If the goal at PPI was for all visitors to lose their equilibrium, or possibly even lose their lunch, the designers scored a perfect ten.
Bree chomped away on her gum while curling the lock around her forefinger, her head buried in her phone.
I huffed out a couple of audible breaths, hoping Bree would wake up from her texting coma. Apparently, my sighs were nothing more than white noise to her. We needed an intervention.
“Bitch, you gonna finish that print job or am I going to have to cancel it?”
A hippy, black woman wearing a nose ring that could have fit around my wrist, planted an army boot on the chic tile, head cocked to the side.
“Yeah, whatever,” is all Bree said, not intimidated in the least. She waltzed over to the machine, looking for her printout, then started pressing buttons.
“I don’t know what happened. I need to run back to my laptop and see what happened to the job.”
“Did you not hear me?” Hips said. “I’m on a deadline, girl. Let me take a look at it.”
Shoving Bree away, she tapped a touch screen on the printer, then it began to purr.
“Thank you, I guess,” Bree said, her face curling into a ball of disbelief.
“Hold on.” Hips shifted to the side, stuck her hand through a shaft, and pulled out a wadded piece of paper. “This was your problem.”
Bree held up a hand, arching her neck away from Hips, as she moved to the back end of the copier, waiting on the printout.
“Progress,” I said to Alisa, who checked her watch. It was close to five on Wednesday afternoon. Thankfully, when Alisa had reached out to Tiara just a few hours earlier, asking if we could interview the producer who accompanied Natalie on her recent trip to Miami, the director of Talent Acquisition has been incredibly responsive. We had a four-thirty appointment to meet the producer, who was on her way back from a shoot in San Francisco.
Suddenly, paper started shooting out of the machine, fluttering all around Bree, who attempted to snatch the feathery paper out of the air, but whiffed with each swing of her arm.
“Dammit!” she exclaimed, bending down to pick up the pages.
A snort-chortle from Hips.
“Did you purposely sabotage my printer?”
“Bitch, you don’t want to go there. No ma’am.” She wagged her finger in tandem with her hips. Then her enormous eyes lit up, and she jumped up and down, pointing. Alisa and I both followed her two-inch, curling fingernails. While reaching down to pick up the loose papers, Bree’s hip-hugging jeans had dipped down and her too-short shirt went the opposite direction. We were staring at a fully exposed butt crack highlighted by angel’s wings—a golden tattoo.
Alisa couldn’t help but release her own snort laugh. Two other ladies walked by and joined in the snort fest.
Bree jumped up, pulled her shirt down, and walked past us with her nose angled quite high, unconcerned about the commotion she’d caused. “This way,” she said.
Veering left, she slid open a glass door into a smallish conference room, a vase of white roses resting on a table near a window.
“Desiree will join you in a moment.” She began to shut the door as Alisa and I sat in black chairs made from some type of refurbished plastic.
Suddenly, the door slid open again. “By the way, I’m not naïve. I know what happened back there.” She glanced at Alisa, then peered at me, her ocean-blue eyes providing a transparent, mysterious glow. “I have nothing to be ashamed of. I know what guys really want.”
Was she insinuating that I was hoping to hook up with her? She had no clue.
At a loss for words, I could only think to say, “Okay. Whatever floats your boat.”
She pretended to smile, which confused me even more. “I almost forgot, here’s the updated client list. I’m busy as hell, but Tiara asked us to help you out as much as possible. Anything to find Natalie.” Her lips drew a straight line, then she turned and left the room, forgetting to shut the door.
“Strange bird,” I said.
“You were really smooth there.” Alisa bumped my elbow.
I shrugged my shoulders and released a breath, then noticed a few bottles of water sitting on a tray next to the flowers.
“I’m thirsty. Want one?”
Alisa nodded while opening her laptop, logging in.
“Wonder what’s up with the flowers?” I could smell the fragrance as if perfume had been sprayed in my face.
I heard someone shuffle into the room. I looked up at the door and saw a girl wearing jeans and a loose-fitting, blue T-shirt with House of Blues scrawled on the front.
“Hey,” she said, slightly out of breath. “Oh, those flowers. PPI isn’t just about the visual. It’s about accentuating all of your senses. That’s how they reel in all these marketing firms. I guess it works pretty well.”
“Hi, I’m Booker. This is Alisa. I guess you’re Desiree?”
We shook hands, then she wiped her hand on her jeans, sitting down opposite Alisa. “Sorry, I’m a little sweaty. Been at an outdoor shoot.”
“Water?” I extended my hand.
“Yeah, thanks.” She cracked the seal and chugged half the bottle. “I forgot to drink the entire time I was out there. Temperature hit ninety, and I spent the entire time trying to hem this and hem that on the wardrobe for Sammy and Misty.”
I nodded, noticed Desiree’s dark pink sunburn, and a white line running from her eyes to her straw-colored hair near her ear.
“Tough shoot?” Alisa asked.
“They’re all tough, for one reason or another.”
Alisa shifted her eyes to me then back over her computer screen toward Desiree.
“I know, I know. I heard you want to talk about Natalie.” Desiree sounded like someone had punctured her lung.
Alisa toyed with an earring, and I could see her leg kicking under the table. She was wired.
“Can—”
“I heard you’re her sister.” Desiree pointed a finger at Alisa, leaning forward a bit. “I can kind of see the resemblance.”
“Thank you. I think. We’d like to ask about your trip to Miami. Is that the last time you worked with Natalie?”
“Uh…” Desiree stared into the corner. “Yeah. I’ve got so much going on it’s hard to keep everything straight. That was the swimsuit shoot down at South Beach. We created quite a stir, even for that place.”
Alisa inched up in her chair. “Can you give us more insight into what you mean?”
“The place is covered with hard bodies anyway. Then you add in the crew, cameras, director, makeup, costumes, suits…it felt like every person within a mile of our shoot had gathered around. They had to call in private security to help keep people back.”
“Was anyone attacked or threatened?” I asked.
“Nada. I heard some vulgar comments, catcalls. But most of the talent is used to that type of thing.”
Not wanting to rule anyone out as a suspect, especially someone who knew and worked closely with Natalie, I decided to pry a bit. I leaned back, slouching a bit in my chair. It was all casual.
“Did the talent have you really moving that day?”
“The outdoor shoots are always tough on the talent and the crew. The lighting is changing constantly. During this shoot, the sand whipped around a lot. The talent was upset whenever they felt sand sticking to their makeup or in their hair. Then, we have these portable costume changing stations, and the wind played havoc with those at the wrong time, if you know what I mean.”
“Did you get the chance to enjoy the city at all?”
“Pssh.” Her hand smacked the black marble table. “We don’t work nine-to-five jobs. While our nickname roles are tag-along producers, we’re anything but just tagging along. We’re essentially slaves for our talent and anyone else involved in the project. Anything to make it successful.”
I set the bottle of water on the table and opened both hands to the sky. “Just between us,” I said in a hushed tone, “I bet your job kind of sucks.
Huh, Desiree?”
“If it weren’t for a few good friends and a bottle of wine, I think I’d go stir-crazy. I go by Des, by the way.” She relaxed a bit, her shoulders dropping a couple of inches. I noticed the outline of sweat at her armpit.
Her gaze appeared to focus on a contemporary painting on the wall behind me, vivid colors splashed against the canvas with no apparent pattern or shape.
“What I just told you. That’s just between us, right?” She looked at me then shifted her sights to Alisa.
“Of course. Just shootin’ the breeze.” I squeezed the thin plastic bottle, and the cracking noise bounced off the hard surfaces around us.
Apparently, she wasn’t convinced.
“It’s just that I’ve done everything they’ve asked of me since I got here. Everything. It’s not the most glamorous work, but I know I have to pay my dues if I’m going to get a break. You know, move up the chain.”
Imagining the natural schmoozing ability of so many employees at a company like this, I nodded, at least a tad of understanding of her dilemma.
“I get it. So, you’ve been working here…”
Glancing at her hand, she shifted her digits as she calculated. “Three years, four months, and seventeen days.”
“Not that you’re counting or anything,” quipped Alisa with a playful grin.
“I know, right?”
Des’ first real smile. It was cute. She had a girl-next-door look. Simple.
“Where do you see yourself in, let’s say, five years?” I asked, my arm draped over the back of the chair.
Scrunching her forehead, she grinned again, but this one appeared to question my question.
“Uh, that’s a strange one. Is this an interview, maybe a dating game?”
All of us chuckled, but I didn’t respond other than nod.
“If I could write my own script, I’d be working on major motion pictures either as a cinematographer or a director. I’m a closet photographer. It’s something I love to do.”
“Why aren’t you out bussing tables in LA, trying to find the right party to crash so you can buddy up with a Steven Spielberg or Harvey Weinstein?”
“Well…” She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and tapped the screen a few times, then she released a breath. “Like a lot of girls, I guess, I once believed I’d become an A-list actress. That’s what I thought when I first interviewed at PPI with Tiara. I’d done the high school musical thing, literally, and with PPI’s reputation, I thought that would be my path to TV and movies.”
She paused, as if she’d already regretted her life’s current course. “It’s kind of funny, looking back on it. I recall my interview with Tiara in a room like this one. I had my portfolio all laid out. I was dressed to the nines, full makeup, tight-fitting dress, the whole works. Boy, was I delusional.”
“Didn’t go as expected?”
“Uh, no. She probably thought I was a joke, asking to be a paid model and act in commercials. Instead, she just offered me a job as a producer. I recall walking out of here, noticing all of these gorgeous people that I’d ignored on my way in. I knew I didn’t fit in. My ego took a hit that day.”
Jealously was a strong motivator for crimes of passion, although with Desiree’s unassuming looks and mild-mannered disposition, it was difficult to imagine her flipping a switch to Conniving Bitch Desiree. But everyone had a switch. That much I knew.
“Can you shoot us over your Cool Breeze phone contacts?” I purposely threw out that question without any warning, knowing we needed to compare what she had with the numbers from Natalie’s phone.
Alisa slid a business card across the table.
“Can I text them to you?”
“Sure,” Alisa said.
“Hold on one second.” Her two thumbs moved like they were on fast forward and in about ten seconds she said, “And sent.” Then she set the phone down, opened her bottled water, and gulped until the bottle was empty.”
I scooted over another bottle.
“Thanks.”
“Thinking back to the shoot in Miami, did Natalie buddy up with anyone? Girl or guy?”
“No,” she said quickly.
I expected her to elaborate a tad. Perhaps a four-word response?
I cleared my throat, sat a little taller in my chair. “Do you have a sister or a brother?”
“Yeah. Two young sisters and an older brother.”
“If your little sister went missing, what questions do you think you’d be asking right now?”
I held my gaze on Desiree, my body not moving.
She nodded, looked down at the table again. “I get it.”
Suddenly, a hand to my left smacked the table so loud that I flinched. Alisa then pointed a finger at Des, her chest lifting with labored breaths.
“Cut the shit, Desiree. I can tell you’re not telling us the whole truth.”
Des glanced at the door, as if she was contemplating an exit strategy.
“I want to find Natalie, just like you. It’s just that…”
“That what?”
“For me to move up the ladder, to reach my goals, I can’t be making any waves. Know what I mean?”
“An accessory to kidnapping will end your dreams before they ever start.”
She lifted her hand abruptly. “Okay, okay.” She leaned back and brushed loose strands of hair off her pink face, the sunburn settling in more by the minute. “There was this guy who worked for Cool Breeze. He was hitting on Natalie pretty hard the entire time.”
“How did she receive it?” Alisa asked, her voice calmer, although I could still hear a vibrato.
“That girl can really work it.” She chuckled. “I’m not saying anything bad, really. She just knows how to work guys, whether she’s trying to get in their pants or vice versa.”
Glancing at Alisa out of the corner of my eye, I primed my leg muscles in case I needed to leap forward and stop a mugging. I watched for any signal that she might come unglued.
Instead, she clasped her hands, shook her head to jostle a few curls out of her vision. “You’re saying this guy was—”
“Big time. I swear it seems like she’s wearing some type of pheromone perfume. Natalie’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong. But it’s like she has them under a spell.”
Des almost sounded resentful of the attention Natalie was receiving. I noticed Alisa’s lips drawing a straight line, and she just nodded repeatedly, her eyes never leaving the tag-along producer.
“Hey, I’m just the messenger. You guys asked the questions.”
“You’re doing fine, Des. We appreciate your transparency,” I said, extending an appreciative hand.
“Trans what?”
“We’re glad you’re telling us the full story. Do you know if he made any headway with Natalie?”
“Not from what I saw. She gave him the Heisman right in front of everyone.”
“On the beach?”
“Later than night, he paid for everyone to go out, hit the clubs. I tagged along, because that’s what I do.” She rested her hand against her chest, overplaying the drama a tad. But Alisa and I were both too enthralled with where her story was going. A suspect was taking shape with every phrase Des spoke.
Alisa continued the probe. “Who is he, and how did he convince everyone to go out and party? Especially Natalie, if she was trying to keep this guy away from her?”
“Oh, the guy hitting on her was Benjamin Luma. The Cool Breeze CMO.”
“CMO?” Alisa asked.
“Chief Marketing Officer, I assume?”
“That’s the name,” Des said. “It’s pretty common for a bigwig at these companies to take everyone out. I guess Natalie felt like she had to go.”
“Did she ever confide in you?”
“Not really. She wasn’t really a girl’s girl, if you know what I mean.”
“I do,” Alisa said.
“Can you explain her Heisman moment?”
“Right. We were all out on the dance floor,
and Benjamin—”
“The CMO?”
“Yeah, Benjamin Luna. He was out there all up in Natalie’s business, trying to grind against her and everything. She was so smooth. She just turned her back on him and started dancing with some other guy.”
“Luna get pissed?”
“Hell yes. Marched off the dance floor and out of the club like a little kid who’d just lost all of his Pokemon cards.”
We all shared a laugh on that one.
Des’ expression quickly turned south. She winced as she gingerly tapped her sunburned forehead. She was starting to look like a tomato that had worn sunglasses while it ripened.
“Do you know of any other run-ins or incidents that night?”
She popped a knuckle as her beady eyes glanced to the window then back at me. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing with Natalie.”
My partner lowered the lid to her laptop. “Des, did something happen to you?”
Shaking her head, she said, “I wish.”
“Now you have us curious. Sharing anything you know will only help us find Natalie faster. Even information that you don’t think will help could be the difference in finding her.”
Alisa closed her eyes, but her voice remained resolute.
“Benjamin had swagger. His majestic blue eyes pulled me in, even while he was paying all that attention to Natalie. He had that stubbled beard, muscles everywhere a girl would want in a man. You could say I developed a crush on him.”
Alisa and I both nodded.
“When he left the club, I followed him to his condo. I got past security and knocked on his door.”
“Did he answer?” Alisa asked.
“He let me in, but treated me more as a sounding board for his fascination with Natalie. He swatted a hand toward the bar and told me I could have a drink. I had three in about twenty minutes.”
“Whoa,” I responded.
“Yeah, I know, right? Not too smart.” She lifted her open water bottle, knocked back two more swigs, then wiped her mouth on her arm. “I think I overdid the sun exposure today.”
BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6 Page 14