Tiffany Lynn Is Missing: a psychological thriller (A JETT THACKER MYSTERY Book 1)

  TIFFANY LYNN IS MISSING

  a psychological thriller

  © 2021 Dan Alatorre

  What’s next from Dan Alatorre?

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  AUTHOR DAN ALATORRE’S READERS CLUB

  Note to Readers

  If you have the time, I would deeply appreciate a review on Amazon and Goodreads. I learn a great deal from them, and I’m always grateful for any encouragement. Reviews are a very big deal and help authors like me to sell a few more books. Every review matters, even if it’s only a few words.

  Thanks,

  Dan Alatorre

  Table Of Contents

  Tiffany Lynn Is Missing

  A Note From The Author

  Other Books By Dan Alatorre

  More Thrillers From Dan Alatorre

  The Jett Thacker Series

  Tiffany Lynn Is Missing: a Jett Thacker Mystery

  Jett Thacker Book 2: Killer In The Dark

  The Gamma Sequence Series

  Book 1 :The Gamma Sequence

  Book 2: Rogue Elements

  Book 3: Terminal Sequence

  Book 4: The Keepers

  Book 5: Dark Hour

  The Double Blind Series

  Book 1: Double Blind

  Book 2: Primary Target

  Book 3: Third Degree

  A Place Of Shadows, a paranormal thriller

  The Navigators, a time travel thriller

  Note to Readers

  If you have the time, I would deeply appreciate a review on Amazon and Goodreads. I learn a great deal from them, and I’m always grateful for any encouragement. Reviews are a very big deal and help authors like me to sell a few more books. Every review matters, even if it’s only a few words.

  Thanks,

  Dan Alatorre

  Chapter 1

  Emily Becker kneaded her fingers together, the knot in her stomach growing larger as she craned her neck to sneak another glance toward the studio doors. “When will she come out?”

  Phones in the outer studio rang in a nonstop barrage, answered as quickly as the four receptionists could get to them. A dozen administrative staffers rushed about, carrying advertising folders or checking show production schedules.

  Pulling her gaze away from her computer, Olivia Cantando peered over her reading glasses at her young trainee. “It is now nine fifty-eight.” Olivia pointed to a large clock on the wall. “Unless a hole in the Earth has opened and swallowed everyone on the production soundstage, our boss will be coming through those doors in about ten seconds.”

  “Really?” Beaming, Emily sat up straight and smoothed out her skirt, eyes fixed on the studio doors. The red light had turned off almost a full minute ago.

  “Mm-hmm.” The elder production assistant sighed, turning her attention back to her spreadsheet. “But be careful what you wish for, Emily. Around here, we know—”

  The studio doors burst open and the shapely Ashley Wells strutted out, followed by her most recent husband, Jake Prescott—and her army of well-dressed lackeys. Ashley stopped in the center of the room and slapped her well-toned thigh, glaring at the red leather skirt stretched across her slender hips. “Beverly! This ridiculous outfit is too hot for Orlando. If I’m sweating, I’m not concentrating on the show.”

  She unzipped the leather skirt as her assistant rushed forward with a white robe, barely getting it around the star before the skirt hit the floor. Most of the staff managed to look away.

  Emily sat still, her jaw hanging open. Close to twenty-five people were in full view of the host’s display of near undress.

  Kicking the red skirt across the room, Ashley glared at her assistant. “Last time I expect to see that.” She looked out over the production staff, frowning. “Where’s Cassidy? Where’s my mid-morning report?”

  “Here!” A young woman sped around the corner, carrying a tablet computer. She held the device up to Ms. Wells.

  “Are the overnight numbers in here?” Ashley peered at the screen as she knotted the sash of her robe.

  “No, ma’am. Not yet.” Cassidy cringed. “I—”

  “What! What am I paying you for?” The blonde TV host threw her hands out, glaring at her young staffer. “Those numbers are posted promptly at nine fifty-five each day! Can you read a clock? It’s almost ten! Now, if you can’t do your job properly, I’ll find someone who can—is that understood?”

  Cassidy stared at the floor, her cheeks turning red. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And that goes for all of you!” Her hands on her hips, Ashley narrowed her eyes, peering at her employees.

  The room fell silent. Receptionists held phones to their ears without speaking. One of the lackeys behind the star tugged at his collar.

  Somewhere down the hall, a lone phone rang.

  Ashley clenched her jaw. “I have busted my rear nonstop for twenty years to keep ‘Wake Up With Ashley Wells’ the number-one program in our time slot. I work hard every day to keep it number one, including trying out a sweaty, roaster-hot, red leather mini-skirt because they’re trending.” She rolled her eyes. “Everybody wants to be number one at nine A.M., but I am number one—and all of your paychecks depend on me continuing to find new ways to stay there. So, act like it!”

  The ticking of the large wall clock was the only sound in the room.

  Cassidy swallowed hard, clutching the tablet. “Do… you want me to update the numbers and bring the report to you in your office, ma’am?”

  Putting a hand to her forehead, Ashley closed her eyes. “Well, it’s not very useful without the updated numbers, is it? Go!”

  As Cassidy retreated to her cubicle, the receptionist on the far side of the room hunched her shoulders and raised her hand. “Uh… Ms. Wells?”

  “Yes, what is it? I’m right here.”

  “Ma’am, you have a call.”

  “Sandy will take it.” Ashley glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a board meeting in twenty—”

  “Yes, ma’am, but…” The receptionist slunk lower in her chair. “He says he’s Sheriff Dalton from Brimstone County, Colorado. Should I transfer it to your office?”

  Ashley huffed. “Colorado! Great—another complaint about the zoning variance we got for the Wildfire Resort. Can’t any of those yokels out there read a plat map? I’ll take the call right here. Put it through to…” She turned to an empty desk. “Why isn’t Cheryl at her desk? I haven’t seen her all morning.”

  Jake stepped forward. “Uh, she’s sick, dear.”

  “Of course she is. That’s the second time this month. She’s probably off interviewing for another job.” Ashley looked at a tall brunette in the well-dressed army of suits. “Sandy, call her cell. If she isn’t dead, tell her to get her butt in here and do her job or I’ll find someone else to do it.” She looked at the receptionist. “Transfer the call to extension 121. Jake, check the parking lot and see if Tom Masterson’s limo has arrived yet. I don’t want him waiting in the lobby.”

  Jake nodded. “You got it, Ashley.”

  The phone rang at Cheryl’s desk. Ashley jerked the receiver from its cradle and put the phone to her ear. Taking a deep breath, a wide grin spread over her lips. “Sheriff Dalton, was it?” Her tone had shifted to pure sweetness and southern charm—the kind viewers tuned in for each weekday morning. “How nice of you to call. How can I help you, sugar?”

  She could have been a sweet, elderly grandmother receiving a bouquet of hand-picked daisies from a three-year-old.

  Emily’s eyes never left the beautiful TV star. “That’s…” She shook her head, turning to her trainer. “What a transformation. She’s intense.”

  “Isn’t she, though?” Olivia Cantando nodded. “She goes from zero to sixty and then calms right back down again—allegedly. But don’t be fooled. Her engine’s still at sixty.”

  Emily sat back in her chair. “That’s why she’s a star. I could never do that. She’s… it’s almost like she’s an actress.”

  “She is an actress,” Olivia said. “And she’s very good. Every word, every gesture… With Ashley Wells, what you see isn’t always what you—”

  “Oh!” Ashley’s face turned white. The slender TV host put a hand on her abdomen, bending over the desk like she’d been punched. “Oh, no.”

  Jake rushed to her side. She gagged, her mouth hanging open. A slight groan escaped her lips, and she lowered the phone to her side. Ashley put her hand out, her shoulders sagging as she leaned on the desk.

  She buckled over again, groaning as she lowered her head to the desk. “No, no, no…”

  Several employees got up from their chairs.

  “Should we call an ambulance?”

  “Ms. Wells, are you okay?”

  Jake leaned close to his wife, putting his arm around her and whispering in her ear.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Ashley shook her head and stood up. “Not here.” She hung up the phone and waved her staff off, clutching her stomach like she was about to vomit. With Jake holding her elbow, she managed a step toward her office, then another. Each placement of her polished Gucci stilettos met the production room floor like it was a slick, icy sidewalk.

  She straightened up and lifted her chin, her face firm and rigid as she and Jake navigated the twenty paces to her offic
e. As she crossed the threshold, he hooked his foot behind the massive oak panel door and kicked it shut.

  But not before every member of the Wake Up With Ashley Wells production team saw their boss double over one more time and sag to the floor of her office.

  Chapter 2

  Jessica Eve Tims-Thacker squirmed as she sat in Hair and Makeup at Miami’s TV 5, poring over the Nielsen ratings on her laptop—and cringing. She glanced at the time readout in the lower right-hand corner of the screen, then went straight back to the never-ending rows of colored numbers on the spreadsheet.

  The Jett Set was at the bottom of almost every chart.

  In personality and likability of the host, the show scored well. In content, however, it did not. Audiences liked her, apparently; just not her new show.

  Jett shook her head as she reviewed the ratings.

  But I am the show!

  The TV station’s twentysomething makeup and hair stylist lifted a long, golden strand of her co-worker’s locks, teasing it out as she peered at the laptop screen. “Dios mio, Ms. Thacker.” Patti’s Miami-Latin accent was thicker when she was excited. “Do you know what all those numbers mean?”

  “Pretty much,” the new host said. “And please don’t call me Ms. Thacker. I’m still Jett, the same person whose hair you were doing two weeks ago when I was just an investigative reporter.”

  “Ah, si. Well…” Patti grabbed a bottle of hairspray. “Better safe than sorry. A lot of people get their own show and a nice company car, and next comes a case of cabeza grande when they sit down in my chair. You got millions of people watching you through that camera. How do you not get nervous? I get jittery just thinking about it.”

  “The camera doesn’t bother me.”

  “You got used to it, eh chica? From being in front of juries when you were a lawyer?”

  Getting in front of juries was definitely not Jett’s thing. It might only be twelve people and a handful of observers in the seats, but talking to a group made her clench up.

  TV interviews, on the other hand, were usually done on a set. One-on-one, with a videographer and producer along, or in the field with even fewer people, but usually all but one was a known work associate. A friend. Research for interviews was none-on-one, just her and a computer or a stack of books.

  When it came time for the camera, it was just a lens, but maybe it was more.

  “Smile Jessie!”

  Her grandmother leaned close with her Kodak camera, an “ice cube” flashbulb on top.

  Pop!

  “Nana, I can’t see!” Jett laughed. “It’s all dots now!”

  “You can’t see me, but I can see you. Hold up your Easter basket.”

  Easter, Christmas, birthdays, pool parties… Nana loved to take pictures. It seemed like the lens was always in front of her face whenever her grandchildren were around. And of course, holiday or not, if Nana was around, lots of candy was around, too…

  “Smile, Jessie! Give James a hug and blow out the candles! Can you get all ten?”

  James. She didn’t think of her older brother every day, but just about.

  The big camera lens reminded Jett of her grandmother. It didn’t matter if anybody else understood, Jett just knew the camera lens was her ally. She could relax and open up, reaching millions by reaching one person. Nana.

  Patti gave Jett’s hair a spritz and stepped away, holding her hands out. “Enough of those numbers, chica. If you keep putting your head down, I can’t do my job.”

  “Sorry.” Jett sighed, shutting the laptop and sliding it onto the counter. “If my Q rating doesn’t improve, you won’t have to worry about my hair. Nobody will be seeing it because I won’t have a show.”

  “Then you will need to look your best for your interview reel, eh?” Patti winked, picking up a finer comb and resuming her work on the station’s newest star. “So—you keep your head up. A new show needs time.”

  “I know it’s only been a week,” Jett said. “We need to let the audience find me, but…”

  “It hasn’t even been a week.” Rico Torres swept into the room, flashing a smile as he tucked the morning print edition of The Miami Herald under his arm. “You’ll be hosting for as long as you want. Even Oprah took more than five days to get up and running.”

  Jett’s shoulder’s slumped. “Oprah didn’t work for Martin Brennan.”

  Slipping between the two women, Rico grabbed the arm of the chair and spun Jett around to face the mirror. Framed with big, white bulbs all around its perimeter, the oversized vanity highlighted every one of Jett’s beautiful, girl-next-door features—and to her eye, every flaw.

  She saw the blonde hair and blue eyes, the high cheekbones and the full, pouty lips. She also saw the overweight, pimply eighth-grader whose best friend turned on her and ridiculed her in front of everyone at school and the awkward, uncoordinated teen who wished to be popular in high school.

  Grinning at their reflections, Rico beamed. “Look at you. Smart, beautiful… The camera loves you, and audiences can’t take their eyes off you. Now…” He swung the chair back to face him. “Who’s the sharpest morning show TV host in Miami?”

  “Stop.” Jett looked away, holding back a laugh.

  “Come on.” He rocked the chair back and forth. “Ten-thirty in the morning is a tough time slot for a half-hour panel show. But when you bring the numbers up—and you will—Martin will expand you to a full hour and move you to midday. From there, it’s a short step to prime time. So, say it. Who is the best news personality in south Florida?”

  “What am I, four years old?” Heat rose to her cheeks.

  “You need a pre-show ritual,” Rico said. “All hosts have them. Since you’re not a raging alcoholic and you don’t smoke, this will have to be yours. Unless you want to throw temper tantrums.”

  “Ugh.” Jett grimaced. “Pass.”

  “Good. Psych yourself up with me. Who’s Miami’s hottest rising star on morning TV?”

  She smiled. “I am.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t sound convincing.” Rico spun the chair toward the mirror, stepping away and folding his arms. “Put on your game face, counselor.”

  A graduate of Florida State University Law School, Jessica Eve Tims-Thacker had landed a position at the high-powered Greenman Trotter law firm in Miami and worked her way up. By age twenty-nine, she had amassed an impressive string of legal victories and was offered a partnership at the firm. She accepted, requested a two-week sabbatical—and never went back. An afternoon session of binge-watching Oprah convinced her to follow her real passion and not settle for less than her true goals in life. A week later, the youngest partner at Greenman Trotter had resigned to become the oldest intern at Miami’s Channel 9 News.

  She wasn’t starting over. She was starting anew.

  Within a year, she had migrated to Miami 5, after Rico took notice of her field work as a reporter, and promised her an interview with the station manager.

  Jett thought about his salvo—“Who’s Miami’s hottest rising star on morning TV?”—and put on her best court room lawyer face. She sat up straight and squared her shoulders.

  “I am.”

  This time, she meant it.

  And, prior to the sluggish first week of The Jett Set, the Nielsen ratings had shown it to be true.

  “Okay.” Rico stepped aside. “It’s game time. Jackson will be waiting for you.”

  Jett stood up and looked in the mirror, sweeping her hands over her suit to smooth any wrinkles from her immaculate attire. “If the show’s content is holding me back after this morning’s episode, then we’ll make another change—and keep adjusting it until we have it right.”

  “Exactly.” Rico leaned in, looking her in the eye. “And you just worry about being yourself. That’s what got you here.”

  Nodding, Jett took a deep breath and headed for the door.

  “Go get ‘em, tiger. You are a rising star, Jessica Eve.” He plopped into the makeup chair she’d vacated, turning to view the live feed monitor on the wall.

  In the hallway, Jackson Campbell clutched his sound equipment and put a hand to his headset mic. “Ms. Thacker is out of makeup and we are heading to the set.” He smiled at Jett. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”