“What do you mean blew through?” I asked.
Sarah gazed at Alisa. “I’m assuming you’ve seen this before.”
Alisa nodded. “Natalie has her moments.”
“What moments?” I didn’t know her, so I didn’t understand their code.
“Where Natalie is in la-la land, a tornado of motion,” Sarah said. Her arms mimicked ribbons blowing in the wind. “If you don’t know her, you think it’s all this positive energy, and you want to be around her. But after about fifteen minutes, you realize she’s so wrapped up in her own world, her own fabrications, that she’s not aware of what’s really going on in the real world.”
Resting her arms on a beige, low-back leather sofa with more than a few cigarette burns, Alisa nodded. “That sums her up, yep. But do you know where she’d been, where she was headed?”
“God knows where she’d been. Probably partying all night—”
“Even on Sunday night?” I interrupted.
“Every night’s a party night for Miss Natalie Lopes.” Sarah craned her neck, as if she’d heard that repeated a few times. “I can give you a pretty good description of what she was wearing if you want it. Besides the mink, she had on a gold sequin dress; it hugged her body like most of her clothes. Barely covered her ass. More makeup than you’d see at a circus, enormous gold hoop earrings. She looked like a million bucks…or five, depending on what you’re shooting for.”
Sarah paused and almost touched her chin, then quickly realized her face was still coated with goo. “She was wearing a dangling bracelet. Looked like diamonds.”
Alisa glanced at me, then back at Sarah. “Who would have given her that type of gift?”
“Natalie actually is a pretty smart girl. She used to be able to pull together an outfit on less than a hundred bucks. She could find the coolest costume jewelry. They looked handmade. But a few months ago, she started dating this high roller who zipped her across the country, even out of the country a couple of times.”
“Natalie Jane Lopes traveled outside of the country? I didn’t even know she had her passport.” Alisa poked a finger into the old leather couch, her brow nearly as crinkled as the sofa.
I moved next to my partner, put an arm on her back.
“You never said where she was going. Last Monday morning?”
“Headed out of town again. I think she said DC, but she indicated she’d be back in two or three days. Then as she ran out the door holding her Gucci bag, I thought she said she’d see us in four or five days. I used to get worried about her, but it never did any good. She’d usually show up. I’m almost thirty years old, and I don’t have kids. Last thing I want is to babysit a nineteen-year-old.”
Alisa tightened her jaw, and I could sense her emotion building up inside again. She didn’t need to take it out on Sarah, not when she was our best link for information on Natalie.
“Dumb question, but why don’t we just call her? For the girl who has everything, I’m assuming she has a cell phone.” I held out my hands, knowing I’d made an obvious comment.
“I tried already,” Sarah said just before Alisa jumped in. “She leaves her cell phone on the dresser half the time. It’s in there right now. I tell you, it’s like raising a teenager.”
“She is a teenager.” I was Obvious Man right now.
“True, but she wants us to believe she’s a worldly lady, full of experiences and wisdom that should make us in awe of her presence.”
Sassy response, but Alisa didn’t fight it, so I assumed there was at least a degree of realism to her comment.
“We need to figure out who she went with on this trip. We do that, and we’ll probably find Natalie,” I said, thinking out loud.
Sarah looked antsy. She got up and walked to the kitchen. “Can I get you guys a drink? This is all too much. I need something to calm my nerves.”
“No thanks,” I said as Alisa simply shook her head while she bit her lip. I think she was deep in thought.
Sarah popped a cork on a bottle of white wine, then clinked it against her glass, but stopped the pour at the halfway mark of her oversized wine glass. “You sure?”
“We’re good.”
She filled the glass to the rim, then licked the edges like a puppy, ever so careful not to spill a drop on her freaky mask. She reentered our space, the glass already a third empty. “Listen, I need to be honest about Natalie, everything in her life.”
Alisa leaned forward.
Exhaling through puffy cheeks, Sarah used one hand to frame her words. “I…I think Natalie has gotten into drugs the last couple of months.”
“What makes you think that?” Alisa asked.
Another exhale, her voice subdued. “I know.”
“How?” I jumped in.
“I’m a pretty even-keeled person. I got a day job as an admin for a law firm, enough to pay the bills around this place. But a few weeks ago, I had one of those days from hell. A lawyer who makes a thousand bucks an hour made me feel like an idiot in front of the whole staff. I didn’t know how to deal with it.” Her voice trailed off.
“And?”
“Later than night, Natalie saw I was kind of down. She tried to comfort me for a change. So she went into her bedroom and came back out, and we both shared two lines of coke.”
Alisa’s head rocked back, then she closed her eyes for a brief moment, her cheeks on fire. “What the fuck?”
“I’m sorry. It was a moment of weakness. I did a little when I was younger. I just needed a little pick-me-up.”
Alisa glared holes right through Sara, her chin quivering.
“Wait. Aren’t you a former cop? Am I going to get in trouble for doing this?” Sarah set her glass down, her voice suddenly despondent. Apparently, Natalie knew a bit of Alisa’s life.
“Cop?”
I turned around, locked eyes with Monique, who was holding a paper sack. He hesitated, then darted down the front hallway. I heard a door open and slam shut. I looked at Alisa, then Sarah, wondering what I was witnessing. Both shrugged their shoulders. We could ask questions later.
I took off, reaching the front door after about ten quick steps. Outside the apartment, I jerked my head in both directions, but no sign of Monique. Still for a brief second, I heard a bell. The elevator. Reaching a dead sprint in under a second, I rounded the corner just as the doors shut. Monique, the arrogant asshole, waved and smiled as the crack closed.
“Dammit!”
My eyes searched the area. An exit sign. Slamming against the metal door, I spilled onto a landing then grabbed the railing and launched myself halfway down the first flight of stairs. I kept taking giants leaps, five, seven stairs at a time.
I had no idea if Mr. Mouth, Monique, had anything to do with Natalie’s disappearance, but the former cop in me knew that running automatically made him a prime suspect—not that he wouldn’t have been considered anyway.
My feet landed on concrete at ground level. I cut right, popping out of the stairwell door, wondering where I was in proximity to the front and back doors. A white T-shirt just on the other side of the glass back door. I hauled ass in that direction, passed a meaty security guard with his head buried in a book. He didn’t bother looking up. Must be a good book.
A middle-aged couple, apparently just back from an evening jog, came through the door wearing matching gold and black running outfits, headbands and all.
“Look out!” I yelled as I lunged between them.
“What the hell?” I heard the man exclaim.
Outside, a lot of concrete, but well lit. A few people walked the streets. Squinting, I spotted the white T-shirt racing up South St. Paul. I continued the chase and caught a glimpse of him in a full-on sprint, his arms pumping as his feet bounced off the ground. This guy was frickin’ fast.
A guy laid on his horn just as I jumped into the street. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw a white European sedan, but I maintained visual contact with the suspect, Monique.
Just then, he cut right, at a
bout a forty-five degree angle, at Commerce. Nearly five seconds behind him, I reached the same point and noticed the park. I’d forgotten about Main Street Park, the only piece of nature in downtown, outside of Klyde Warren Park.
I spotted Monique just across the street, dodging a man and his dog. The Doberman lunged toward Monique, releasing a juicy growl, his canines chomping up and down. Even though the pooch was on a leash, Monique tripped over his own feet, then hit a two-foot stone border around the park and wiped out like he’d just attempted the downhill ski jump on Wide World of Sports.
Before he got back to his knees, I jumped over the wall and jammed my knee into the small of his back.
“Ahh!” He ate grass as I heard something crinkle under his body.
“Why the hell did you run, Monique?”
I pulled the sack out from under him.
“That’s mine. You can’t have it.” He tried snatching it out of my hand, even with his chest on the ground. I transferred more weight into my knee that crunched his back.
“Shit, bitch! Police brutality.” Grass filled his mouth, so the words weren’t very clear.
“Yeah, whatever. I’m not the Dallas Police Department, so shut your pie hole. I want to know what’s so damn important. Does this have anything to do with Natalie?”
I opened the bag and found a plastic baggie filled with weed.
“I was just holding it for her, I swear. Hand on a Bible. My momma’s Bible.”
“If it’s on your momma’s Bible then that makes all the difference in the world.” If he could have seen me roll my eyes, I’m sure he would have offered another lie.
Taking hold of his upper arm, I pulled Monique to his feet. “Stuff this in your drawers. I’m not getting caught with it. And if authorities think you’re dealing, you’re up shit creek, and I don’t have a spare paddle.”
“You not taking me in?” he asked while stuffing the bag inside his shorts like he was a professional at concealing illicit drugs.
“I know a lot of folks who work for the DPD, even the DA’s office, but I’m not an officer or detective. I have my own PI business. That’s why I chased your ass down. That, and my good friend’s sister who hasn’t been heard from in a week.”
We walked across the street, back down St. Paul. Approaching the single tower of the apartment building with its detailed stone work casting ominous shadows, it felt like we’d time- traveled to another dimension—where Gotham City existed. I looked up at the top for gargoyles, realizing David, former investment swindler and now a full-time entrepreneur-chef, could probably create a theme and cuisine with this setting, maybe adding a restaurant in the lobby of the Lone Star Lofts. He’d call it Creped Crusaders.
I snickered at my marketing attempt, following Monique up to the apartment.
Exiting the elevator on the fourth floor, sweat cooled against my forehead and chest. “By the way, did you happen to run track?”
“South Oak Cliff High School 4x100-meter team. Won state. Broke the record my senior year. Just four years ago, but it seems a lot longer.” His voice sounded almost normal. “I’m not really into that athletic stuff anymore.”
Back in the apartment, Sarah spared him no mercy.
“Monique, where the hell do you think you were running off to? You look like a drug-dealing hoodlum when you do stupid shit like that. They’re not going to bust you for a little weed.”
“Oh, Sarah, shut yo pie hole. It’s all good.” Monique gave me a nod, but his attitude had returned.
Again, I thought his swagger reminded me of someone. Still couldn’t make the connection.
Alisa approached me, holding a cell phone and a T-shirt.
“Sarah gave me Natalie’s cell phone. It’s password protected, one of those fingerprint deals. But you never know…maybe Josh could figure something out.”
There was hope in her voice, which brought me a sense of relief. Finding Natalie wouldn’t be easy—not based on what we’d heard tonight—but if Alisa had given up hope, her negative attitude would only drag the investigation, which would lessen the chance of finding Natalie…alive. It was difficult to say in my mind. I certainly didn’t want to address that alternative with Alisa.
“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.”
BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6 Page 4
