Act Fast Read online

  Act Fast

  An Indigo Investigations Cozy Mystery

  R. A. Wallace

  2019

  Book One

  Author’s Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, technologies, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, technologies, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Material in this book is not intended as a substitute for legal or medical advice from qualified professionals. The author has no connection to any software or website mentioned.

  © 2019 R. A. Wallace. All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Brandi McCann www.ebook-coverdesigns.com

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Books by R. A. Wallace

  Chapter One

  It wasn’t the most complicated case she had ever taken on, but it was one that promised the potential of payment. That critical element was an all-important consideration when choosing how to spend her time. She followed the directions on her GPS to the Turpin home. It was a single-level stucco on the corner of Magnolia and Third. The lawn was cared for and there were healthy potted plants on the front porch sporting a variety of colorful tropical flowers. The man who answered the door appeared to be in his late forties. Callie Indigo introduced herself and followed Alan Turpin to a screened sunroom in the rear of the house. There was a sizable back yard with some large live oak trees liberally draped with Spanish moss offering shade.

  He introduced his wife, Belinda, and waved in the direction of a chair. Callie sat, grateful for the slight breeze from the ceiling fan above. It wasn’t that it was particularly hot outside, but the Florida humidity made the air thick. Callie turned to Mrs. Turpin and declined the polite offer of sweet iced tea. Like her husband, Melinda Turpin also appeared to be in her late forties. Her short blonde hair was cut in a simple layered style. Her brown eyes were filled with concern. Although not an overly attractive woman, Callie knew that the fine bone structure of her face would appeal to cameras. She wondered if the trait ran in the family.

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” Alan Turpin quickly took charge of the conversation.

  Callie had been beyond thrilled to get the call. Her prospects for genuine paying jobs had been few and far between of late.

  “Luckily, I had a last-minute cancellation.”

  “As I mentioned briefly on the phone, we’re concerned about our daughter, Kym.” The lines fanning out from Alan’s eyes and mouth looked pronounced. Callie wondered if the current stress the Turpins were under had helped to emphasize them.

  “She’s only eighteen,” Belinda said quickly. She glanced over at her husband then pushed herself farther back into her seat and clasped her hands on her lap.

  “Yes. As I said, we’re concerned about a modeling agency that she has recently been involved with.” The frown on Alan’s face made it obvious that he had issues with the agency.

  “Did your daughter sign any type of contract?” Callie asked.

  Alan’s eyes widened with the implications. He glanced at his wife briefly. Belinda gave an almost imperceptible shrug.

  “I have no idea. That wasn’t something that I had considered.” Alan looked away quickly before returning his gaze to Callie. “We’ll need you to find out for us. I doubt Kym will tell us, even if she understood that she was signing a legal document of any kind.”

  “She’s still very young,” Belinda said quietly.

  “All the more reason she shouldn’t be signing her name to anything,” Alan said adamantly.

  “How old is Kym?” Callie asked as she removed a small notepad from her bag.

  “Eighteen.” Alan frowned when he said it.

  Which meant if there was a signed contract, it was more likely to be legally binding.

  “What is the name of the agency?” Callie flipped to a clean page.

  “Fielding. It’s the Fielding Modeling Agency.” He emphasized the word ‘modeling’ as though it were a bad word.

  “What exactly are your concerns?” Callie asked. She had some ideas of her own, but she still wanted to hear what the Turpins had to say. The couple shared a look.

  “We doubt the company is reputable,” Alan said quickly. “I want to know exactly what she’s doing with them. What kind of photos is she allowing them to take? What if…?”

  Belinda made a small noise of distress. “She’s still a child, really. She doesn’t understand the lifetime ramifications of decisions she makes now. We’re concerned about the type of photos.”

  “What kind of modeling agency takes money from their models instead of paying them? That can’t be right either,” Alan pointed out. “So far, that’s all they’ve been doing is taking her money. Our money. Frankly, Ms. Indigo, we think our daughter is beautiful, but we know she isn’t at the level of some glamour model. We’re concerned that she’s getting involved in something over her head.”

  After asking several more questions, Callie left a short time later with a photo of Kym Turpin. She sat in her car for a moment with the air running and looked at the photo. Young Kym had her mother’s blonde hair but there the similarities ended. Her close-set eyes were a beautiful shade of blue. The pronounced bridge of her nose showed evidence of a former break. Callie wondered if it had been a sports injury. She had known a girl in high school with a similar break who had been a pitcher on the girls’ softball team. According to the stats on the modeling agency photo, Kym was five seven and weighed at the mid-range of what would be expected for her height for a healthy teenager.

  Callie put aside the photo and drove across town to her office. The Indigo Investigations office was a small space inside of an old building that ran the span of the block. The building had several other business offices in it. Callie’s office was located on the end which worked out well for her. She pulled around the corner on the lesser used side street and parallel parked.

  Both the large front window and the door had a sign for Indigo Investigations. The smaller window closest to the corner of the building had a second sign for Knox & Wolfe Software and Consulting. Unable to afford the rent for the office space on her own since the death of her former partner, Callie had come up with the idea of sharing the space. Fortunately for her, the couple who rented the office space had also become her friends.

  Although it had been a year since the death of her partner, she still missed Corky Travis. He had taken Callie under his wing five years ago when she first began working with him as his office assistant in the very same office she approached now. He had been her mentor and, over time, she had gotten her private investigator license and begun working on his cases with him. Corky had a steady clientele that he had built up over a lifetime of work. That clientele had dried up immediately upon Corky’s death. For the past year, Callie had been trying to build up her own clientele. Not the kind of jobs that her mother and friends tossed her way. She wanted the kind of jobs that came looking for her because of her skill and reputation. She found i
t to be a difficult uphill climb.

  Sierra Knox looked up from her computer when Callie entered the office. She pushed her glasses back up on her nose.

  “How did it go?”

  “It shouldn’t take long,” Callie said as she walked to her desk. Rather than separating the existing office into smaller spaces when Sierra Knox and Michael Wolfe had moved in, they’d opted to share the existing space.

  “Too bad,” Sierra said as she returned her focus to the monitor in front of her. Her fingers began flying across the keyboard.

  Callie understood the comment. A quick case meant less income. However, a satisfied customer was often the best kind of advertising and knowing that she had successfully closed a case gave her a personal feeling of satisfaction.

  She glanced over at Michael slouched at a desk near Sierra’s. He was wearing ear buds but the music he was playing could still be heard. His entire focus was on his computer. She doubted he was even aware of her presence. Callie reached for the small stack of mail on one corner of her desk. She knew before looking at the return addresses that they were bills. She flipped through the pile anyway, just to be sure. She made a mental note to deal with them later as she tossed them back onto her desk. Then she turned on her own computer and started searching for anything she could find on the Fielding Modeling Agency.

  They had a fairly impressive web presence. Their site promised that the agency would provide modeling training, exposure to the field of modeling, and the potential for jobs for both young men and women of all shapes and sizes. Callie paused and re-read a section that listed an age requirement of eighteen and above. Anyone under age eighteen was required to have written parental permission.

  There were photos of the owners on the main web page. Nic and Nikki Fielding were both attractive. Callie guessed they were in their early forties. She wrote down their contact information and the address of the modeling agency in her notepad under the notes she had taken while speaking with the Turpins.

  The web site had a page that spoke glowingly of classes, modeling contests, make-up sessions, practice photo shoots for their models, and professional portfolios. Although each opportunity mentioned an associated cost, no actual fees were listed. She read through the glowing praise of the modeling agency on another of the site web pages. She wondered how many of the comments really came from satisfied customers.

  Then it occurred to her that the agency would technically have two different types of customers. The prospective models they were supposedly grooming for jobs. And the companies that theoretically hired those models. She scrolled to the top of the comments page and read them again. The comments made by prospective models only listed first names and those tended to be names like Candy, Kiki, and Branch. Callie doubted she would be able to track them down.

  Some of the other comments had business names listed next to them. She wrote those names down also and began looking them up. She wanted to know how many of the businesses were real and what kind of business they actually performed. Lastly, she used multiple search engines to search for any reference to the Fielding Modeling Agency.

  What she found didn’t surprise her. Prior to being the Fielding Modeling Agency, the Fieldings had operated modeling agencies under at least two other names in the past. There had been several complaints filed against those companies.

  “Callie, when did you get here?” Michael said loudly before removing his ear buds.

  Callie suppressed a smile. “Just now.”

  “Your mom called.” He grinned at Callie.

  Her mom had her cell phone number. Callie knew that her mom often called her office just to chat with Michael or Sierra. She suspected it was her mom’s way of keeping tabs on her.

  “She wants you to stop by,” Michael said cheerfully before putting his ear buds back in.

  Callie leaned back in her seat. She loved her mom, she really did. But her mother had the uncanny ability to dream up problems for Callie to solve. She just hoped that whatever Margaret Milne wanted this time wasn’t going to take up too much of her time.

  Chapter Two

  “I thought you didn’t like the dog?” Margaret looked over her reading glasses at her friend. The group of them had volunteered to create bundles of plastic utensils for the next pot luck supper. Although everyone at the retirement community who attended would bring a casserole or some other dish to share, the homeowner association provided the paper plates and plastic utensils.

  Margaret kept her hair a vibrant shade of red. She thought she might tone it down as she got older, but she was currently only fifty seven. She figured she had several more years before she needed to consider any drastic changes. Her cataract surgery had removed the need to wear glasses on a regular basis. She only needed the reading glasses when performing close work. She and her friends were sitting in the large clubhouse. The main room was filled with long tables set up in rows. Each table had eight chairs positioned around it. Margaret and two of her friends were sitting at one of the tables surrounded by plastic utensils and paper napkins.

  There were smaller rooms on either side of the main room. One was used as a library, where residents of the retirement community could drop off gently used paperbacks or check out books that had been donated by residents. The other small room was used for storage. There were times when the tables and chairs were removed from the main room so they could use the space for other things such as a dance floor or for yoga classes. In the rear of the clubhouse, there was a kitchen where food could be prepped for events. Behind the building was a swimming pool.

  “What can I say? The little thing grew on me.” Trudy picked up a plastic knife, fork, and spoon and wrapped them into a napkin before adding it to her pile. Each bundle looked like a long pretzel stick and stacked neatly inside a plastic tray. She glanced over at Sally’s tray and reached for more plastic utensils. She would need to pick up her pace to keep up with Sally’s pile.

  “I think she’s worried it’s the closest she’s ever going to get to a grandchild.” Sally deftly finished rolling the last of her plastic utensils into a napkin and added the roll to her own pile. The box of utensils she had been working from was now empty. She reached over and took some of Trudy’s.

  “You would too if you had Jackee for a daughter,” Trudy pointed out. She loved her daughter, but Jackee went through boyfriends faster than Sally could roll plastic utensils.

  “What is this one’s name?” Margaret asked. She wasn’t sure it mattered, but friendship required that she ask.

  Trudy thought for a moment. Was it Stan? No, that was the last one. Or was Stan the one before that? Finally, she remembered.

  “Frank.”

  Margaret paused in her work. “I thought Frank was four boyfriends ago?”

  “He was. This is a different Frank.” Trudy lifted her glasses from the bridge of her nose for a moment to ease the pressure. She had permanent indentations on either side from the pads. When she let the glasses fall back into place, she looked for more plastic utensils. The box was now empty thanks to Sally’s help.

  “What time is Callie getting here?” Sally asked.

  “Hard to say. I understand she has another case.” Margaret rolled the last of her utensils.

  “Is it something for Elliot?” Trudy asked.

  Elliot Landon. Margaret smiled at the thought of him. “No, not this time.”

  “I wish I had a rich boyfriend,” Trudy said with a sigh.

  “Especially one who helped to keep your daughter employed,” Sally added.

  Margaret didn’t deny it. Elliot was definitely rich and often came up with cases to help with Callie’s fledgling private investigator business. He was also the love of her life, a feat that had lasted longer than her marriages to her two former husbands combined. She knew it was because he understood her need for independence which was why he didn’t try to convince her to move away from her home and her friends, two things she’d had before she’d met him. Well, he didn’t try much, anywa
y. She had to admit, sometimes she was tempted. Her response to her friends’ comments was lost when the front door of the clubhouse opened.

  “Hey, here you are.” Callie stepped into the air-conditioned clubhouse and removed her sunglasses. She propped them on the top of her head, using them to hold back her chin-length brown hair.

  “Darling, you made it.” Margaret didn’t try to stand. It would take her longer to get to her feet than it would for Callie to walk across the room and join them.

  Callie took a seat near her mother. “So, what’s up?”

  “I’ll let Trudy explain,” Margaret turned to her friend.

  “It’s like this. Jackee took her life savings and bought a puppy.” Trudy stopped when she saw Callie’s eyebrows go up.

  “Some breeds can cost hundreds, or even thousands, of dollars,” Sally explained.

  “Was she going to try breeding it?” Callie asked.

  “Exactly. She figured each litter would increase her return on her investment.” Trudy knew Callie would understand.

  “Okay. What’s the problem?” Callie asked.

  “Frank claims the dog ran away,” Trudy said with a sniff. She really had grown fond of the little thing.

  “The dog is missing?” Callie clarified.

  “Yes. It’s been two days now and she still hasn’t come home. Her name is Layla.”

  Callie’s eyes drifted over to her mother. Her mother looked steadily back at her. Callie knew she was doomed. She had never been able to refuse her mother when given that look. She had never taken on a missing dog case before, but she knew she was about to now and it would be a case without pay. She knew Trudy’s financial situation didn’t allow her a lot of extra spending money. She turned to Trudy and gave her what she hoped was a confident smile.

  “Do you have a picture of the dog?” Callie asked.

  “Oh, yes. Right here on my phone.” Trudy pulled up the photo and handed the phone to Callie.

  Callie managed to keep the surprise from her face. “What kind of dog is this, exactly?”