“Do you know Maizie Albright?” said Dr. Trident. “She’s one of my patients. She used to be on TV. I’m helping her through a difficult period.”
“Wonderful,” said the business man.
“Nice to meet you.” I held out my hand, hoping the wonderfulness had been paired with “helping me” and not “difficult period.”
“Sam Martin. Call me Sam.” Sam’s smile didn’t evoke the expectation of animated sparkles like Dr. Trident. But it was still nice. “What do you think of the Wellspring Center?”
“It’s impressive. Are you a guest?”
“An investor and founder. Have you tried the spa? The rejuvenate waters are amazing. That was the original use back at the turn of the twentieth century. That’s where the Wellspring name came from.”
“I had no idea.”
“Trident.” Sam turned to the doctor. “You haven’t told her about the waters?”
“I begin inward and then work outward, Sam,” said Dr. Trident. “Maizie needs a lot of inward help. Starting outward. Although Maizie, mixing traditional cures with new methods is trending. We must look to our past to see our future. Don’t you think so?”
“I’m no expert—”
“Of course you’re not.” Dr. Trident beamed. “That’s why I’m here for you.”
Dang universe.
“We’re very proud of what we’ve done,” said Sam. “We want to give our clients everything they could need in a health resort. Physical, spiritual, and emotional healing. That’s why Dr. Trident’s on board. He’s made quite a name for himself. And now Dr. Sakda’s here, too.”
I glanced at the woman still standing a few steps outside our small group.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Sakda.” When she didn’t respond, I burbled. “You remind me of Lucy, one of my posse on Kung Fu Kate? On the show, Lucy was supposed to be Chinese but in real life, Lucy’s name was Sunisa Sakda. She’s Thai. Are you Thai?”
Dr. Sakda’s eyes widened. “Kung Fu Kate? What? Just because I’m Asian doesn’t mean I do martial arts.”
“Of course not,” I stammered. My cheeks heated. “I didn’t mean to imply that or stereotype you. Actually, on the show, they made sure my posse was diverse. We had…Oh, God. What I mean is…You see I was an actress. And on children’s TV shows these days, they are very careful…as well they should be…Although why I was the star when I’m…Anyway, I love bubble tea. And curry. But especially pad thai. Unless that’s not really Thai?”
Her eye roll was completely justified.
“I don’t suppose you’re a therapist, are you?” When she shook her head, I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“Dr. Sakda is like a nutritionist,” said Dr. Trident.
“Ethnobotonist,” said Dr. Sakda. “My degree is in biochemistry, not nutrition.”
“She and I are working together. We’re creating herbal blends for the juice bar. It’s going to revolutionize healing.” Dr. Trident rocked back on his heels, smiling. “Oh, I like that. Hashtag-healing-revolution.”
“That’s very interesting,” I said, hoping to redeem myself. “I’m sure the difference in each person’s biochemistry means they each need a different—”
“I don’t make herbal blends,” said Dr. Sakda. “I’m a molecular scientist.”
“Um, that’s interesting, too?”
Dr. Sakda was going to hurt her eyes with all that rolling.
I changed the subject. “Did any of you hear about a missing camper? His name is Chandler Jonson.”
“Sorry,” said Sam. “Is he a friend?”
“Friend of a friend. He and some teens were camping nearby on Black Pine Mountain. He disappeared on them.”
“Really?” said Dr. Trident. “Did they go to the police?”
“The police hit a dead end. The K9 unit tracked him to his car and the car was found at the Atlanta airport.”
“That’s good news isn’t it?” said Sam.
“Except no one’s heard from him.”
“Did you try the Atlanta police?” said Dr. Sakda. “If he’s in Atlanta, wouldn’t that be the logical place to look?”
“I’m going to…check into that. I’m sort of helping these kids. The ones who were camping. And they’re really upset. And…”
“Maizie, look at me,” said Dr. Trident. “I can tell by the sound of your voice you are feeling unsure and confused.”
“Those are kind of normal feelings for me? I think I’m just worried…”
“Of course, you’re worried. And you know what worry does?”
“Causes panic attacks?”
“No, Maizie, you cause panic attack.”
“I think—”
“You shouldn’t think. Maizie, look at me. Worry does nothing.”
I widened my eyes. It seemed to work better than speaking.
“Repeat, after me, Maizie. ‘Worry does nothing.’”
I gritted my teeth, feeling the pile-on of humiliation. I couldn’t look at Sam or Dr. Sakda but felt their embarrassment for me. “Worry does nothing.”
“Do you feel it, Maizie?” Dr. Trident held out his hands and waved them before me. “Feel the energy?”
“Energy…” I spoke slowly. “From your hands?”
“No, from the words, ‘worry does nothing.’ I’m just very physically expressive.” Dr. Trident held up his hands, twisting them. “But you could be right. I knew a guru who said my chi was strong.”
“As entertaining as this was, I need to go,” said Dr. Sakda.
Dr. Trident gave her a short bow. “Of course. Until our next meeting.”
She shook her head and strode from the room.
“Maizie.” Sam clasped my hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m so glad to finally meet you. We’ll get you involved in our programs.”
“Where did you hear about me? From Dr. Trident?”
Dr. Trident beamed.
“No,” said Sam. “Actually, from our new manager.”
Oliver. Damn universe.
Nineteen
#MicroabrasedEmbrace #BookinIt
My eyes were on my to-do list when the universe called out for the third time that morning.
“Darling, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you,” said Giulio. “Why haven’t you returned my texts and calls?”
I took a massive ujjayi breath and counted down my blessings before releasing. It didn’t take long considering my week. Shoving my to-do list into my pocket, I turned to face Giulio. He wore a plush white robe, Fendi slides, and possibly nothing else.
“Because I’m busy,” I said. “I don’t want to hear about the wedding. And, hello, clothes?”
“Someone needs to listen because your madre will not.” He flung his arms out, exposing his sculpted and waxed chest. “Look at what the stress is doing to me.”
I sniffed. He smelled like La Mer and San Pellegrino. “You’re so shiny. Exfoliated?”
“I just came from the water treatment. And a body micro abrasion. It was necessary for the stress. But if my skin was not glowing, you would see what your mother is doing to me.”
“Are you both staying at the resort?”
“We are guests of il stronzo.” Giulio swung his arm toward the west wing. “He is up to no good, I tell you. This Oliver. Good riddance for you. But unlucky for me.”
“Stop gesturing. Your robe keeps opening.”
“Lucky for you, then?” His dark eyes gleamed. Much like his skin. “Darling, join me for a massage? Deep tissue.”
“Gotta go.” I turned back toward the exit.
“Wait, Maizie. You have to help me. Your madre’s wedding plans are growing the more insane. Why animals and helicopters? What is she thinking?”
I pivoted. “I’m sorry, Giulio. I just don’t have time for this. With Nash in the hospital and this new case plus the community service and therapy? You want to see stress? Look at me. The bags under my eyes have their own circles.”
He sidled forward. �
��It’s true. You look terrible, my darling. Really wretched. Come with me. You can relax in my room. If your mother sees us?” He shrugged, and the robe parted. “What can we say?”
“We can say no, Giulio. We say no,” I said and stalked off.
* * *
Before going back to the office, I puttered Lucky toward the Jonson house. I wanted to know if Crispin housed a red, fast-looking motorcycle. Which would save Detective Ian Mowry a lot of time in arresting him.
I parked Lucky on the street before the Jonson’s. Noted which neighbors didn’t look home (all of them) and cut across a lawn to the side yard. Walked nonchalantly to the garage window. Covered by shades. Crossing the driveway, I zipped around to the front porch and rang the bell.
No answer.
I took a minute to think about the empty house and the dutifulness of the self-professed dutiful son. Hurried around to the backyard, pulled up the latch on the pool fence, and hiked up the deck stairs to the back door. Tried the knob and entered. The Jonson’s had an alarm system that — thanks to my Nash Security Solutions training — I knew was unarmed.
Thank you, prodigal son.
I took a left into the kitchen, found the garage door, and spotted a golf cart, and a Honda CRV full of Taco Bell bags and empty energy drink cans. Probably Crispin’s car. Either he drove one of his parent’s (likely much nicer) vehicles or he sported around on a red motorcycle. I toured the garage, looking for motorcycle evidence — No extra helmets or motorcycle handbooks — before returning to the house.
In the kitchen, I detoured up the back stairs to Crispin’s room. No helmets or motorcycle jackets in his closet. The room still held the qualities of a pigsty. Gladys would not approve. She’d also not approve of his stash. Crispin had even left his TV and computer on. So much for his environmental footprint.
I slid into the gaming chair before his computer and clicked the mouse to wake the dark screen. Password. Glancing at the indie posters on his wall, I took a gamble and typed, “Frank.”
Bingo.
Thank you Donnie Darko.
Hoping to find a picture of the motorcycle, I searched his files. No photo uploads. Tons of unfinished scripts. I glanced at his email. Rejections from film schools, amateur movie awards, and agents. I clicked on another window. A paused game appeared. In the upper corner, a text box blinked. I studied the screen and felt a stirring of recognition. Then fought off a wave of nausea. My lungs contracted and I dropped my head between my knees.
Same stupid shoot-em-up game that Roger Price played.
I waited for the moment to pass, studying the wires and dust bunnies beneath his desk. And the brown box he barely attempted to hide. I nudged the box with my foot, then used the toe of my sneaker to open it. The top of a baggie peeked out. Reaching in, I pulled out a capsule. I didn’t recognize the brown color. No printing on the capsule either. It didn’t appear manufactured by a big company. But then most people didn’t get their drugs by the baggie in plain brown boxes.
Crispin’s pharmaceuticals weren’t my business.
Letting out a disgusted sigh, I thought about how badly I sucked at finding clues.
The stairs creaked and the light from the hall blinked on.
Craptastic.
I slid out of the chair, onto the floor, and crawled to the far side of the bed. Peeked underneath. Shuddered at the thought of sharing the floor with Crispin’s boxers and pizza boxes. A shadow blocked the doorway. I wiggled an arm and leg beneath the bed. My shoulder slipped in, but my butt had issues.
Once again, my body shape failed me.
The shadow entered the room. What would Crispin do if he caught me? Call the police? Invite me to spark up?
Holding my breath, I stilled my wriggling. I heard him at the dresser, rummaging around, then cross to the computer.
Shizzles. I’d left the computer screen on.
While he clicked, I clenched and squirmed, trying to get under the bed. Giving up, I slid my leg and arm out and considered my options. The closet stood open. The adjoining bathroom was across the room. I could crouch by the bed until he caught me.
The clicking had stopped. The gaming chair sighed and shuffled.
Slowly, I slid my legs beneath my body. Rested my hands on the carpet, ready to spring. Kept my head ducked below the bed until the last possible minute.
The footsteps moved closer and stopped.
I bounced to my feet, an excuse ready to tumble from my lips. A book hurtled across the room. I covered my face and ducked. The book glanced off my shoulder and fell on the bed. Shaking off my surprise, I barely registered the man’s shape before he leaped through the bedroom door. Footsteps pounded down the hall and clattered on the stairs. I ran after him.
“Crispin?” I called. “It’s me, Maizie Albright. Sorry to scare you.”
At the top of the stairs, I paused to listen. A door slammed. I pounded down the stairs and glanced left and right. Chose the living room, then darted through the hall into the kitchen. Outside, a motorcycle engine cranked. I pelted back into the living room toward the front window. The helmeted rider zoomed down the drive and cut a hard left into the street.
The front door stood ajar. I turned the lock and closed it behind me. Cutting across the yard, I ran for the street, hoping to get the make and model of the cycle.
The cyclist was gone. Crispin didn’t seem the book throwing type. He seemed the “I found you hiding in my bedroom, now you have to do my indie project and introduce me to all your insider contacts” type. Which meant…
Hells, I had no idea. Per ushe. It was probably Crispin.
I jogged back to Lucky. She’d been knocked over. But she still worked.
“I’m sorry this keeps happening to you,” I said. “Not that you have feelings, but it does seem like someone doesn’t want me looking into Chandler’s disappearance. Or they have a strong animosity toward dirt bikes.”
Which made no sense. But neither did anything else this week.
I retrieved my helmet which had rolled farther down the curb. Pulled my phone from my pocket and considered calling Ian Mowry. To report someone had thrown a book at my head and knocked over my bike…during my breaking and entering?
Probably not a good idea.
Or to narc on Crispin? I slipped the pill from my pocket and studied it. Brown powder inside a clear capsule. It looked like something from a health food store. Which was probably why Crispin was buying it in bulk. The weed was another story — prescription or no, it was still illegal in Georgia — but a drug bust over a dime bag could tie up my investigation if he had anything to do with Chandler’s disappearance.
My investigation. I snorted. I had a boot and a hostile brother. And some kids who really believed an evil scientist (or evil developer) at Wellspring had kidnapped their friend.
Both favorite villains in Kung Fu Kate and Julia Pinkerton, Teen Detective. Which didn’t help their case much at all.
Twenty
#KidsTheseDays #MyPeopleAndYourPeople
Lamar heard me enter the Dixie Kreme building — I forgot to skip the step that sounded like a gunshot — and met me in front of the office door. He handed me a donut. “There are high schoolers here for you.”
“Sorry.”
“I gave them donuts. Maizie…”
“I know, I know. I just found something and…Don’t worry, this won’t take long. And as soon as they’re gone, I’ll call Mrs. Price and see what’s taking so long with the check.”
Nodding his head, Lamar plodded down the stairs to the donut shop. I jiggled the office knob, pulled the door forward, pushed it open, and halted. Eyes on their devices, Laci, Fred, and Mara had sprawled across the floor and furniture. Donut debris, backpacks, and camera equipment littered the coffee table and floor.
“OMG. I just cleaned this place,” I said. “How do three people take up an entire room? And would a hello kill you? I mean, what if I were an armed robber or an ax-murderer? I could have walked in and taken you out and you
wouldn’t even have noticed. Get off your phones.”
Three sighs floated toward me. Three phones, one laptop, and an iPad clicked off. Mostly.
“We noticed you,” said Fred. “We’re doing homework.”
“On your phones?”
“I have a paper to write,” said Laci.
“With your thumb?” I shook my head and opened my backpack. “Do you recognize this boot?”
A hesitant yes resounded. So hesitant, I wasn’t sure who said it.
“I’ll turn the boot into the police as evidence. However, I asked around today and nobody knows anything at the Wellspring Center. It’s so fenced off, I doubt anyone saw Chandler. I also looked in his apartment and talked to his brother. I keep coming up empty. I think we need to try other avenues of investigation.” I held up my hand to stop their protests. “At least for now. I want your play-by-play of that night. Detailed play-by-play. And everything you know about Chandler.”
“We already told the police what happened,” said Laci.
“I’m not the police.” I narrowed my eyes at the fake “obviously” cough.
“It had to be something to do with the Wellspring Center,” said Mara. “And they had to have taken Chandler. They must have driven his car to Atlanta. Maybe they left prints on the car?”
“Everyone knows not to leave prints,” said Fred. “They would have worn gloves or wiped the car down. But they might have left DNA evidence. Maybe the police could sweep his car for hair and fibers. That doesn’t take any time.”
“Real life is not a CSI episode. I’m going to tell you right now, the likelihood of the police doing DNA tests on Chandler’s car is extremely low. Unless we have real evidence that he’s gone. That’s what I’m looking for. Real evidence so we can help the police.”
“We’re not hiring you so we can go to the police,” said Laci.
“But first,” I continued. “I need to talk to your parents.”
They groaned and flopped around on the floor.
“If you want my help, we’re doing this my way,” I said, then remembered that was a line from Julia Pinkerton. Not Julia’s line. Her teacher’s line in season one, episode eight, “Trust No One.” Causing Julia, the teacher, and her class to get trapped by an evil land developer. Julia saved the lives of all his students, but the teacher had died. After apologizing for doing it his way instead of following Julia’s advice.
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