I grinned. “Sounds like a plan.” I tipped a nonexistent hat at the man. “You take care now, Andy.”
17
Back in the van, I looked over at Al. “Oh, man, I owe you one, buddy. That guy was just about to break my jaw.”
“We’re partners kid. It’s what we do.”
“Yeah, well, your timing couldn’t have been more perfect. So, thanks. Now what we need to do is figure out what was going on in there. Vito didn’t like me snooping around in his office, that’s for sure. I definitely think we need to pay that photographer a visit—see what he knows.”
Al’s head bobbed. “I agree, but I don’t think he’s gonna want to talk. Anyone who’s taking those kinds of pictures of underage girls isn’t going to be too forthcoming about what they’re involved in.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right. Well, then, maybe we need to make him believe that we wanna get in on the action. I think it’s the only way he’ll talk.”
“We can sure give it a shot,” said Al.
* * *
A quick internet search revealed that the Joseph Ayala Photography studio was located on the street level of a three-story brick building in the heart of Paradise Isle’s historic downtown area. The area was lined with cobblestone, and though many of the arched brick doorways had been painted over, many also remained untouched, exposing the original brick that had been used when the buildings were first built. The second-story balconies were an updated feature, along with the addition of eye-catching brightly painted shutters and hanging baskets of flowers. The posh shopping area was mostly frequented by tourists due to the nearby harbor where incoming cruise ships docked and the duty-free shopping the island provided.
The front door of Joseph Ayala’s shop was propped wide open with a carved stone statue. And as Al and I entered the studio, I found that I was unprepared for what we discovered. The walls were covered in ornately framed portraits of beautiful beach weddings and breathtaking landscapes, as well as outdoor portraits of couples of all ages, women in hats walking along the beach, and children playing in the sand and surf. My mouth gaped slightly as I stared at the walls. I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d thought I’d walk into, but it certainly wasn’t what I was looking at now—a very wholesome photographer that didn’t seem the least bit seedy or raunchy.
“Wow,” I mouthed, staring up at the walls in awe.
Al stood next to me with his hands behind his back, staring up at the artwork. “Yeah, he’s good.”
A brunette woman wearing a white camisole tucked into a floaty red skirt and sandals whose straps wrapped around her ankles and calves came breezing into the studio from a back room. “Hello, may I help you?”
“Yes, we’re looking for the artist. Joseph Ayala? Is he in?”
The woman gave us a tight smile. “I’m sorry. He is not. Mr. Ayala is currently on location shooting a wedding.”
“Oh,” I said, nodding. “I see.”
“May I leave him a note or schedule an appointment for you?” The woman opened a three-ring binder and flipped open the well-worn pages of an appointment book.
I stared down at it for a second. “Is that Mr. Ayala’s schedule?”
“Yes, sir. Is this for a wedding or are we looking for a portrait session?” she asked.
My lips pressed together as I put an arm over Al’s shoulders. “Yes, a wedding.” I gave squeezed his shoulder. “When you know, you know.”
Al stared up at me, his mouth set in a straight line.
“Oh,” she said, a big smile on her face. “When’s the big day?”
“It’s coming up quickly. But before we talk dates, my partner here was just saying how he needed to use the little boys’ room. Do you have a restroom here he could borrow, by any chance?”
“Of course,” she said, giving Al a smile.
Al’s torso turned and he looked up at me curiously.
“Honey, weren’t you just telling me that you needed to go?” My eyes widened as I spoke the words, trying to tell him quietly to just play along.
“Oh. Yeah. I forgot.” He smiled at the woman. “Hazards of getting old.”
“Right this way,” she said, leading Al down a hallway towards the back of the building.
When they’d both disappeared, I wasted no time in spinning Joseph Ayala’s appointment schedule around. I flipped back a page to the current month and then ran my finger down the page until I landed on the current date.
Grainger/Smith wedding. Coco Bay Beach Resort.
Bingo.
I swiveled the planner back around again just as the woman returned to the front counter. “Okay. So, shall we start talking dates?” she asked, shooting me a wide smile.
“Yes, the wedding is next Saturday,” I said with a nod.
Her eyes widened. “Next Saturday?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, brightly. I leaned over her counter. Resting my chin in the palm of my hand, I smiled at her. “Why wait when you’re having fun?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but as you’re probably aware, Mr. Ayala is one of the most sought-after beach photographers on the island. During wedding season, he’s booked months out, sometimes a year in advance. I might have something for you in the fall—”
“Oh, darn it, the fall. I don’t think I can wait that long,” I said, shooting Al a look as he rejoined us at the desk. “What do you think, dear? Can we wait until fall to make it official?”
“I might not be alive that long,” said Al. He looked up at the woman with nothing short of a dead serious face. “Every day is a gift at this point.”
She gave him a sad look, plumping out her bottom lip, while I fought off a laugh at Al’s ability to keep a straight face. “Oh, I completely understand. I’m really sorry I can’t help you out, fellas. I might be able to give you an idea of some other photographers that could help you.”
I shook my head. “It’s alright. Maybe we’ll just hire a videographer instead. Thank you so much for your time.”
She waved at us as we high-tailed it back to our vehicle. When we were out of earshot, Al leaned over. “What in the heck was that about?”
“I got a look at Ayala’s calendar. I know where he’s at. Coco Bay Beach Resort.”
Al’s mouth gaped. “You can’t be serious, kid. You wanna interrupt a wedding to find this photographer?”
I nodded. “Damn straight.”
* * *
Coco Bay Beach Resort wasn’t difficult to find considering it was one of the more popular resorts on the island. Signs for it abounded, and when we got there, they’d made it even easier for us to find by staking out signs pointing Grainger/Smith wedding guests in the direction of the venue, a private beach along Coco Bay’s coastline. They even had a separate guest parking lot just off the beach.
I pulled my Jeep up next to a pearl-blue Lexus LX 570 with a Steve Dillon Automart sticker on the lower right corner of the tailgate. The rear window bore a full-size Joseph Ayala Photography decal, making me even more confident that we were in the right place.
I hitched my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the car and looked over at Al. “You like that?”
“It’s like I’m looking at Columbo or something,” said Al, shaking his head.
I puffed air out my nose. “Oh, come on, Al. Columbo? I think I’m good looking enough to at least be Magnum, don’t you?”
Al shrugged. “Grow a mustache and then we’ll talk.”
I chuckled and got out of the vehicle. Adjusting my sunglasses, I looked out over the beach. Hotel staff were busy setting out rows of white chairs in front of a bare four-posted pergola on the beach. Other workers wove layers of white tulle through the laths atop the pergola and down the four corner posts. “Look, they’re still setting up for the wedding.”
A slender guy in white linen pants, a blue short-sleeved shirt, and sandals, carrying a camera around his neck, was speaking animatedly with some of the resort staff.
“That looks like our guy.” I looked over at Al
. “You ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
We walked across the sand, making our way over to who I could only assume was Joseph Ayala. By the time we’d walked all the way over to him, he was done talking to the resort staff and was now down on one knee, holding the camera up to his face.
Approaching him, I cleared my throat. “Mr. Ayala?”
The man’s head snapped back to look up at Al and me. “Yes?” He had shoulder-length dark curly hair, olive skin, and a diamond-shaped face with prominent cheekbones, his narrow chin ending in a sleekly manicured goatee.
I smiled at him. “Very good. The woman in your photo studio told us we could find you here.”
Al elbowed me in the ribs as the photographer climbed to his feet, dusting sand off of his knees.
“Carlotta?” he asked, his unibrow dropped in surprise.
“Brown-haired woman, long skirt,” I said.
“Yes. That’s Carlotta. She told you where I was?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, my staff usually know better than to disclose shoot locations to clients. And as you can see, my schedule is occupied today. If you need to make an appointment, you’ll need to speak with Carlotta.”
“Well, that’s just it. This isn’t really something I can speak with Carlotta about. It’s more of a private matter.”
“A private matter?” he said, glancing up and around at the myriad of hotel resort staff that buzzed around the beach.
“Yes. It won’t take but a minute or two of your time,” I added.
He looked at me curiously then. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
I held out a hand to him. “Oh, right. My name is Artie Balladares. I’m the owner of the Seacoast Majestic Resort.”
Al swiveled around and stared up at me in surprise.
I looked down at him. “And this is my assistant, Francisco.”
Joseph sighed. “I only have a moment, I’m quite busy today.”
“Yes, a moment is fine.”
He nodded. “I need to go get one of my other lenses out of my vehicle anyway. Let me just finish what I’m doing here, and I’ll meet you up in the parking lot in a moment.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ayala, we appreciate it.”
18
“Drunk! What in the world were you thinking bringing Artie’s name into this mess?” chastised Al while we walked back to the parking lot.
“I was thinking that we needed to have a legitimate reason for going to see this guy. It worked, didn’t it? Ayala was about to toss us back into Carlotta’s unprofessional hands if it wasn’t for me throwing some credibility into the ring.”
Al shook his head. “Artie’s gonna kill you if he finds out about this.”
I stopped walking and stared down at him. “Well, there are only two people who know, and I’m not talking. So if he finds out, I know exactly who to blame.”
“God?”
“Al.”
Al waved a hand in the air and kept walking. “Same thing.”
“I’m serious, Al. No mentioning this to Artie. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“Yeah, we don’t know that, kid. Now listen, I just wanna go on record and say that this is a bad idea.”
“Fine. Your complaint is duly noted. I’ve filed it away in its proper receptacle. The garbage man will be here to see it to its final resting place shortly.”
We leaned our backs against my Jeep then and watched Joseph plow his way across the beach towards us with his camera bag slung across his body and his camera hanging around his neck. Wordlessly, he passed right in front of us and went straight to the back of his vehicle.
Al and I followed him.
He opened the tailgate and began to sort through the camera equipment in his trunk. Then he removed the lens from his camera and dug through a bag to grab another. When he was finished exchanging gear, he closed his tailgate and propped his hip up against it. “So. What can I help you with, gentlemen?”
“We were told that you do a lot of work with young models,” I began. “I’m looking for someone that can do some work for a new advertising campaign that I’m working on. Something to bring in more of a specific clientele.”
He tipped his head to the side curiously. “May I ask you who referred you to me?”
“Yeah, sure. The guys down at Club Cobalt speak very highly of you and your work.”
Joseph crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at his feet, kicking a rock out of the way absentmindedly. He looked up again. “Do they?”
“Yes. Of course your showcase of pictures on their wall of fame doesn’t hurt at all either.”
He frowned. “Yes. I really wish they’d take those down. I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you gentlemen; my schedule is booked for the rest of the summer.” He rocked to his feet.
“Yes, Carlotta mentioned that. But from what I understand, you’re the best in the business at this specific sort of thing.”
He frowned and seemed to let down his guard just a bit. “Look, I don’t know what you heard, but these days I only do those shoots when I’m required to.”
Required to? I wanted to ask him who was requiring him to, but I knew that would tip my hand. “Well, yeah, I understand. If it makes it easier, I’ve already got the model I want to use in mind.”
“Oh yeah?”
I nodded and pulled out a picture of Jordan. I showed it to him, looking closely for any signs of recognition. “She’s pretty, huh?”
Joseph lifted a shoulder noncommittally. “Probably not who I would’ve picked for an advertising campaign, but I suppose she’d work.”
“You haven’t used her for your shoots in the past?”
He stared at her picture, his eyes blank. He shrugged. I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it. I needed to loosen him up a little.
I pointed at his vehicle then. “Hell of a ride you got there.”
He glanced sideways at his luxury SUV. “One of a photographer’s most important tools.”
“Just got mine at Steve Dillon’s myself.”
He shot a glance over at my ride and gave me a little nod. “Steve’s a decent guy.”
“Sure is. I just wish those damn tariffs weren’t so high. Paid a fortune for it.”
Joseph stared at me hard, his dark eyes shining like polished onyx beneath the bright sun. “That shouldn’t be too hard for a resort owner to afford.”
I shrugged. My heart raced a little. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. I felt the sudden need to backpedal. “No. I mean, of course not. It was a drop in the bucket, really. It still hurts the pocketbook, though. I’m sure yours set you back quite a lot, too.”
“Like I said, it’s a requirement for the job.” He held a hand out then to me. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, Mister…”
“Balladares,” I mumbled. From my peripheral vision, I could see Al shooting me a nasty look.
“Right. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Balladares, but I really need to get back to my wedding shoot. The bridal party will be out soon.”
I held the picture up. “So you don’t recall if you’ve ever shot this girl before?”
“Take care.” He walked away without even looking at the photograph.
Fuck.
“Good going, kid, you chased him away,” said Al.
“What the fuck did I say?”
“I told you you shouldn’t have told him you were Artie. You really think big resort owners are gonna blink at the price of a Jeep?”
“Shit,” I breathed. “I was only trying to loosen him up a little. Get him chatting. Who doesn’t like complaining about the prices of shit?”
Al shrugged. “I guess that guy doesn’t.”
“Ugh. Now what do we do? I feel like that was our last lead.”
Al shook his head. “I don’t know. Time to regroup, I guess.”
19
That night turned out to be an extraordinarily warm, humid evening. With my windows open as usual, I tossed a
nd turned most of the night, and when my subconscious heard the clickety-clack of Earnestine’s claws tap-dancing on my headboard the next morning, I awoke with a start in a soggy pool of sweat.
“Aahh!” I belted from my diaphragm as I was ripped from my paralyzing dreamlike state. Though I couldn’t exactly put my finger on what I’d been dreaming about, the ominous feeling of dread gripped my body and clung to me like a burr rolled up in a dog’s fur.
“Morning, stupid, morning, stupid, rawck,” Earnestine chattered.
“Fuck, Earnestine,” I cursed, looking straight up at the bird. My heart raced. Whether it was from my dream or the bird, I wasn’t sure, but at that moment I felt like blaming it on Earnestine.
Earnestine looked down at me and let out a whistle.
I pulled my pillow over my head and groaned. My phone rang.
Earnestine mocked the sound of my classic phone ringtone, so she sounded like an echo. Brring. Brring. Brring. Brring.
I rolled over on my side and reached a hand out to grab my phone from my nightstand. With my eyes closed, I answered it from under my pillow. “Drunk here.”
“Danny, it’s Frankie.”
My eyes popped open. It was not the voice I’d expected to hear, but I had to admit, hearing her voice certainly did something to counteract the tension I felt from Earnestine’s wakeup call. “Hey, Frankie. Good morning. How are you?”
“I’m okay, but listen, I’ve got some news about that girl you were looking for.”
My breath caught in my throat. I bolted into an upright position. My free hand went to the top of my hair. “You’ve got news about Jordan?”
“Well, I’m not one hundred percent sure that it’s her, but I think we found her.”
I smiled and my shoulders slumped forward in relief. Giselle was going to be thrilled. “No kidding. Is she alright? Where is she?”
There was a pause on the other end.
I looked down at my phone to see if we were still connected. “Frankie? You still there?”
Drunk Driving Page 11
