Then I reminded myself I didn’t care about that anymore. “Never mind. What’s your name?”
“Sienna.” The girl glanced behind her as if Jolene made a habit of sneaking in through a back door. “I have a protocol I’m supposed to follow if you come in. Are you armed?”
“Totally not my thing.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes?” I twisted to confirm the small reception room was empty. The All is Albright film crew had orders not to follow me, but sometimes they surprised me.
“Are you paying for something? Or dropping off a payment of any kind?”
“No. Why would I pay Jolene?”
Sienna shrugged. “Then I need to ask you to leave. If that doesn’t work…” She opened a drawer and pulled out a small revolver. “I’m supposed to threaten to shoot you.”
I held up my hands. For real this time. Took three steps backward and stopped.
“Listen, Sienna. I’m just here to get some information. Did some teenagers come in yesterday? About a missing person? And possibly Bigfoot?”
“Yes.” The pistol wavered.
“Can you put the gun down? I promise to leave in a minute. I just need the teens’ phone numbers.”
“I think that’s private information.” Sienna looked at the gun uncertainly.
“It’s not worth shooting me over.” Hells, Jolene. Arming a kid who didn’t know how to use a gun. Against me. “Just set the gun on the desk. I’ll go away in a minute. I promise.”
“What if you try to take the gun from me?”
“I’m not interested in shooting you either.” I slid backward, stopping at the door. “How’s this? Jolene isn’t taking the teens’ case, is she?”
“I don’t think so. She wasn’t here when they came in. But when I told her they were teenagers, she laughed and told me to put their info in the circular file.” Sienna laid the revolver on the desk. She flicked a glance over her shoulder, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “All our filing cabinets are rectangles.”
“The circular file is a euphemism for a trash can.”
Sienna frowned at me and cut her eyes toward the gun.
“Google it. Are you getting paid to work here?”
She nodded and her ponytail bounced. “I’m an intern. Jolene’s my cousin. I’m getting paid in experience.”
“Why aren’t you in school? This is Monday, right?”
“It’s a work-study program. I’m a senior. I only go to school for half the day. Although Jolene didn’t say which half.”
Oh boy. “Did you know the students who came in?”
She cocked her head. “Not really. They’re younger than me. And they’re not in the same classes as me.”
Considering she didn’t seem to be in any classes, that made sense. “But you recognize them.”
“I know their show. They’re in Communications, which mean they run the morning announcements. Sometimes they put on their own clips, which is totally unfair since Avery Manning has a way better show and they never show her clips.” She cocked her head, flipping her ponytail. “Avery does makeup tutorials. The cosmetic companies send her makeup for free, hoping she’ll talk about it on her vlog. I mean, how lucky can you get?”
That did sound pretty cool. “What’s her YouTube channel called?” Wait a minute, I was getting sidetracked. “What do you think of Mara, Fred, and Laci? What’s their rep?”
“They’re like super popular. But not at school. They have a total attitude. Like they think they’re smarter than everybody else.”
Maybe they were. But I didn’t want to make Sienna feel bad. “Do you know their vlog partner, Chandler? Did you hear he’s missing?”
“He is? Did he quit? Chandler’s so hot. He’s the best part of the show. Avery is so going to want to hear about this.”
Great, I started a high school vlog war. “About their contact sheet. Why don’t I help you with that circular file issue? We have one in our office.”
She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Glanced at the gun.
“You followed protocol. If I see Jolene, I’ll tell her you did a good job with that.”
“Thanks.” She handed me the paper. “You’re not at all like Jolene said you’d be.”
Taking the sheet, I folded it and shoved it in my pocket. Moved toward the door and stopped. I shouldn’t want to know what Jolene thought of me. I had a pretty good idea. But curiosity got the best of me. I turned to look back.
“What did Jolene say I’d be like?”
“‘The dumbest B-list, non-talent who ever walked the face of the planet.’ And ‘a fat slut who used T and A to get her face plastered on TV and magazines.’” Sienna tapped her chin. “Um, a ‘brat who doesn’t deserve all that’s been handed to her.’ And ‘Maizie couldn’t get a clue, let alone find one, because her head is too far up her…’” Sienna’s face reddened. “Well, you know where.”
I winced.
“Oh, and, ‘If anyone says otherwise, it’s only because Vicki Albright paid them.’” Sienna noted my expression, placed her hand on the gun, and slid the revolver to the edge of the desk. “But I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”
Poor Sienna. Jolene meant every word even if she was wrong. For the most part.
* * *
Back at the office, I sank into the desk chair to look at the Sweeney Security Solutions contact information. Noted the teens’ fake names — Tony Stark, Carol Danvers, and Wanda Maximoff — and hoped the phone numbers were real.
I texted the kids, telling them I had information about Chandler and asking them to meet. Thought about how shady that sounded from an “adult offender.” Qualified it with a text, asking them to meet at the office for an appointment. Followed by a text that their parents were invited to attend.
They didn’t respond.
I chewed my lip. Remembered they were in school. Texted again, asking them to wait to text me until school was out.
Their three-way text arrived in swift, confusing swoops. Silly me, to think they wouldn’t check their phones during school hours.
“Two fifty-five.”
“Human geography quiz.”
“Take it tomorrow.”
“Can’t. Orthodontist.”
“After school.”
“Marching band practice.”
“Skip it.”
“Orthodontist, dude. Use tomorrow’s ortho slip. He’ll never check.”
I didn’t want to know about that one.
“Wait. Gotta take notes.”
At least someone was halfway paying attention in class.
Emojis paraded across a text bubble, followed by three animated GIFs. I tried to decipher their meaning then gave up.
“My office. After school. No skipping,” I typed. During which six emojis and three more band excuses popped up. But I had a flip phone and no keyboard. “I need to talk to your parents.” I added a happy face. Made from punctuation marks.
I received a thumbs up emoji and three phone numbers.
Satisfied, I closed the phone and readied my bag with a new Nash shirt for the hospital. And a pair of jeans. The tightest ones. Since he’d lost weight. Not that I’d noticed which pair were tighter. Much.
Hearing the door open, I turned. Lamar sauntered in and collapsed into the La-Z-Boy.
“You look a little hellish,” I said.
“One of the big mixers shorted. I’ve been helping in the back. We’re also short-staffed in front. The new girl wasn’t working out. Sweet as anything. Cute as a bug. But dumber than a bag of rocks. She couldn’t make change to save her life.”
“Her name wasn’t Sienna by any chance?” I held up a hand. “Never mind. I’m headed to the Wellspring Center.”
“Community service?”
I jerked a nod, remembering his feelings about teen clients.
“How are those flyers coming?”
“Um, yeah. Great.” Dangit. I’d spent the night searching Bigfoot Trackers for crazy
stalker comments. After six hundred “Chandler, you’re so hot. Swipe me sometime,” I had a list of names to research. Out of thirty hundred sixty-eight different avatars, only sixteen lived within in a hundred mile radius of Black Pine. And of those sixteen, only three could legally drive. And of those three, only one wasn’t in prison. And she turned out to be a Black Pine soccer mom. Who had pictures of a soccer tournament in another state during the time Chandler disappeared.
And then it was time to get up.
“Good. Don’t know what we’d do without you, Maizie,” said Lamar, closing his eyes. “Did you get that check from Mrs. Price yet?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure it will be fine.” It didn’t feel fine, but it always helps to be optimistic. “I’m going to see Detective Mowry today. I’ll make my appointment with the ATF agent then, too. I have the case notes ready to go.”
“Boy, it’d be nice if we had more income coming in right now. I’ll see what I can do.” Lamar yawned. “In a minute. Three thirty has never felt so early as it has this week.”
“Have a little rest. I’m hoping to hear about a paying job this afternoon. Clients rejected by Jolene.” I chewed my lip, feeling guilty that I deliberately misled Lamar. But I did hope the teens would pay. And then I could assuage Lamar’s doubts with that happy news.
“Nash doesn’t know how good he got it when he hired you.”
One could always hope.
Eighteen
#HashtagHealingRevolution #StupidIstTheNewDumb
After a quick hospital visit — I spoke to the nurses about shaving Nash, but they said with his injuries it was better to let the beard grow, even if I was right about him waking up scratchy — I arrived at Dr. Trident’s office, prepared to deliver Gladys’s ultimatum.
For better or worse, he needed to therapy me. For reals.
But Dr. Trident was with a patient. Or so the sign on his door said.
Of course.
But that meant I was free to canvas the staff about one missing camper. I wandered the halls, looking for the manager’s office. Following the signs, I found it in the west wing on the first floor. The old-timey accessories and oriental carpet had been removed in this hall. With white plaster walls, the heavy dark wood didn’t look half as spooky as the rest of the building.
I entered the small waiting area. No receptionist. But like Dr. Trident’s office, they’d gone cool California with the bamboo floors and sleek, modern furniture. I knocked on the manager’s door. At the beckoning of the male voice inside, I entered.
Then began backing out the door.
“Wait, Maizie,” said Oliver, hopping up from behind the desk. “Don’t go.”
“What are you doing in here?” I hissed. “Where’s the manager?”
“I’m the manager.”
The bottom of my stomach dropped to somewhere around my knees.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I said. “You’re supposed to be in prison.”
“I was pardoned.”
“Why would they pardon you?”
“Because some legislators believed I was really trying to help the senior citizens. They talked to the governor. Lack of healthcare for things like pain medication is a real thing, Maizie.”
“Not in Beverly Hills, Oliver. Did your parents donate to their campaigns?”
“That, too.” He shrugged. Moving around the desk, he stopped in front of me. “I owe you an apology. Several. Please, don’t leave yet. I need to apologize as part of my therapy. Could you just hear me out for one minute? Please?”
The pain registering in Oliver’s face made me want to cringe. I’d seen it when he first told me stories about the people he helped. I’d thought it was an empathetic pain. I’ll admit, it was attractive to see such compassion in a man so handsome and virile. Oliver had a high Hollywood hotness rating for a local celebrity. But it was the sensitivity that had hooked me. And then we’d hooked up. And gotten engaged. And it wasn’t even during a sweeps week, like with Giulio.
However, the whole selling of drugs and masseuse-whatever had turned me off. Big time.
For good.
But, as someone who’d been through many bouts of therapy, I knew the struggle of needing to apologize to someone who didn’t want to hear it. I planted my feet on the beautifully polished bamboo. And forced myself to listen to a litany of “never wanted to” and “never intended to” that began with an “I” and ended with a “you.”
Like with Dr. Trident, I found it easiest to nod my head.
If I stayed much longer at the Center, I might need to see that healer about neck acupuncture.
“I really loved you, Maizie. I never meant to hurt you like this.”
Nod.
“I shouldn’t have listened to my lawyer and spoken up at your hearing.”
Nod. With the help of all my willpower.
Which wasn’t saying much. But still.
“And when I heard about this job, managing the Wellspring Center, it was like a dream-come-true. This is my niche. A place where I can really help people. With all kinds of holistic services. And to be here, close to you. It felt like the universe was giving me a second chance.”
The universe did not seem to feel the same way about me.
“That’s a really weird coincidence, Oliver. You don’t even need to work. Not like in a real job. Does your probation officer know where you are? Why would they let you leave California?”
“Don’t worry so much, Maizie. I got all the red tape cleared. Vicki helped me.”
Vicki. I should have known. “When?”
“About a month ago. With all the new film industry activity here, it seemed like the perfect destination for a healing retreat. The South needs to catch up with California when it comes to the benefits of holistic healing and who better to introduce it than well-known personalities…”
I stopped listening to do a quick math check. About a month ago, Vicki had gotten engaged to Giulio. Was this more punishment for ditching my old career? I really needed to talk to my therapist about this.
Then remembered who my therapist was.
Thank you, universe.
Oliver held out his arms. “Do you want to hug it out?”
“Not really.” I turned, then pivoted back. “I actually came here to talk to the manager about a missing person.”
Oliver grinned. “That’s me. Do you want to sit down?”
I shook my head. “Did the police come by last week about a young man who went missing nearby? He was camping with some local teens. Did anyone see him?”
“Sorry, I wasn’t here yet. I can ask my staff and get back to you, though.”
“Thanks.”
“Maizie, I want to make all this up to you. Anything you want, it’s yours.”
“Just the information about the camper would be great.”
“If you think of something else you’d like, let me know.”
I’d like Oliver to return to California ASAP. But I just nodded.
I really needed a talk with the universe and find out what I’d done to tick it off.
* * *
I’d planned to ask Everett Lawson about missing Chandler Jonson. The guy had suspicious vibes, but I wanted to remain open-minded. My daddy walked around his property with a gun. And was often surly. It was kind of a mountain man thing. Although Everett took it to an extreme. I also wanted to ask other staff about Chandler. Hopefully, someone had seen something.
And maybe I’d slip in a few questions about what Oliver was really doing here. It wasn’t like he needed a job.
I had an idea of why he took the position at the Wellspring Center. And why Vicki had encouraged it. It was a way to pull me back into her fold. Not that she ever liked Oliver that much when we were dating. He was “tolerable” as a local A-lister. She’d rather I marry a director. Or better yet a director who had the money for producing. Someone who could do more for our career.
I mean, my career.
And people thought arranged m
arriages were dead.
At reception, I asked for Everett Lawson.
“Who?” said the young man working behind the desk. “He’s on staff? I don’t know him.”
“Maybe he’s the gardener. I’m not sure of his official title. But he seems to be garden-y, caretaker-y.”
“Check the groundskeeping office.”
I leaned on the desk and tried a new lead. “Do you know anything about Chandler Jonson?”
“Is he a gardener?”
“No, he was camping nearby and went missing. Last week.”
“Sorry.” The man shook his head.
“How’s your new manager? Is Oliver Fraser on the up-and-up?”
He took a breath. “Did you just come from the juice bar? Sometimes if you mix certain herbs, they can make you feel a little confused.”
“Thanks for the advice.” I would skip the juice bar. I didn’t need any more confusion in my life.
In groundskeeping, I found a sign listing the landscaper, lawn service, and pool service personnel. I didn’t know if they were on break or working elsewhere, but they weren’t in the office. In either case, Everett Lawson was not listed among their numbers. Which was weird.
I wandered the resort — from the pool to the gym to Café, and even to the massage huts — and spoke to very few people. None knew Everett except by sight but could not tell me his title or where to find him. None knew of Chandler, although several remembered the police asking about him. Everyone seemed to like Oliver.
Just my luck.
I also didn’t see many guests. But the place was new. They needed some casual (paid) mentions in the right magazines and on social media to get the ball rolling. Free stays for the right people. A luxe hookup for a notoriously finicky and privacy-conscious celeb. With some captured candids of the celeb enjoying the Center sent to the right media outlets.
Or at least, that’s how I understood how celebrity marketing worked.
In any case, it didn’t take long to return to Dr. Trident’s office. My sticky note had been removed and the “in session” sign had been taken down. I knocked and entered. Found Dr. Trident with a couple. A man in a business suit and a woman in a lab coat.
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