible.

  Rubbing a tired eye, Alisa heard the familiar clap of shoes hopping down the stairs. Lifting her eyes, Josh came around the corner and made a beeline right for her, taking her in his arms without saying a word.

  “I’m gross and sweaty,” she said with a pouty tone.

  He just held her, ran his fingernails up and down her back.

  “That feels nice. Why are you so nice to me?”

  Moving a hand under her chin, he gave her a soft kiss. “Because you are you, that’s why.”