I hiked back, wondering why the Center left this acreage deserted. What was the point of running the fenced area like an L when there were all these old fields in the middle? And why only one gate into the garden? That must be totally inconvenient.
I tell you what’s totally inconvenient. Forcing myself to hike along a garden fence that ended in nothing. For no reason. When I had a man in the hospital waiting for me.
Why did I do this?
Right. Mara, Fred, and Laci. Who were probably home by now. Not studying for their AP-whatever. Maybe Nash would have an opinion on the juvenile delinquents and their suspicious ways.
Wait. Nash.
I felt the oncoming rush of anxiety. Placed a hand on the garden fence to catch my breath. And heard an odd squeak and thump combo. I squinted, searching the barren wasteland, then the flowering hill barrier. The Wellspring Center’s local redneck, Everett, had emerged between the giant flower mounds, pushing a wheelbarrow.
With a rifle holstered over one shoulder.
Seven
#McEverettsGarden #TheKidsAreNotAlRight
Everett Lawson with a rifle and a wheelbarrow did not make for an inviting figure. In fact, he looked like he came out of the old Wellspring Center’s central casting.
His eyes were on the wheelbarrow. I did a quick dance, then shot off toward the crumbling remains of a Gilded Age (or Chicken Age) barn. Mostly collapsed. Probably the type of building in his warning to the kids. The shack smelled like it had once been inhabited by a very old cow. And might have had bats living in it more recently, judging by the condition of the floor. Also by the absence of most of the roof. I didn’t want to examine the ceiling’s beams too closely.
I cowered near the open doorway. My shoulders hovered near my ears in expectant bat mode. My hand covered my mouth. Peering out, I watched for Everett Lawson.
At the wooden fence’s gate, he parked the wheelbarrow. Adjusted the rifle. And craned his neck, looking around the back forty.
I ducked inside the nasty barn. Held my breath. And peeked again.
The gate was open. But no Everett. What kind of vegetables demanded a high-security gate?
I could think of a plant that wasn’t a vegetable that warranted privacy. A plant popular among celebrities that could easily be sold at Wellspring. But most celebs had prescriptions for such vegetation. And people to fetch their ‘scrips. That’s a lot of trouble to hide a pot farm unless it was some extra-fabulous blend.
The Wellspring Center was going to be a very popular celeb hangout if that were true.
But more importantly, how was Mara going to get out? I now understood why the kids were focused on the garden. Looking to score. Possibly to sell. Which might also explain their “missing friend.”
They seemed like such nice kids. Albeit a skosh weird. But not the type to be involved in a high school drug ring.
I wondered if people had thought the same about me as a teen. Growing up on sets, it was harder to stay away from drugs than it was to find them. Vicki tried to curtail that issue. She helicoptered, telling any and all I had enough trouble focusing on work.
And unless it was diet drugs, we weren’t interested.
Unfortunately, there were enough sirens in the deep blue of Hollywood, they’ll eventually drag you overboard with the right call. My particular song was a mixture of “you look like you need to relax” and “this will really piss off your mother.”
Maybe these kids were facing a similar kind of pressure in a different way. Maybe Mara deserved getting busted. But a fifteen-year-old does not want to get caught pilfering from a drug farm by a testy redneck toting a rifle. Particularly fifteen-year-olds who took AP classes and grew up in a nice mountain town. Instead, I could probably give her a scared-straight testimonial and snap her out of this phase.
I ducked from the shed and jogged across the field. Inside the gate, I halted. Furrows lined the open field in neat rows. A small tractor had been parked on the far side. No cute, curly-haired fifteen-year-old skulking in the background.
And the pot looked a lot like tomatoes.
I craned my neck, trying to see farther into the acreage. Drying corn stalks and old bean teepees. And were those…peppers? The greenhouse was situated at the crook of the L-shape. Maybe Mara had gone there? I imagined her trapped like a rat in a bizarre tomato-pot farm maze.
Moving toward the greenhouse, I paused to ease around the piled fertilizer bags. The same brand Roger Price had stockpiled.
My breath jerked. I gasped and felt my lungs snatch for air.
Craptastic. Now I couldn’t even look at a bag of fertilizer without hyperventilating.
My brain ran like a movie reel I couldn’t turn off. From Roger’s fertilizer collection to watching him waltz into the bank. To Nash grabbing his gun and running after him…
Grabbing my chest, I bent over. A bad idea. The smell caused my stomach to clench. My lungs fought to expel the noxious air as they pulled more in. Spots danced in my eyes. My hands shot out and hit the bags as my knees buckled.
Something prodded my back. Everett Lawson’s voice broke through the paroxysms.
But the barrel of his gun was more effective at snapping me out of it.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Lawson repeated. “This is private property. You’re trespassing.”
Bent over, I swung one arm out and held up a finger.
“Get the hell out.” The barrel of his rifle poked me again. “I’ll not tell you again.”
“A minute,” I gasped. “Having a fit. Please.”
The barrel pushed against my hip. “Have your fit outside. Who are you?”
I looked over my shoulder. “Maizie Albright.” I pushed out the words between breaths. “I work for Dr. Trident. Just met you in Café. Can’t breathe.”
The barrel eased off my hip. “You shouldn’t be back here.”
“Okay.” I slowly turned around and straightened, my hands out. “Please. I didn’t mean anything.”
“Move.”
Carefully, I eased past him, keeping my back to the fence.
“Stay out of here.”
“Sorry.” I slipped out the gate and pulled it not quite shut.
Hopefully, Mara would find her way to this gate and skedaddle before Everett found her. Maybe she’d already gotten out. They’d given me the slip several times today already.
I had a bad feeling about this. The teens. The fences. Everett Lawson and his rifle.
I’d just left a girl to a man who seemed like he’d shoot first and ask questions later. Over a plot of tomatoes.
Something was amiss at Wellspring. Maybe the kids were right after all.
Eight
#VisitingHours #ComaToast
I walked the outside perimeter of the fence before giving up. My anxiety over Nash overrode the guilt I felt abandoning the kids. Aside from storming the garden or trying to convince Dr. Trident that a lunatic had been let loose in Wellspring’s vegan paradise, I didn’t know what else to do.
Per ushe for Maizie Albright.
My drive to Black Pine Hospital included pondering over how to locate the teens plus the odd fencing and gun-toting situation at Wellspring. But mostly I focused on staying alive. Dirt bikes on trafficked mountain roads don’t mix well. As soon as I made more money, I’d trade Lucky in for an actual vehicle. But first I had to keep my job. Which meant finding more jobs for Nash Security Solutions. Since our only job had been a literal bust.
Seeing Nash was not going to be easy. My chest felt prepped to spasm as I parked at Black Pine Hospital. But the thought of the time I’d already wasted kept panic at bay. I sucked air slowly and fast-walked to the building.
I’d had my share of experience at Black Pine Hospital. My autographed picture with the third-floor nurses still hung in their station. I stopped to give them my greetings, then moved toward room 313. Outside the door, I found Lamar and met him with a hug. He handed me with a bag of day old Dixie Kreme Donuts from his shop.
“Same,” said Lamar. “Where’ve you been?”
“The meeting with my probation officer that I’d previously missed. She sent me to Black Pine Wellspring Center to meet my new therapist. And work for him as community service.”
“That’s not a conflict of interest?”
I shrugged. “As long as my therapy isn’t done while we’re working, I guess. Although I get confused knowing when we’re on the couch and when we’re off.”
Lamar’s eyebrows crept higher.
“Therapy slang. Do you know anything about the Wellspring Center? The grounds are amazing. It looks like they’ve done a major remodel. I also met some teens who seem obsessed with the place. Which is odd, but they may have a point—”
“You were doing community service with teenagers?” Lamar frowned. “That’s not right. They should keep the juveniles separate from adult offenders.”
“I’m don’t think I really count as an offender,” I said. “It was just a big mistake. That I’m now correcting. And the kids weren’t doing any kind of service that I could tell.”
“Is your probation officer with the city?”
“No, a private company. Black Pine Probation. Not so creative in the name department, right? But I guess it serves a purpose.”
“They can’t all be Dixie Kreme Donuts.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Did you speak to the ATF investigator yet, hon’?”
I shook my head. “I’ve been at the Wellspring Center most of the day. These teens—”
“She’ll be contacting you about Roger Price. Just a heads up. Make sure your paperwork on Price is in order. Sorry to cut you off, but I’ve got to check on a few things at work. You can tell me about the kids later.” Lamar’s lined face furrowed. “I know Nash’ll be glad you’re here. Tell him about the community service but keep it mellow. Nash worries about you. Even in his…current state. And we don’t want to make his current state worse than it already is.”
I felt my skin heat. “Of course.”
“Bye Maizie.” Lamar hugged me again. “Sorry to be in such a rush. I’m glad you’re finally here.”
Taking a deep breath, I entered the room. Nash lay in a hospital bed near the windows. More like occupied than lay. His massive body threatened to spill off the bed. They’d left his gown untied, but it still stretched snugly against his brawny shoulders. I’d searched for pajamas in the office but couldn’t find any.
Which, at another time, would have provoked some interesting thoughts. But late last night, it made me cry, thinking about Nash catching a cold.
He appeared to sleep peacefully. But I’d never seen him sleep. I’d rarely seen him not in motion. Never lying down.
I approached the bed, wanting to stroke his rugged face. But with all the tiny cuts, I feared causing him pain. More scars to add to his collection. He wasn’t a beautiful man. But even asleep, he had a swarthy, action-hero quality. A quality for which many leading men would give their eye teeth. (Many had. By filling them down.) The bandage taped to the back of his head covered the horrible gash I’d glimpsed before they’d put him in the ambulance.
After I’d found him in the smoke-filled bank.
I felt panic rise and squeeze my chest, but I drew out a shaky breath. Battened down the panic. Took his large hand in mine and squeezed.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. My probation officer took me off theater work and had me hauling boxes. I broke one nail and ripped another, but I’ll have Tiffany at LA HAIR fix them. I could use a manicure anyway.”
The monitor above his bed beeped. I glanced at it, then at his face, searching for a sign he’d heard me. “And we had a visit from these high schoolers looking for their missing friend. It’s a real dilemma. Taking on a case with so much else is going on. A case I’m not sure pays. A case the police already rejected. But I’m worried about these kids. I need your advice on this one…”
I remembered what Lamar had said about worrying Nash. Stalking teenagers and getting caught by a gun-toting gardener would probably trouble him.
“Never mind. How about Roger Price? You saved that idiot’s life. His arraignment is Monday, but they’ll keep him in jail. The ATF is on the case now. How about that?”
Was Roger Price an okay topic? I bit my lip. Talking to an unconscious Nash was harder than I thought.
“Speaking of Roger’s mother, she’s fit to be tied that he used her new instant pot to hold the bomb. She’d never even opened the box. Won it in a white elephant drawing at her company’s Christmas party. She’s still convinced Roger was involved with drugs.”
Shizzles. I probably shouldn’t be talking about the instant pot. The lid caused the gash in Nash’s head. We might not get paid because of that instant pot.
“And don’t worry about the business because I’ve got that all under control. I can fit in the community service work in with the other work. My real job.”
Work we didn’t have. And I didn’t think chasing after the YouTube teens counted. Lamar could give us a pass on the rent for a month or two, but what about everything else? Much of the software was billed monthly. The equipment needed constant updating. There were taxes. Nash had two mouths to feed, now that I mentored under him. And who knew how much this hospital bill would cost.
The high-paying clients used Jolene’s office because she could afford things like online advertising. She also talked potential clients into a more expensive security system at every new home sale (her other business was real estate). My own mother was using Sweeney Security Solutions for her wedding security detail.
I whooshed out a shaky breath. Okay, Maizie. Don’t talk about the business. If it’s upsetting yourself, it would definitely distress Nash.
Hells, what else could I talk about?
“Remi is about to lose a tooth. She’s setting up traps for the tooth fairy. I got caught in one this morning and it took me an hour to untie myself.”
Great. Now he’d worry that I’d get trapped by my six-year-old sister and couldn’t get to work. Was there nothing in my life that wasn’t dangerous or distressing?
“Speaking of Remi.” I opened my backpack and pulled out a stuffed armadillo. “She thought you’d want Steve while you’re in the hospital. But once you get out, she wants him back.”
I took a deep breath. And pinched my thumb to stop my tear ducts from getting any bad ideas.
“Which I’m sure will be very soon. Swelling on the brain’s not so bad, the doctor said. It could be a lot worse. There’s no bleeding and it’s not too severe. He said you should wake up soon since your Glasgow Coma Scale is a seven. Congratulations on that.”
Oh my God, I was congratulating him for being in a coma.
I took a deep breath, repeated my mantra, and felt the waves of panic blossom into full-grown hysteria. I bent at the waist, hit my head on his bed rail, and fell on the floor.
“I’m fine, Nash,” I wheezed from under his bed. “And you’re going to be fine, too. Everything’s going to be okay. Just wake up soon?”
Nine
#YouTubeIn’ #BelieveTheBelievers
To get my mind off Nash and the office woes, I let curiosity win over my good sense and tuned into the teens’ YouTube channel. After a few hours of viewing Bigfoot Trackers footage, I was not a convinced believer. But I felt better about Chandler’s relationship with the kids. He looked about my age, mid-twenties. He had a matched enthusiasm for all things Bigfoot and monster-y. Treated the kids as respected partners, but with the affection of an older brother. And he was super cute. Had a face the camera loved.
Chandler also had decent videography and editing skills. BFT was a well-produced channel. With a massive fan base. There were multiple fan blogs dedicated to their vlog.
The four also had much to say about the Wellspring Center. Much to say that might be construed as libel. Wellspring was way more likely to strike Chandler with a defamation lawsuit than kidnap him.
Although Evere
tt Lawson had been carrying a gun when Mara slipped into the garden.
“That’s the kind of jumping to conclusions Nash doesn’t like,” I told Remi, my six-year-old half-sister. The better half, having sprung from the union of my Daddy and Carol Lynn. His second wife cooked like butter couldn’t kill you — I hoped she was right — and checked all the boxes on the “appropriate mothering skills” list. Like not carting her two-year-old to live in California after one successful diaper commercial.
Remi was curled up next to me on my bed, entranced with Bigfoot Trackers. Actually more entranced by the ads leading to Bigfoot Trackers. Something about a Bigfoot family selling mattresses in the forest. Remi was single-handedly paying for the Bigfoot kids’ s’more bills through ad revenue.
And it looked like others were, too. Their most popular episode had over seven million views. Their least popular video had fifty thousand.
“I could catch him.” Remi slipped off the bed and turned a cartwheel.
“Chandler? I don’t know if he’s actually done anything wrong. Although the high schoolers hinted at trespassing.”
“Not Chandler. Bigfoot.” Remi blew her bangs off her face and stuck her hands on her scrawny hips. “I know exactly how to do it. He can’t be much bigger than the Tooth Fairy.”
“I always imagined the Tooth Fairy as small. You know fairy-sized. No bigger than your pinkie. If you adjusted your Tooth Fairy traps accordingly, it’d save me a lot of pain and frustration.”
Remi rolled her eyes. “You obviously haven’t seen the movie. The Tooth Fairy is big. He looks like Mr. Nash. In a tutu.”
I couldn’t picture Nash in a tutu. “That’s not what the Tooth Fairy really—” I stopped myself from arguing with a six-year-old over the size of a creature who traded coins for baby teeth. “Bigfoot isn’t real, Remi.”
NC-17 Page 5