BOOKER Box Set #1 (Books 1-3: A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense)

by John W. Mefford

  “Cool. Good idea with Josh. What’s up with the T-shirt?”

  Alisa held it up so I could see the front. A screen of a picture of two girls, arm in arm, hanging upside down, and what could only be described as a bushel of hair the color of hay falling below them.

  “Is that you?” My mouth didn’t shut.

  “Me and Natalie.” Alisa released a smile, a momentary relief of stress evident at the corners of her eyes.

  “You guys went bungee jumping together?”

  “It’s been a few years. Natalie was thirteen or fourteen, just before she hit her ultra-rebellious phase. I joined her, my dad, and my stepmom for a summer vacation down at South Padre Island.”

  “Are you allowed back?” I gave her a wink.

  “Funny. We had a blast. Ran around on the beach like little kids without a care in the world.”

  Slowly, Alisa’s smile evaporated, and her lips twitched. She glanced at the T-shirt, then at the phone.

  I squeezed Alisa’s shoulder, hoping she could feel my support, my positive energy. “We’re going to find her—”

  “Alive?” Her voice cracked.

  “Yes, alive. And when that happens, I’m going to take a picture of you and your sister holding this T-shirt in front of you. It will be a great contrasting picture.”

  “You’re fooling yourself if you don’t think you’ve aged some, so be prepared.” Sarah’s interjection was particularly ill timed and rude.

  Alisa spun her head around, took a step across the room, jabbing a finger. “Whatever. I am who I am. You’re the one who snorted coke with Natalie. She’s just a fucking kid, and you do nothing more than roll out the red carpet with a line of coke on it. You’re disgusting!”

  I shuffled a few steps to ensure that blows weren’t thrown.

  “Alisa, we can’t undo the past. We all need to work together to take what we know, work the case like we would any other, and find Natalie.”

  I glanced over at Sarah, giving her the eye.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to push your button.”

  Alisa’s shoulders relaxed, and her chest took in a deep pocket of air. “Whatever. Fine.”

  Sarah went to the kitchen, poured each of us a glass of water, and we chilled for a moment. Monique walked back into the large open space, tinkered with his sculpting wheel.

  “So you make art?”

  Still adjusting something on the sculpting wheel, Monique’s eyes shifted my direction. “What’d you think, fool? By the way, I don’t make art. I create it.”

  Knowing Monique was more bark than bite, I just rolled with it. “Do you make a living at it?”

  “Haven’t hit it big enough to own my own studio, but I sell almost everything I make— sculptures, water colors, sketches even. It pays the bills for now. The Maserati will come in due time.”

  A snort from behind me. Sarah, or should I call her Doubting Thomas?

  “You got somethin’ to say, mask lady? At least my passion pays my bills. What about you? Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re all washed up at age thirty.”

  He forced out an obnoxious giggle, grabbed a handful of paintbrushes, and went to the sink to wash them out.

  Hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. “You said you were an admin at a law firm.”

  “I did. And I am.” Her eyes never left mine while she sipped more wine. “Like Natalie, I’m also a model.”

  I nodded, thinking about modeling careers and her advanced age, at least by that industry.

  “I know what you’re thinking…just what Monique said. But that’s why I go to all this trouble to wear a mask every night. I’m a body parts model.”

  I’d heard a rumor of someone standing in for Julia Roberts during the filming of Pretty Woman when they had any boob shots.

  “Is it rude to ask which parts?”

  Alisa smiled as Sarah released another snort.

  “It’s perfectly fine. In fact, they say word of mouth is the best marketing tool. I model parts of my face—in particular, my nose, around my eyes, cheeks, and chin, even my upper neck. Oh, I’ve also done a few ads using my hands.”

  “What she’s trying to say is she’s in those ads where they compare before and after of a woman’s skin condition. All you have to do is use our magical skin lotion with minerals from the Fountain of Youth.” Monique coddled the container of hand soap near the sink. Damn, he was quite the ham.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “He’s right. I’d do about anything to stay connected to the industry. I know I’m old compared to a lot of girls modeling and doing commercials, even TV and movies, but I still have hope that I’ll be discovered, even at my advanced age.”

  I held out a finger. “Are you with the same agency as Natalie?”

  “Not a chance. They usually cater to girls under twenty-five. I’m with the AARP of modeling agencies. They’re called TAM, for Talent and Modeling. Real catchy, huh?”

  I couldn’t say much. Booker & Associates wasn’t exactly an eye-catching business name.

  “Thanks for the water.” Alisa took a final gulp and set her glass over on the kitchen counter.

  “Do you know the name of Natalie’s agency?” I asked Alisa.

  “Damn, I don’t think I have it. Sarah?”

  “Picture Perfect Images. PPI for short, based in Uptown. Go figure.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “We’re out of here. If you hear anything from Natalie, a friend, a coworker, or think of anything at all, please call Alisa or me.” I handed Sarah the card and glanced over at Monique.

  “I’m an open book. Don’t worry about me,” he said, traipsing across our path toward his living room as we headed toward the door. “Well, I’m about to be a closed book for a few hours. Sarah, I’m so wound up by all this drama, I think it’s going to be another Harry Potter marathon night.”

  “He sometimes only sleeps when Harry Potter movies are playing in the background. Quite strange, I know,” Sarah said to us, reaching a hand to her face but not quite touching the mask.

  I nodded and kept walking. Alisa walked into the hallway as we heard Monique saying something like “Avada Kedavra.”

  I must have given Sarah a confused look.

  “One of Harry’s magical spells. I think that one causes instant death. Although it’s painless if that makes any difference.” Sarah reached over and touched Alisa’s arm, then took a step and hugged her from the side. “I can tell you need a hug, girl.”

  Leaning her head against Sarah, Alisa’s eyes shut for a brief moment, perhaps finding a bit of solace.

  “We’ll find her, and then we’re both going to kick her perfect little ass,” Sarah said.

  Alisa sniffled and laughed at the same time.

  Sarah waved and shut the door. I pulled out my phone and noted the time. Just after midnight. “It’s Tuesday,” I said for no reason in particular.

  “Couldn’t be any worse than Monday.” Her eyes heavy, Alisa paused in front of me, curled a lock of hair around her ear. I could feel part of her wanting to lay her head against my chest. I felt the need to comfort her, but I kept her at arm’s distance. We had a history…a one-nighter over ten years ago. But we’d both agreed to never go there again and to not bring it up. Up until now, the arrangement had worked fine. She had developed a relationship with Josh and seemed happy. After my dalliance with the most beautiful, sensual woman I’d ever known—who turned out to be a warped killer—I’d grown accustomed to being a free agent. And I intended on maintaining that status, even during an emotional, trying time for one of my best friends, who just happened to be attractive in her own right.

  Suddenly, the door to the apartment swung open, a white face popped out.

  “Alisa, Booker, glad you haven’t taken off. Something just hit me.”

  My phone buzzed. It was Justin. “Can you talk to her?” I asked Alisa, who padded back to the apartment door.

  A call after midnight was never good news. “Hey Justin, what’s up?”

&nbs
p; “Dude, there’s a guy here at the bar asking to speak with Alisa.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “What did you say your last name was?” I heard Justin ask with the phone away from his mouth.

  I waited for a second, but didn’t hear anything. “Justin?”

  “Yeah, Booker, hold on a second.”

  Justin continued his conversation with the unknown man who wanted to talk to Alisa. “Sir, sir. Can you hear me? What is your last name?”

  Suddenly, something popped in my ear. I think Justin dropped the phone. I only heard muffled voices, some type of groaning, then another pop.

  “Justin, everything okay?”

  No response.

  “Justin!”

  “Jesus.” Justin was still away from the phone, but I heard stress in his voice.

  Turning to the apartment door, I watched Alisa and Sarah exchange another hug. Alisa headed back toward me as I backpedaled toward the elevators, waving her on.

  “Justin!” I called out again.

  “What’s going on?” Alisa asked, jogging up next to me.

  I shook my head, listening for any sign of that everything was okay. “Justin called and said—”

  More rustling through the phone, then Justin’s voice. “Booker, I think this guy’s having a fucking heart attack.”

  “I’ll call nine-one-one. Is he conscious?”

  “Uh, kind of.”

  I motioned to Alisa to haul ass.

  “Make sure he’s comfortable. If he’s lucid, give him two aspirins if you have them.”

  “I might have some in our first aid kit. Shit, why did I answer the frickin’ door?”

  I ignored his lack of sympathy.

  “We’ll be there in five minutes.”

  5

  “I told you I’m not going to any hospital. Can you read lips or do I need to break out the sign language?” A fifty-something man with white hair sloped across a forehead that appeared abnormally red sat up on the gurney in the middle of Justin’s bar.

  “But sir, you might have damage to your heart. It’s important for a doctor to run some tests at least. Then, if everything is fine, you can go home.” The young paramedic with chiseled hair had been pleading with Bucky Rivers for the last five minutes.

  “Can I get some water?” Bare-chested with electrodes stuck to his salt-and-pepper hairy chest, Bucky looked toward Justin, who jumped out of his position and came back with a full glass in less than ten seconds.

  All of us watched Bucky dig into the pocket of his pants, toss two pills in his mouth, and down the full glass of water. He wiped his mouth with his shirt and hairy arm.

  “I got a mitral valve issue, that’s all. Just needed to take my meds. You’ll see my vitals calm down here in a moment. I’ll even sit still until they do, as long as you let me skip the trip to the emergency room.”

  The paramedic gave an exasperated look to his partner, then to Justin and me standing by the bar. “No promises, but we’ll keep a close watch on your vitals for a few minutes before we leave, with or without you.”

  The man seemed to ignore the response as he attempted to twist his torso, stretching wires and tubes.

  “Sir, you can’t move or you’ll yank out your IV and everything else. It won’t feel good.”

  “Where’s that Alisa?”

  Almost on cue, we heard flats clip the last few stairs on the opposite wall. The office to Booker & Associates sat just above The Jewel. I paid rent to my old running buddy through bartering—I worked security in the bar whenever Justin hosted one of his breakthrough marketing events. Last year, we almost had the fire marshal shut us down when Vanilla Ice almost brought the house down.

  “Sorry, I had to check a couple of things on my laptop.” Alisa said, looking at Justin and me.

  “Alisa?”

  She moved closer to the man, but kept her hands in the pockets of her jeans, her eyes starting to resemble that of a raccoon. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. Justin said your name is Bucky?”

  “Bucky Rivers. My daughter…Jade…” Bringing a wrist to his forehead, his face exploded with emotion, his head rocking up and down as tears flooded his face and the oxygen tube in his nostrils.

  “Sir, Mr. Rivers. Please try not to get upset. Your condition will only worsen, and we’ll have no choice but to take you to Parkland.” The paramedic with the helmet hair checked his machines then tried to reinsert the oxygen tubes. His partner added more tape to Bucky’s arm to keep the IV attached, then he gave the man a towel to wipe his face.

  The rest of us just watched a broken man, unsure what was creating his emotional reaction. It was beyond distressing.

  “Let’s have you sit back in the gurney. I’ll raise this at an angle for you.”

  “Okay,” the man said meekly, his eyes shutting for a moment as his back touched the gurney cushion.

  Flipping a chair around, Alisa sat next to the man.

  “I’ll talk to you if you do as the paramedics said. Deal?”

  He held out a hand and she grabbed it. “Thank you.”

  Taking in a breath, he eyed the paramedic, then glanced at Alisa. “Jade, my daughter, was friends with your sister Natalie.”

  He said was. Alisa inched forward in her chair and gripped his hand. His hands looked like they’d been scraped by a cheese grater. I moved a step closer as well.

  “When was the last time you or your daughter spoke to Natalie?” she asked with an extra burst of energy.

  My breath caught in my throat, realizing Alisa hadn’t picked up on Bucky’s past-tense reference with the word “was.”

  “We got some bad news last…last night.”

  His breath came in short bursts, as if his lungs were being squeezed. Again, tears welled, then he swiped his free forearm across his brow, apparently seeking courage to continue. I felt my gut tighten.

  “Yes, tell us what happened,” Alisa said in a soft voice. Sitting at a perfect ninety-degree angle, she shook his hand once. I think she had no idea what she was doing, her mind transfixed on any mention of Natalie. I walked over and rested a hand on her shoulder.

  Glassy-eyed, Bucky gazed at Alisa, his hot-plate face etched with crevices so deep they formed irrigation ditches for his tears. The edges of his mouth twitched, and his eyes shifted to the end of the gurney. He didn’t seem all there. Was he having another heart episode?

  A second away from asking the paramedics to step in, I saw him clutch his pants. “Our one and only daughter, Jade, was found dead last night.”

  Alisa’s mouth hung open, her eyes scanning Bucky, possibly hoping he’d provide a further explanation, something that made sense.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, interrupting the uncomfortable silence. “What happened to her?”

  He snorted back more tears. “It’s…the work of the devil.”

  Alisa narrowed her eyes, a mixture of confusion and anxiety painted on her tired face. “What do you mean?”

  “They found her in the Trinity River bottoms, stuck in the mud. Garbage all around her. Even if I didn’t know her, it was the most sickening thing I’d ever seen or smelled.”

  Alisa brought a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

  I had nothing but questions. “How did—”

  “We put in a missing persons report on her five days ago. She’d recently moved back home after…well, it doesn’t matter now. But we got to know this one officer pretty well. I could see that he didn’t think we were just another piece of paperwork to him. When they found her, I was in my truck finishing a late call. I do HVAC work, and I was crossing that new bridge with all the fancy architecture on it. Paco called, and I got to the scene in less than five minutes. If he hadn’t been there, I’m not sure how I would have gotten through it.”

  “Paco. Paco Arechiga?”

  “I think that’s his last name.”

  “He’s my former partner. I’m a former DPD officer.” I leaned in and shook Bucky’s hand. It was unsteady and warm.r />
  “I’d heard about you through Jade. Well, I knew that Natalie had a sister named Alisa who worked for a PI out of this bar. That’s how I found you.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Alisa’s entire body move as she took in a breath. I turned my head, and she thumped her chest, appearing on the verge of hyperventilating.

  “Are you okay?”

  She paused, pushing out another pocket of air. “I’ll…I’ll be fine.”

  Swallowing, she tried to corral her mascara. It was a losing battle. “Bucky.” Her voice quivered. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  He looked into her eyes and took hold of her hand again. “Thank you, Alisa. Your sister had good things to say about you. That’s why I’m here, I guess.”

  I knew Alisa had questions, as did I. But we couldn’t trample right through Bucky’s misery, especially seeing him so frail, his body tethered to tubes and wires.

  I’d almost forgotten about the paramedics. Neither had moved in minutes. Helmet Hair shifted his eyes between the heart monitor display and the scene before him, but his mouth appeared wired shut.

  “Can you tell me the last time you saw Natalie?” Alisa used her most pleasant voice.

  “Maybe a month or so. Hard to recall exactly,” Bucky said, tapping a finger against his chin, a thin layer of white stubble on the end. “We’d all been through a difficult time the last year or so. It was just good to see Jade, see her happy. But…”

  His left eye twitched, perhaps memories tugging on his tired heart.

  I gave him a good ten seconds. “Something else you wanted to share?”

  A huff. “I don’t mean to bring you any pain,” he said.

  “Tell us.” Alisa’s tone was demanding.

  I gave her a signal to lower the intensity.

  “Please,” she added, much nicer.

  “One of the reasons I came here was that I couldn’t invite you to the house. I think Carol, my wife, would come unglued.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “She…now don’t take this the wrong way.” He looked at both of us. “We’ve been to hell and back in the last twenty-four hours. She’s stuck on the second stage of the grieving process—anger. She’s blaming everyone for Jade’s death, including Natalie.”