That’s all I needed. The camera crew catching my mud-encrusted floor flop in their B-Roll footage.
* * *
After running out of the Physical Wellspring building, I’d continued to sprint. Down brick paths, through the main building, and to the parking lot. My intention was to get far away from that crazy train before it loaded me on board and took me someplace I didn’t want to go.
Like jail.
Instead, I decided to see Gladys. My probation officer would want to know about a possible fugitive from the law. A possible fugitive involved in my case. A possible fugitive who pleaded the fifth and therefore could not testify that I had no way of knowing he was selling narcotics to geriatrics.
I should talk to a therapist about this residual resentment for Oliver that I couldn’t shake. Renata said forgiveness was the first step toward moving on with your life. However, I feared Dr. Trident might have a different therapeutic method. Like healing through Snapchat.
Worse, Snapchat with Oliver.
But before I arrived at Black Pine Probation, I found myself at the hospital. I knocked my mud-caked sneakers against the curb, shook myself free of any clinging dust, and snuck into the hospital. I slipped into the hospital, skirting the nurses’ station. Worried I’d be identified as too dirty to visit, I felt compelled to see Nash nonetheless.
“I finally have something we can talk about,” I said to sleeping Nash.
It bothered me that Nash’s large body appeared to be in the same position since my earlier visit. I raised his arm — the one without the tubes and wires attached. Flexed it. Massaged the muscles. Lingered on the bicep for a minute longer than deemed appropriate. Curled his fingers in mine and wiggled our hands together. I laid the brawny arm gently on the bed. Glanced at his legs. And thought I should probably get permission before touching any covered parts.
“Vicki doesn’t know it yet — and I want to be far away as possible when she does — but there might not be a wedding,” I said. “No exotic orchid bouquets. No riding to the altar on a baby elephant. No leaving the ceremony in a rose-petal, helicopter flurry. You’re off the hook. No tux and no nightmare date.”
I bit my lip. “If it counted as a date. I wish I knew what you were going to say in the truck. Before Roger Price—never mind.”
Pulling up a chair, I sat down. Then stood and rubbed his other shoulder. Out of fairness. But not the whole arm. I didn’t want to accidentally knock out an important tube. I patted his bicep instead.
“Anyway, Giulio wants to break up with Vicki. He says it’s because she’s into Oliver, but that’s not it. I think he finally figured out that Vicki isn’t interested in Giulio’s career whether he’s her husband or not. Can you believe it? I mean the part about Giulio figuring it out. Obviously, she proposed to him for the ratings.”
I smoothed the sheet over Nash, folding it under his arms. Placed Steve the armadillo on the bed, so he was tucked up in the crook of Nash’s arm. Then moved to his feet, figuring they were safe enough to touch. I began massaging, starting with his toes.
“Oh right, Oliver. Remember him? My ex-fiancé who tricked me into thinking he cared about serving the community and left me doing community service. That’s some irony, right? I’m afraid he’s escaped from prison and fled to Black Pine.”
Whoops. Likely not a good topic for a coma victim.
I smoothed the sheet over his feet. “Don’t worry about Oliver. I’m turning him into Gladys after I leave the hospital. Giulio, Vicki, and Oliver were at the Center for a spa day. I won’t have to see Oliver again. But while I was doing my community service, I found something interesting. A boot. Which doesn’t sound so interesting, but those teens are looking for a missing friend. They wanted to hire us, isn’t that…”
No business talk. I bit my lip. Tasted less dirt than the last time.
“This may sound crazy, but I think there’s a possibility this boot could be from the missing man. Maybe he was killed. Not by Bigfoot himself, but in a Bigfoot related-death.”
I waited, watching for eye movement behind his lids. Or for suppressed laughter.
“It sounds even more ridiculous outside my head. Only Bigfoot-related because they were looking for Bigfoot at the time. And that’s a long shot. The police said Chandler, the missing guy, drove off in his car then flew to Mexico. But it does make you curious, doesn’t it? Why just one boot? If you look at it objectively, the flower bed hadn’t been planted yet. And the boot is new-ish. It hadn’t deteriorated at all. There’s no mildew yet. Keen makes a good boot, but I doubt even they could prevent mildew after a long burial. That soil has a lot of clay in it and you know, clay retains a lot of water.”
By his expression, I could tell he wasn’t impressed.
“Okay, I cheated and looked that up. I really don’t know anything about mud or gardening. And I don’t know if I believe the boot belongs to the missing YouTuber, but I am worried about these high schoolers. I know you think I worry too much about people I shouldn’t worry about. But Nash, they’re kids. They’re going to look for Chandler either way. I need to help them. And what if something really did happen to Chandler?”
Nash often used silence to convey his feelings. It was almost like we were having a regular Maizie-Nash confab.
“The boot isn’t too impressive. What should I do next? What would you do if you were me? I chased him online as much as I could. The police spoke to his brother. He and his family live in Black Pine…Okay, that seems logical. I should talk to Chandler’s family. Go to his apartment. Speak to his friends. Duh, of course.”
I wrapped my fingers around his and squeezed. “I knew you’d help me.”
What was I saying? Whatever. Didn’t matter. I was speaking to Nash. And not passing out.
“But enough about me. When are you going to wake up?”
Thirteen
#TalkDirtToMe #StalkingBigFootStalkers
As I suspected, Gladys was not amenable to my Wellspring Center plight. I should’ve led with Oliver instead of Dr. Trident. Or taken a shower before I’d arrived. She’d curled her lip at my dirt-encrusted attire and asked me not to sit. I stood before her desk, monitoring my breathing and trying not to “Pig Pen all over her cubicle.”
“Here’s what I think, Maizie,” said Gladys. “I think you don’t like to get dirty.”
“Who likes to get dirty? I mean, aside from my six-year-old sister, Remi. And it’s not the getting dirty she likes as much as the not bathing.” I could tell by Gladys’s expression, she didn’t consider Remi a suitable example. “It’s not the dirt. Or the sun on my pale, pale skin. Or the broken nails and ruined clothes. Truly.”
“Right.”
“I admit, at first I wanted to complain. But not about the dirt. There’s some confusion of whether I’m doing therapy or just working. Because I don’t think it’s a Zen thing. And then there’s Dr. Trident’s proclivity for selfies. We’re not making progress on the therapy checkbox of my probation. And then there’s the razor wire fence in their back forty. And a gardener who threatened me with a gun. Probably not a good environment for an adult offender, am I right? But really, I’m mainly worried about a certain person who may or may not be a fugitive hiding at the Wellspring Center. And getting me into a lot of trouble.”
“Uh huh.”
“I mean, seriously, think of the possibilities. If I’m not around Oliver, I can’t be harboring, right? Or an accessory, if it’s Vicki who’s doing the harboring? Or would that be aiding and abetting? Although why would she harbor Oliver? His arrest and my subsequent arrest caused her a lot of problems. Namely, losing the star of the reality show she produces. I mean, so really, what’s she doing with him?”
Gladys blinked. “Are you done?”
“Sorry, I guess you wouldn’t know why Vicki is all of the sudden besties with my former fiancé. But then, I was as shocked as anyone when she engaged herself to my other fiancé. I’d ask Dr. Trident for help on this, but I’m afraid he’d want me to work it
out in tweets or something.”
“You can stop anytime.”
“I’m stopping.”
“Maizie, maybe you didn’t understand our meeting yesterday. In order to not be in violation of your probation, you need to do two things that you are not doing. One is community service. The other is seeing a therapist.”
“And this is one of the areas where I’m confused—”
“It’s not confusing, Maizie. It’s actually very straightforward. You do your community service at the Wellspring Center. And you see Dr. Trident as a therapist.”
“But are selfies really that healthy?”
“I am not a therapist, Maizie. I am your probation officer. I am the person standing before a door. The door that says, ‘Go directly to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.’”
I thought that might be a mixed metaphor, but I didn’t have the heart (or guts) to tell Gladys.
“Are we clear, Maizie?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Dr. Trident expects to see you tomorrow morning. He was disappointed you didn’t stay for ice cream.”
“I bet,” I mumbled but refrained from the teenage eye roll. I glanced at the dirt clods in front of her desk, secretly smiled, and walked out.
* * *
At the office, I found Lamar sitting at Nash’s desk and peering at the ancient computer monitor through a pair of half readers. He looked up, took off the readers, and cocked his head.
Before he could start the “what happened to you?” speech, I held up a hand. “Volunteer community service at the Wellspring Center. Gardening. I got a little crazy with the shovel.” I dropped the boot on Nash’s desk. “But I found this.”
Lamar gave me a look.
“I know. It’s a boot. Here’s the thing, those teenagers from yesterday…” I gave him the hand again. “I know, I’m an adult offender and they are juveniles. Anyway, they weren’t doing community service. They’re looking for a missing man. I want to help them. He’s the star of their YouTube show.”
“Missing man?”
“They hunt for Bigfoot with this guy, Chandler. He’s in his twenties. They were camping…” I held up my hand. “I know. Anyway, Chandler went missing near the Wellspring Center while the kids were toasting marshmallows. They’re sincerely worried even though Black Pine PD has basically closed the case. Chandler’s an adult and tends to flake out. But now I found this boot. I talked to Nash about it. We think I should look into it, beginning with Chandler’s family and friends.”
Lamar looked at me.
“You can speak now,” I said.
“Maizie, sit down.”
“I’m dirty.”
Lamar waved his hand at the dusty office. “We’ll apologize to the maid later. I can barely understand you, you’re talking so fast. You talked to Nash about this?”
“I talked, he listened. But don’t worry, I kept cool. I don’t think Bigfoot will cause Nash any anxiety. I stopped myself from talking about Oliver, my ex-fiancé who should be in prison. Or at least, too much about Oliver. He’s definitely not in prison. I found him at the Wellspring Center. With Vicki. And an unhappy Giulio.”
Lamar frowned. “This is a lot of drama.”
“Tell me about it. What do you know about the laws of harboring fugitives? If I saw Oliver and reported him to my probation officer, am I clear? Or do I need to go to the real police?”
“Is he a fugitive? How did he get out?”
“I have no idea. If he were going to Shawshank Redemption his escape, I think it would have taken longer.”
“What was his conviction charge?”
“Possession. Police found Oxy and Vicodin at the private community center he owned. He’d been accused of selling it to some of the elderly people who frequented the center. Also, he had a masseuse who turned out to be more than a masseuse. But they dropped the pandering charges to focus on the possession for sale. The older people loved Oliver and refused to say he sold or gave it to them. His attorney was able to get it knocked down to possession.”
“Oliver might not be a fugitive, Maizie. Chances are with a good attorney he might be out, time served. As sensational as the trial was, the prisons are overcrowded with drug offenders. Could he afford to pay fines for a reduced sentence?”
“His family owns half of Catalina.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I’m going to guess he’s been released.”
“It’s so unfair,” I said. “I didn’t do anything but date him and now I’m covered in dirt and he’s hanging out in a spa? How can this be? Someone should’ve warned me that he was out. Or don’t they do that for ex-fiancées?”
Lamar shrugged. “That’s why I like selling donuts better than walking the beat.”
“I don’t think Black Pine has much of a beat.”
“It’s all relative.” Lamar smiled. “Don’t worry about Oliver getting his just deserts, hon’. It won’t help you any. Get your obligations done and move on.”
“I wish you were my therapist, Lamar.” I released a long pent-up sigh. Which didn’t lead to any irregular breathing. Progress. “But how could Oliver show up here? Shouldn’t he be doing probation back in California? I’m here because Daddy is here, and Judge Ellis felt I needed to get out of California in order to rehabilitate.”
“Maybe his judge felt similarly.”
“If all the judges felt that way, California is going to depopulate quickly.” I scowled. “Oliver must be here because he knew I moved back to Black Pine. What does he think he’s doing?”
“Maizie, don’t let him distract you.” Lamar leaned forward in his chair. “Now what’s with the kids?”
“They want me to look for the missing guy, Chandler.”
“I got that. But they’re minors. And you really need to focus on getting real clients. Paying clients.”
“They seem confident they can pay us—” I stopped at Lamar’s look.
“Have you spoken to the ATF agent yet? Or Mrs. Price? Nash could really use that check in his bank account.”
I shifted my feet. “I mailed the invoice and the report to Mrs. Price. I’ll talk to the ATF agent soon. I promise.”
Lamar steepled his fingers together. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should stick fliers in boxes.”
“About Chandler?”
“No. Not a missing person flier. For the business. Advertising the services Nash Security Solutions offers.”
“Okay?”
“Can you make something like that?” Lamar ran a hand over his head. “I’d try to figure it out, but I’m not so hot on the computer.”
“Sure.” In forcing my tone to sound upbeat, the quality sounded more kazoo-like. “No problem.”
“If only we could get back some of that business Jolene’s swiped from us.” Lamar sighed. “No use crying over spilled milk, though. I’m glad Nash has you here, Maizie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I hugged Lamar. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
“You’re going to have to turn down the kids for now. Nash needs real clients. Just stick to your to-do’s.” He gently pushed me away. “But maybe push a shower to the top of that list.”
Fourteen
#TrapperKeeper #CainsNotAble
I always found the shower an opportune place to cry. I was already wet. No one could hear me. The steam kept my sinuses from clogging. Aside from the risk of razor cuts, I could still multitask effectively. And with all the tasks on my to-do list — Make fliers. Collect payment from Mrs. Price. Steal Jolene’s clients. Finish my probation community service and non-therapy. Be angry about Oliver. Find Chandler Jonson (and don’t tell Lamar). — I seriously needed to multitask. And release my anxiety over Nash in a safe place.
Safe as in private.
I had filled my loofah with my Ouai body scrub and allowed the first few sobs to escape when a pounding on the bathroom door began and continued until I had slopped through my final rinse without the repeat. Towe
ling off, I called through the door and when no one replied, cracked it.
Allowing a six-year-old and four Jack Russell terriers to squirm through.
“What are you doing?” said Remi.
I didn’t answer as I knew this was a rhetorical question as so many were with Remi. Also because I was too busy trying to fend for myself. The dogs were licking the moisture off my legs.
“I caught something. But it got away.”
Not sure if this was a good or bad thing, I nodded and skipped moisturizing to pull on clothes before I got any real questions.
“Daddy said even if I caught Bigfoot or the Tooth Fairy, I couldn’t keep them.”
“He’s right,” I said. “You shouldn’t keep wild creatures. They’re meant to live in nature.”
“Like penguins. We don’t have the right kind of fish in the lake.”
Used to Remi-logic, I nodded and began my multi-step hair and skin care regime. Something I used to get at the salon. These days, I could barely afford the product let alone the salon treatment. Luckily, my only girlfriends in Black Pine worked at LA HAIR. Lucky for me, not so much for them. I added “call the girls for an appointment” to my mental to-do list and realized Remi still spoke of her traps.
“But what do you think Bigfoot eats?”
“Some say they like chicken. But I don’t really know.”
“Chicken?” She stuck out her tongue.
“Who doesn’t like chicken?”
“What about candy bars? You think Bigfoot eats ‘em? I know the Tooth Fairy don’t. Momma said he thinks sugar is bad for your teeth.”
“I suppose everybody but dentists and the Tooth Fairy like candy bars.”
“That’d explain the wrapper.” Nodding, Remi grabbed a bottle of Sisley Hair Rituel. Smelled it, squirted some on her tiny fingers, and applied it to the tail of one of the dogs. Who immediately tried to bite it off. Thus began chasing its tail. Causing the other three dogs to get in on the action. Dog hair flew through the air, sticking to my skin. Tiny paws — that felt more like horse hooves —trampled my bare feet. Wayward claws and tails scratched my shins.
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