“I thought you wanted to help Fred, Mara, and Laci find Chandler.”
I shrugged.
“Then you must believe in Bigfoot.”
“I don’t have to believe in Bigfoot to find Chandler.”
She gave a disgusted sigh and pirouetted to the door.
“Where are you going?” I called.
“You ain’t a believer, I don’t need to tell you nothin’.” Hiking up her nose, she crossed her arms, and stamped out of the room. In the hall, a whistle pierced her absence. A second later, three Jack Russell terriers squirmed out from under my bed and darted after Remi.
I gave my own sigh and turned my attention back to Chandler and the Bigfoot dilemma. Using the Nash Security Solutions passwords, I checked our databases for information about Chandler. No criminal records. (Thankfully.) No debt. No recent social media posts. His car was found in Atlanta airport parking. His last known whereabouts were Black Pine.
The police would have checked hospitals and jails, so I didn’t bother. If the kids were so insistent that he was missing, maybe there was more to the story. I wasn’t going to ask Lamar to field that question with his cop buddies. Lamar had too much to worry about.
After a slight hesitation, I called a friend on the force, Detective Ian Mowry. We’d gone on a few lunch dates in the past. He was nice and good looking. Had a daughter Remi’s age. We had a mutual enthusiasm for lunch. And crime. And pie. But we both knew my heart lay elsewhere.
Even if that elsewhere didn’t want to do anything about it. At least until my apprenticeship was over.
“Hey, Maizie,” said Mowry. “What’s going on?”
“A missing person, Chandler Jonson. BPPD investigated this recently. He disappeared from a campsite on Black Pine Mountain near the Wellspring Center. He was camping with some teens.”
“Right, the Bigfoot kids.” Mowry chuckled. “It wasn’t my case, but I heard we had an ATL — Attempt to Locate. We used dogs, but never found any sign of anything gone wrong. They tracked him from the campsite through the woods to his car. Looked like he drove off. We checked around, but nothing turned up.”
“The kids think...” I was looking for something more astute than “he’s more than missing” but Mowry beat me to it.
“Bigfoot got him?”
“Or somebody else. And he disappeared near the Wellspring Center. Which is also...weird.”
“You’re becoming more Black Pine every day, Maizie.” Ian laughed. “But I’d think if anybody understood what’s going on at Wellspring, it’d be you. Heath spa run by folks from California?”
“I get that kind of weird. But have you seen the layout?”
“I haven’t been myself, but the officers-on-call did speak to those folks and checked the place out. Listen, Chandler’s got a history of taking off. I think the responding officers spoke to a family member. The ATL would get a crazy idea and bug out without telling anyone. Once they didn’t hear from him and months later learned he was in Alaska. No one else seemed concerned he was missing.”
“These kids are very concerned.”
“He had charged a ticket to Mexico the same night he went missing. Don’t know for sure if he made the flight. Homeland Security’s a massive amount of red tape. The officer in charge felt there wasn’t enough evidence to seek further action.”
“But Chandler has a YouTube channel with the teens. They have new shows regularly.”
“Everyone’s got a video blog. Ask the kids to detail what happened that night. I don’t know the full story, but I remember our officer saying there was some kind of argument before he left.”
“Those three are always arguing. I don’t think they know how to have a conversation without arguing.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Maizie. The missing person report was filed, and appropriate actions taken, but there’s not much more we can do.”
“Thanks, Ian.”
“Anytime.” He paused. “How’s Nash doing?”
“Same.” I held in a shuddering breath and ticked off seconds. Released. Progress.
“Don’t give up hope, Maizie. He’ll need you for that.”
“You’re a good guy, Mowry.”
“I’m a patient guy, too. Keep that in mind if anything…changes.”
Ten
#WhatIfs #ObiWannaDoIt
After a night of googling “cheap online ads” — I don’t recommend, unless you’re ready to boil your eyes — followed by a bout of not-sleeping, I rose early. Avoided another Tooth Fairy trap. Grabbed a leftover sausage biscuit from the fridge (with a prayer of gratitude for giving my father a wife who could cook). And headed to the office in downtown Black Pine.
The sun had not yet fully risen, but donut vapor already steamed off the Dixie Kreme building. The neon “Fresh and Hot” sign burned in the window. I stopped in to greet Lamar and the donut folks. Grabbed a cup of joe and two donuts (pumpkin and apple spice in honor of the autumn we were not yet experiencing) and hiked up the wooden stairs to the office.
I jiggled the key in the lock, held my breath it wouldn’t stick, and hovered my knuckle above the glass before opening. I’d gotten in the habit of knocking after catching Nash half-dressed. At the thought of not finding Nash dressed or undressed in his temporary home (but hopefully not temporary business), my spirits plummeted. Not even the pumpkin or apple spice donut cheered me.
In the front room, I straightened the pile of magazines — PI Magazine, Fraud, and a People (my contribution) — for our (non-existent) clients. Ran a feather duster over the dented file cabinet. Scooted Lamar’s scruffy La-Z-Boy toward the corner for better chi.
In the back office, I checked for new messages (zero), new payments (zero), and new leads (zero). Wrote up our notes on the Roger Price incident to send to his mother (and the ATF). Wrote a personal note on her bill about Nash’s courage and continued coma that (hopefully) guilted her into paying. Inventoried our subscription renewals for the month. And ran out of ways to help the business.
The front door opened. I hopped from the desk then fell back into the office chair.
“Were you expecting someone?” Lamar ambled into the inner office, holding out a white paper bag. “Thought you could use another.”
I slid forward from my droop. I’d been hoping the teens would return. I’d left a comment on their YouTube channel page asking them to contact me again. And prayed they hadn’t been caught by Everett Lawson. “Just thought you were a client.”
“Little early for clients. Why don’t you go see Nash while I watch the office?” Lamar dropped the bag on the desk. Turning back, he surveyed the reception room, ambled to the La-Z-Boy, and scooted it back to its original spot. Satisfied, he fell into the chair and kicked back. “I’ll hear the phone or the door. Even with my eyes closed. Woo-wee, the shop was busy this morning. My day started at three thirty and didn’t let up until now.”
“I’ve got to do community service again.” I placed my elbows on the desk and thunked my chin onto my folded hands. “It seems I’m way behind on hours. What a time for volunteer work.”
“I don’t think it’s volunteering when it’s court-ordered, hon’.”
“In any case, I’ll pop in on my way to and from the Center to check on Nash. Maybe he’s awake.”
The first night, I’d imagined Nash waking with me at his side. I’d wear my favorite Dolce & Gabbana, Givenchy Le Rouge lipstick, and an expression of optimism crossed with concern. Something my directors called “hopeful apprehension.” Like in the TV movie I’d done, While You Were Shifting, a teen-werewolf twist on the rom-com.
The first night I’d been afraid to leave Nash, so I didn’t run home to change. At this point, even Nash waking alone in the middle of the night would’ve been a relief.
Hope plummeted again at the shake of Lamar’s head. “Talked to the night nurse already. Not yet awake. But soon.”
I bit my lip. “Lamar, what if—”
“I don’t do ‘what ifs,’ Maizie.”
Lamar’s voice was firm but gentle. “And you shouldn’t either.”
“But Lamar, if word has gets out that Nash is…incapacitated, more clients will go to Jolene. What will we do if—”
Lamar shook his head. “Do your community service and see Nash. Talk to him. I know he’ll like that. We’ll come up with a plan. Just focus on what’s important for now.”
* * *
At the hospital, I gazed down at Nash’s sleeping, non-beatific but still ruggedly handsome face, and listed everything I’d eaten since the last time I’d seen him. It seemed a safe topic until upon reaching the end, I feared he’d start worrying about my heart health.
Or my weight.
I told him that I’d come up with a new topic after my community service work. I resisted kissing him, which seemed creepy when he couldn’t reciprocate. (Not that he would.) Tried not to cry. And gave the nurses a bag of donuts.
Then felt guilty for putting their heart health in jeopardy.
The day was clear, a bonus when one drives a dirt bike up steep mountain roads. A quarter mile from the Wellspring Center, something popped out of the woods on the opposite side. My heart leaped into my throat. I veered close to the drop-off, swerved into the other lane, and skidded to a halt on the opposite shoulder. I hopped off the bike, sucking in breath faster than I could let it out, and stuck my head between my legs. Footsteps approached.
Three pairs of sneakers.
“Why aren’t you in school?” I gasped.
“You do this a lot,” said Fred. “This head between your legs thing.”
“I’m under a lot of stress right now. The threat of falling off a mountain does not help.” I whooshed out a breath and looked up at Fred. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“Sorry.”
“School?” I wheezed.
“It’s Sunday,” said Mara.
“Sunday school?”
“We need to talk to you.”
“I need to speak to you, too.” I let out a final whoosh and straightened. “What were you doing in the Wellspring Center’s vegetable garden?”
“Not about that,” said Mara. “We tried the other detective. She wouldn’t even look at us.”
“I tried to warn you.” Pulling off my helmet, I shook out my flattened hair. “We should really chat about your trespassing habits. Were you looking to score?”
“Score on what?” said Laci.
“We’re not keeping points or whatever. It’s not a game,” said Fred. “This is for real.”
“Are they growing pot in that garden?” I said. “And are you trying to steal it?”
“Pot? Like marijuana?” Mara wrinkled her face. “In a vegetable garden?”
Either they were naïve or very good at improvisation. I was going with naïve. For the moment. “How did you get out?”
“We had a rope.” Fred drew himself up and squared his shoulders. “Laci and I tossed it over the fence and held it while Mara scaled it from the other side. Pretty ingenious.”
“We saw it on YouTube. You googled how to scale a fence,” said Laci.
Fred shrugged. “Still pretty cool.”
“I couldn’t see much more than vegetables,” said Mara. “What kind of place would have a big fence for vegetables?”
I also had many questions about the fence. And the guy guarding the vegetables. But that was not the point. “The point is you shouldn’t be skulking about the Wellspring Center. It’s trespassing and against the law whether you have a missing friend or not. And by the way, unless he’s Peter Rabbit, Chandler wouldn’t be held in a vegetable garden.”
“We didn’t know it was a vegetable garden until Mara scoped it out,” said Fred. “We have to take into consideration all the possibilities.”
“You need to consider what will happen if you get caught, the Wellspring Center presses charges, and you end up in juvie instead of college.”
“Is that what happened to you?” said Laci.
“I’m way too old for juvie.” I jerked. “Again, not the point.”
“You’re doing community service,” said Fred. “You’re on probation. I googled you like you insisted. You got kicked out of California.”
“Not kicked out. A judge…Anyway, I made some mistakes in friendships. And a relationship. I made bad choices. But now I’m making amends. Who better to tell you to stop making bad choices?”
The teens crossed their arms and stared off into different directions.
“I need to do my community service. So…stop stalking me?”
Mara’s face crumpled. Fred glanced at her, then looked away.
Laci’s lip quivered. “We’re not stalking you. We just don’t know what else to do.” Her voice broke. “We need help. We keep trying, but nothing’s working. And we don’t want to get in trouble.”
Guilt prickled my conscience.
“You’re our only hope to find Chandler.” Mara covered her face in her hands. “As soon as we mention Bigfoot, everyone ignores us. Even though everyone online totally believes us.”
Laci’s quiver turned into a full tremble. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and turned away.
I could handle the snark. I couldn’t take tears. My eyes watered.
“Once you file a missing person’s report, if it’s an adult and there’s no evidence of anything really bad, the police won’t do anything. We can’t get anyone to take us seriously.” Mara sniffled. “And you seem—”
“The least serious,” said Fred. “In a good way. Please, help us.”
Should I be offended or flattered? In either case, their tears inflected new wounds on my already aching heart. But I’d never handled a case without Nash. I didn’t know how to find a missing person without his guidance. I was no real Julia Pinkerton, Teen Detective. I was just Maizie Albright, still youngish investigator-in-training.
I had to pull my adult card. “I’ll do what I can. But it’s just a really bad time for me right now. I’ve got a lot going on.”
“Whatever.” Mara sniffed and jerked her chin toward the forest. They climbed over the embankment into the woods.
“Breaking into the Wellspring Center is not going to help you any,” I called after them. “I’m serious. You’re going to get in trouble.”
I rubbed my forehead, then slid my helmet back on. Hopped back on Lucky and continued up the mountain to Wellspring.
My old therapist, Renata instructed me that guilt wasn’t an issue if I were being honest with others and with myself. I might have been too open with the teens, but I hadn’t been honest.
Come on, Maizie. Luke Skywalker hadn’t known what he was doing either, but he still manned up.
Wait. Was I Luke in this scenario? Or…OMG. Was I Obi Wan Kenobi?
Now I really felt old. Old and completely unprepared. Either way, I was their only hope.
Did Obi Wan ask for permission slips from Luke’s parents?
Eleven
#SelfieSolutions #DigTheKicks
I found Dr. Trident at his office desk. Today he wore another loose cotton outfit. In keeping with his Tai Chi image, I supposed. Or maybe I’d caught him post-meditative workout again.
“Come in, Maizie,” he said, glancing up from his phone.
He rose and waved a hand at the conversational furniture grouping in the corner of his room. I trotted to the couch and waited while he chose a chair opposite. Couch time. After that talk with the teens, I really needed this. I hadn’t been looking forward to therapy with Dr. Trident. Loyalty to Renata persisted. I tended to bond fast and deep and had trouble letting go. Yet another reason for the couch sessions.
But I needed help sorting this mess. I had people who required my help and I couldn’t even find time to breathe properly.
“Where would you like me to start? I find it’s easiest to begin with Vicki since everything tends to fall like dominoes after that.”
“I was thinking of the files first,” said Dr. Trident. “I’m behind on my documentation. But it’s such
a lovely day, I’d much rather be outside. Wouldn’t you?”
“So, we’ll do this outside?”
“I’ll take you. I could use a brisk walk.”
While we strolled the empty halls to the plaza door, I thought about myself as Obi Wan.
“Remember those kids from yesterday?” I asked. “Caught looking at the old buildings?”
“Curiosity is a virtue, isn’t it?”
Not when it came with trespassing, but I was no virtue expert. “They’re looking for someone…or something.”
“Hopefully, wisdom. Maybe an inner peace.”
“I’m talking about something more practical,” I said. “You see, they told me—”
“You can’t get more practical than inner peace, Maizie.” Dr. Trident stopped us at the back door to square me fully in his gaze. “Look at me.”
“Okay.”
“No, really look at me.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them, hoping that would help.
“Do you see this?” Dr. Trident waved a hand before his face.
“Yes?”
“What is it?”
“Your face?”
“No, Maizie, it’s inner peace. I have it. You need it. Repeat after me, ‘Nothing is more practical than inner peace.’”
“Nothing is more practical than inner peace.”
“Do you feel better?”
I did a quick inner peace check. Mostly found a stew of confusion mixed with simmering anxiety. As well as some gas from the sausage biscuit-donut mix. “I’m not sure?”
“Tell yourself you’re sure. Only you can tell yourself how to feel, Maizie.”
“I’m sure I feel better.”
“Good.” He patted me on the back and opened the door. A ray of sunshine followed by a light breeze swept inside. “Refreshing, isn’t it?”
Unsure if he meant my feelings check or the fresh air, I nodded.
“Let's do a selfie.” He held his phone above us. I automatically drew my arm back to settle on my hip, looked up, adjusted my chin angle, and smiled. He snapped, and we strolled from under the portico to the brick path. “A selfie does some good for evaluating your day-to-day feelings.”
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