“Mrs. Jonson, are you going to be okay?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, closing the door. “I really should call my husband. Oh Lord, and maybe our lawyer.”
“One more thing, does Crispin know Roger Price?”
“Roger Price…I think from high school? Is he the kid who did all the tinkering? They built a robot together or something?”
“Are they still friends?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Please, I need to make some calls.”
* * *
Crispin had done something or he wouldn’t have fled. I needed to give the police a heads up, but I still didn’t have a phone. Also, I didn’t want to talk to Ian. Yet. I thought I should probably give him time to cool down. Before he did something rash like call Gladys and have me arrested.
Instead, I parked at a gas station and used their pay phone to call the office.
“We’re closed,” said Jolene. “If you have security needs, I'll connect you with Sweeney Security Solutions.”
“Let me speak to Wyatt Nash,” I said in my best masculine drawl. “This is Steve from Black Pine Hospital. I want to ask him a couple questions to see how his concussion is affecting him.”
“Shouldn’t I bring him back to the hospital so you can run tests?” said Jolene.
“Only if he can’t answer the questions. Put him on, if you would, sugar.”
“Just a minute,” she huffed.
A moment later, I heard Nash’s deep growl. “I’m fine. I just have a headache. Which would go away if everyone left me alone.”
“It’s me, Maizie,” I said. “Miss Albright. I’ll call back another time.”
“Not you. Just a minute.” A door closed, and Jolene’s squawking receded into the background. “Where are you? Mowry called here looking for you.”
“At a gas station. I had to escape. He’s very nice, but I couldn’t sit and watch him do paperwork all day. Being safe isn’t for me, I guess. What about you?”
“I feel like a stuck pig. They’re treating me like I’m a damn child who can’t do a dang thing for himself.” He lowered his voice. “You want to break me out? Go on the run together?”
A delicious heat shot through me. I licked my lips. “I went to Crispin Jonson’s house to talk to him. Do you know who that is?”
“I’ve been reading the case notes.” He paused. “Trying to at least. That’s giving me a headache, too.”
“Oh, Nash,” I said, then remembered I was the spunky sidekick. “Anyway, his mother was home. Crispin’s flown the coop to Mexico where his dad is shooting a documentary. When I first talked to Crispin, he said he didn’t know where his parents were, but obviously, he did. And everyone thinks Chandler went to Mexico.”
“Ten to one Crispin doesn’t show up at his dad’s shoot.”
“Ten to one Chandler didn’t fly to Mexico and Crispin bought that ticket to make it look like Chandler did.”
“Miss Albright, you’re very sassy when you’re on the lam.”
I blushed and kicked a rock with my sneaker. “Thank you.”
“You sound like you’re doing smart and capable again.”
I sighed. “I miss you. I mean…working with you.”
“Come get me, Maizie.”
I thought about how much I wanted to get Nash. How I’d pull up like Kenickie in the sleepover scene from Grease. I’d park Rhonda’s Nissan around the corner from the Dixie Kreme shop and whistle for Rizzo through his office window. Burn rubber when he jumped in the car. Laugh as Jolene hollered at us. Then I’d wrap my arm around Nash’s neck, pull him toward me, and give him a huge kiss.
But I wasn’t Kenickie. I wasn’t even Rizzo. I was a total Sandy. Wyatt Nash had a severe concussion and was still weak, dizzy, and in pain. He needed to rest. And no matter how much Jolene probably annoyed him with her helicoptering (which I secretly hoped she did), that’s what he needed. Someone to watch over him. Like a wife should. Or an ex-wife, in this case.
“No, I’m not going to break you out,” I said. “And you know why.”
“You disappoint me, Miss Albright.”
“Welcome to the club.”
* * *
My other available connection to Everett Lawson was Dr. Trident. I parked Rhonda’s car and scouted the parking lot. The police vehicles were gone. The interviews and search for Everett Lawson must have concluded. I also didn’t see Ian’s Tahoe. He either looked elsewhere or had given up on me.
Guilt knocked on the walls of my heart. I ignored guilt and focused on finding Dr. Trident.
He wasn’t in his office. I turned back to reception and learned of a staff meeting. In the west wing, I listened at doors until I heard the rise and fall of voices in Oliver’s office. Continuing my stroll down the hall, I knocked on the security room door. And found it slightly ajar.
A note had been stuck to the main computer screen. Instructions for the police. I guessed with such few staff, someone had left the door open for the ATF helpers, rather than watch them check the security videos. Very trusting of Wellspring.
And I guessed that had been Oliver with his “nothing to hide” policy. And vanity. He wouldn’t want to show the police his lack of computer skills.
Peeling the sticky note off the computer screen, I found the instruction book and typed in the previous night’s footage. I watched Giulio and I argue before the elevator, then slide out of the narrow recess between the physical life building and garden fence. Saw our shadowy figures running across the field. And slipping into the ATV garage. Rolling my eyes, I thanked the moon for not showing that night. I changed screens and found Everett Lawson. Watched him exit the maintenance building and stop to talk to someone.
Dr. Trident.
I danced in my seat. My therapist did know Everett Lawson. And here was proof for the police. Maybe Trident wasn’t in the staff meeting and Agent Langtry had already taken him in for questioning.
Wait. What did that mean for my therapy? Did it still count if Dr. Trident was connected to a bank robbery? Would I still get my probation points?
I left that thought for Gladys and swapped camera scenes as Lawson continued his trudge toward the back acreage of Wellspring. He unlocked the back gate hiding behind the flower mounds and stalked toward the ATV garage. Didn’t even glance toward the side of the building where Giulio and I had hidden. I switched views to the hidden gate. And did another chair dance.
Waiting on the other side of the hidden gate, clearly visible in the ATV headlights, was Young Thug. The gate opened. An exchange took place between the two men before Young Thug climbed into the ATV with Lawson. They drove off into the woods. Happily ever after.
For now.
I wanted to kiss the video screen. Here was all the physical evidence the police needed to connect these men. Physical evidence that wasn’t just my testimony.
Quite honestly, holding the only burden of proof was getting old.
Slipping out the door, I pulled it shut and felt the lock tumble. Grinning, I ambled to Oliver’s office door. Then stopped.
Wait. Why did I want to celebrate my finding with Oliver and not Nash?
Horrified at my fickleness, I paused to do an emotional wellness check. But couldn’t selfie without a phone. And considering my therapist was connected to bank robbers, I didn’t find it appropriate. As I stood in the hall, sorting my feelings and feeling more confused, the door to Oliver’s office opened.
Sam Martin strode out, blasting someone inside with a “check your priorities” over his shoulder. Spotting me, the Wellspring investor stopped short. “Maizie.” He paused. “I understand you’ve had some difficulties.”
“I’m okay, thanks. I think the bank robbers will be caught soon.”
“Good to hear. You’re friends with a police officer, aren’t you? Does he have any news?”
“Unfortunately, the ATF is in charge of that investigation and they don’t tell him much. And he tells me even less. Did the police bring in Dr. Trident for que
stioning?”
“Trident?” Sam placed his hands on his hips. “What for?”
“He knows at least one of the suspects.”
“God.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t know. Thanks for telling me.”
“You’re welcome.” I grinned, then swapped it for a more serious expression. The Wellspring founder wouldn’t think the questioning of his famous employee exciting. “Is Oliver inside?”
He cut a look at the door. “Yes. And tell him your news. He needs to know this.”
I nodded. Oliver already knew about Trident and Everett Lawson after last night’s epiphany. But I could still share the news about the video footage. I skipped through the outer reception and into his inner office.
Oliver sat slumped in his office chair, checking his phone.
“I have great news,” I said, rushing around the desk.
He dropped the phone on his desk and lifted his eyes to mine.
“What’s wrong?” I placed a hand on his cheek and leaned against his desk. “Is the Everett Lawson investigation disrupting the resort? Are guests complaining because of the police? I heard Sam yelling at you.”
He placed his hand over mine and gazed at me. “Something like that. I’m the one who wanted to work here. You have to take the bad with the good, I guess.” Sliding my hand to his lips, he kissed my palm and brought it to rest between his hands. “What’s your good news?”
“Someone left the security door open, so I helped myself. I saw last night’s security video feed. It shows Everett Lawson talking with Dr. Trident. Lawson took an ATV and met the guy who’s been threatening me at your back gate.”
Oliver closed his eyes and groaned.
“I know Dr. Trident isn’t exactly good news. It’s bad for business. But it’s one more link toward apprehending these guys.”
He tugged on my hand and pulled me onto his lap. I snuggled against him, fitting my head against his shoulder. “What else has happened?” he said, threading his fingers through mine.
I told him about Roger and Crispin. “It’s coming to a head. I can feel it. It’ll be hard to extradite Crispin, but if he does find his dad, maybe Mr. Jonson will turn Crispin in. I think he really has something to do with Chandler’s disappearance.”
“Can the police identify this guy who’s been threatening you?”
“I’m not sure. He’s kind of fuzzy on the security video because of the lighting. I knew it was him though.”
Oliver stroked my arm. I tried very hard not to think about how comforting it felt to snuggle against him, nor how easily I seemed to console him. Or if Nash and Jolene did the same. And as much as I currently enjoyed snuggling with Oliver, how I still wished he were Nash.
I shifted to move from his lap, but Oliver’s heavy sighed pulled me back down.
“This is nice,” Oliver said. “Just me and you. Have you ever thought about getting away from everything? Living somewhere else?”
“Not really. I mean, the terms of my probation made it pretty clear where I had to live.”
“What if we could fix that? We could live in…I don’t know, Baja. Or Costa Rica. Maybe Europe? You liked Cannes, didn’t you? I have the money.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “You just got this job. You want to help people with all the holistic stuff, remember? This is more than just a spa, right? Even though you only serve the rich and celebrities, it’s still a noble thing.”
“We’re going to reach more than just celebrities. They’re just the start, to legitimize our branding. We have a long-term plan.” Oliver kissed my forehead. “But right now, I just want to run away with you.”
“That’s very sweet.” My face felt hot. I slipped from his lap. “But I also have a job. For now. I need two years of training to become a private investigator.”
“You don’t need any training to become my wife.” Oliver took my hands in his.
“Your? Wait. What?”
“Let’s get married, Maizie. We’ll go file the papers today. Later we can do the big wedding. Or small and private. Whatever you want. But I don’t want to wait. We could fly out to Vegas and be back by morning. Your probation officer wouldn’t even miss you.”
“Vegas?”
“Unless it’s legal to do same-day weddings in Georgia?”
“I don’t know,” I stammered. “I’ve never looked into it.”
“Of course, why would you?” Oliver’s eyes danced. “I just thought of it. It’s brilliant and will solve everything.”
“Solve? But—”
Oliver dropped to one knee. “Maizie Marlin Spayberry, please do me the honor. I love you so much. You make me happy. I’ve been lost without you.”
“Um—you know. It’s just—”
“Is it moving? You want to stay in Black Pine? We don’t have to move, sweetheart. You can keep your job. I won’t try to convince you to work here. If we’re married, we’ll see each other every day anyway.”
“Uh…it’s a bit of a shock. And all very sudden. Very flattering, of course.” I’d reverted to Downton Abbey again. “But, you see—”
He kissed my hands. “I don’t have a ring. I’m going into town and buy you the biggest diamond I can find. But don’t worry, we’ll stop at Harry Winston in Vegas and do it right. Unless you’re set on Tiffany?”
My mind reeled. I slipped my hands from his and gripped the desk. “We can’t—”
“And a dress. Does Vera Wang have a Vegas shop? We’ll call ahead. Don’t worry, even if we do this on the fly, it’ll be classy. Vicki would have your head otherwise. Don’t worry about that.” He stood and cupped my chin. Dropping a kiss on my lips, he murmured, “I’ll protect you.”
He darted to the door and paused. “Just stay here. I’ll be back soon. With fried chicken and a ring. Vegan spa be damned. Nothing is too good for you.”
I jerked out of my shock. “But Oliver, I haven’t said yes.”
Too late. He was gone.
Forty-Seven
#PhonePriveleges #ItsOffToWorkIGo
My excitement had deflated, bringing on an escalation of heartache mixed with heartburn. I didn’t want to marry Oliver — I didn’t even want to date him — but I also didn’t want to hurt him. I considered calling the girls, but they’d remind me about the stupidity of love, which wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I already felt like I was two-timing Nash, even if our relationship only existed in my head. And three-timing Ian, though I had no intention of dating him, either.
How did I get myself in these predicaments? I looked down at my chest and felt some blame might lay there. But in all honesty, it was my lack of spine. And possibly my mixed-scruples upbringing.
Mostly my lack of spine. The same missing spine that always got me in trouble.
I flopped into Oliver’s chair and spotted his phone still resting on the desk where he’d dropped it. Picking it up, the phone flickered to life. His code was too easy. My birthday. I checked his Facebook to make sure he hadn’t updated his relationship status. Changing that back to “jilted” would be super awkward. No recent updates. And thankfully, none of our selfies appeared. Restless, I looked through his apps. Spotted the Wellspring security app and tapped.
Tiny screens with a scroll bar appeared. The first four video feeds were interior. I tapped and the hall outside his office enlarged. Empty. I minimized, then scrolled. Oliver had already left the building. Vicki and Giulio strolled into the lobby.
Thank God, they hadn’t run into Oliver and heard about our non-elopement.
I scrolled until I reached the screens showing the back acreage. Back gate. Hidden gate. ATV garage. Garden gate. Spotted movement just inside the garden gate. No one appeared within the camera’s angle. I grew bored waiting for a gardener to haul a load of tomatoes to Café.
Sliding the scroll bar, I found the last four screens. Dying corn stalks and bean teepees in the garden. The old chicken coop where herbs dried and Dr. Sakda’s microscope waited for her return. A sunlit room full of t
ropical plants. And another greenhouse shot, where a teeny Dr. Trident spoke to a tiny Dr. Sakda near a doorway.
Rising from the chair, I tapped on the screen. The police had to have seen Dr. Trident speaking to Everett Lawson. Why wasn’t he taken in for questioning?
I grabbed Oliver’s desk phone, pressed nine, and dialed Agent Langtry’s number.
“Langtry,” she said.
Of course, she’d answer when it wasn’t my number or Ian’s.
I forced my voice to perky. “Agent Langtry, Maizie Albright.” I explained the security video I’d seen and my confusion as to why Dr. Trident was allowed to roam free. “Have you talked to him?”
“The officers canvassed all the staff at Wellspring.”
“But there’s some kind of relationship between Lawson and Trident. Dr. Trident seems goofy, but I think he hides his intelligence. Or at least in our therapy sessions, that’s what it seemed like. I mean, selfie therapy sounded like a sham to me, too. But once I tried it, there is some merit.”
“Thanks for your concern,” she said and hung up.
I stared at the phone and wondered about justice, warrants, and rights. And the possibility of the federal government hiring incompetent agents. And decided I needed a session with Dr. Trident.
Like now. Before he took off for Mexico with everyone else.
* * *
With Oliver’s phone in hand, I skipped the gym bypass and hurried to the back gate. I’d found his list of security codes, handily typed in his Notes app, listed under “codes.”
Before I broke off our non-engagement, Oliver needed a lesson on privacy protection.
At the gate, I entered the code on the alarm app and watched myself enter the back lot on the handheld security feed. I swiped to the greenhouse camera. Dr. Trident sat on the edge of a table, his leg swinging, talking with his hands. I could sense Dr. Sakda’s irritation in the rigidity of her shoulders and jerky movements. She had her back to the camera, peering into a set of boxes that covered a long table.
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