Maizie Albright Star Detective 01 15 Minutes

by Larissa Reinhart

  "What do you mean?"

  "You need some cover." Rhonda shoved an orange and silver cheetah print cap on my head and handed me a pair of oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses. "Tiff and I've been talking. You need some protection from the paparazzi."

  "She means we've been watching E! online and we don't think you have a clue about the shit storm that's about to swallow you whole," said Tiffany. "Did you know reporters are staking out the courthouse?"

  My stomach dropped. "What courthouse?"

  "Beverly Hills. Hoping to catch your judge and ask him about your involvement with a missing woman in Black Pine, Georgia."

  Rhonda hooted. "They said Black Pine on the news. They showed Black Pine Mountain, Black Pine Lake, and the DeerNose factory. We're famous."

  "Oh, God." My knees buckled.

  Tiffany jerked me to standing. "You need help, girl. TMZ got an anonymous tip you were involved in Sarah Waverly’s murder. The tipper claimed because you wanted to work for Nash, you bungled a case and got the wife killed."

  "Holy crap. I'm going to lose my probation." I shook off Tiffany's arm and swung to face them. "Jolene."

  "Jolene?" said Rhonda. "What do you mean Jolene? Is that some kind of code word?"

  "No. Nash's ex-wife, Jolene Sweeney. You met her that first night at the Cove."

  "The skinny bitch, Rhon," Tiffany mumbled past the cigarette dangling from her lips. "Realtor."

  "Jolene threatened to get me sent to a So Cal pen. And she promised to sink Nash. And castrate him."

  "Oh my stars," said Rhonda. "Did she also kill David Waverly?"

  "That's a good question, Rhonda. Maybe. And maybe she had Sarah Waverly murdered.” I skipped the part about hitting me on the head and threatening to kill me.

  Rhonda rounded her eyes at Tiffany.

  "Anyway, that's why Nash went to Savannah without me. Ed Sweeney's getting ready to sail off on a vacation. He was the last known person to talk to David Waverly. Waverly and somebody else embezzled from their company. We think Ed knows something and is using the vacation as an excuse to cool it."

  "Jolene Sweeney is Nash's ex-wife," said Tiffany. "And this Ed and this Jolene are also related?"

  I nodded.

  "And Jolene knew David Waverly, too?"

  "Jolene spent the morning Sarah Waverly disappeared entertaining Waverly in a bikini. Then met with him at the Cove the following night." I quoted Nash, "It's a mare's nest."

  "Shit, girl," said Tiffany. "That ain't a mare's nest, it's a flippin' fire ant hill."

  "It gets better. Jolene, David, Ed, and Bill Dixon are poker buddies at the Club. Three of them work at Black Pine Group where there's now money missing."

  "We need to get you out of here," said Rhonda. "A road trip is the perfect excuse."

  We walked past the line of hair stations. At the sinks, Shelly raised a soapy hand to wave. Rhonda yanked opened the back door and Tiffany pushed me through. The afternoon sunshine heated the broken blacktop in the rear of the strip mall. Tiffany unlocked a maroon sedan trimmed with gold. Rhonda called shotgun and I climbed into the backseat next to a large box with the word "Shithead" written on it.

  "Sorry about the box," said Tiffany. "It's my ex-husband's crap he hasn't picked up. I keep meaning to set it on fire and throw it in his yard and haven't gotten around to it."

  "I thought you were going to rub the box with meat and chuck it in the backyard for his pit bull to chew on," said Rhonda. "I like the fire idea better. It's got more flair. And the neighbors will see it."

  "That's what I thought, too," said Tiffany.

  I stopped worrying about endangering my new friends and started worrying about my new friends endangering my stalker.

  twenty-five

  #RoadTrip #MarinaMayhem

  The drive to Savannah should have taken about four-and-a-half hours. Instead, it took just over three. Tiffany kept her steely gaze on the road, cursing the left lane huggers as she whipped the Firebird around semis and minivans.

  Rhonda DJ'd. Loudly. Consistently. And mostly pop country.

  Gripping Shithead's box to keep it from banging into my shoulder, I swallowed Motrin and reflected on us dying in a horrific accident as a remedy for the pain in my head. Also useful for distracting myself from obsessing over the gun-toting stalker who caused the pain in my head. In between distressing thoughts, I checked for tails. Tails other than the black Sprinter van that occasionally sped alongside with a camera glued to its window.

  Vicki had me followed. No reason to make my friends self-conscious because I had an overbearing mother. Just like when I was sixteen. Even the threat of death by a murderous kidnapper couldn’t get me to stand up to my mother.

  I switched back to focusing on the pain in my head.

  “Here we go, ladies," called Tiffany.

  The exit for Savannah approached. Rhonda turned down the music and we peered out the window, oohing and awing.

  Spanish moss dripped from the spreading branches of oak trees. The clapboard houses and brick buildings aged as we drew closer to the water. Palmetto palms and flowering plants grew along the road until they gave way to reedy marshes. Same state but a totally different view from the mountain and lake vista of Black Pine.

  "So, what's the plan, Grownup Teen Detective?" asked Tiffany. "Besides driving 300 miles to stick it to the man?"

  "Head to the marina. We'll look for Nash's truck and Ed's boat to make sure they're there."

  "You think Nash is going to let you waltz in and hang out with him?"

  "No." My stomach rolled at the thought of what Nash might do. Possibly toss me into the Savannah River. "We're staying clear of Nash. I just want to know where he is. I want to talk to Ed Sweeney by myself if he's still there."

  "What do you hope to learn from Ed that Nash doesn't already know?"

  "I want to know what he and David Waverly talked about that night. Also what Ed knows about Black Pine Group's missing money and if David Waverly was connected. I think Ed will be more forthcoming with me than Nash. Unless Nash has already scared him off."

  "Nash's probably scared him off," said Rhonda. "That guy is scary."

  "Nash scary?" I said. "Crabby, yes. Scary, not so much."

  Rhonda and Tiffany exchanged a look.

  "You've got a thing for him, don't you?" said Tiffany.

  "What? Nash? Thing? No."

  "She does, Tiff," said Rhonda. "She gots it bad. For reals."

  "That's crazy. He's my boss. Sort of. And anyway, he's not interested."

  "How do you know?" Rhonda turned and peered at me around her headrest. "Tiff, something happened. I can tell by the way she's not looking at me."

  "Nothing happened." Nothing except embarrassing myself over and over again with "I think Nash is going to kiss me" incidents. What was I, fifteen?

  "What'd you think, Rhon?" asked Tiffany.

  "Remember when I asked if you had done it with Shithead?" said Rhonda. "Not the last time, but after the second time you left him? And you wouldn't answer me because you had a makeup hookup?"

  "Thanks for reminding me. I blame Cinco de Mayo tequila. "

  "Maizie's got that same look in her eye whenever we talk about her boss."

  "What look?" My face heated. "I'm an actress. I've got lots of looks. You're probably getting my looks mixed up."

  "Sure, Maizie," said Tiffany. "By the way, isn't that Nash's vehicle up ahead?"

  "It is?" I shot forward in my seat. "Where?"

  Tiffany and Rhonda looked at each other and snort laughed.

  "Very funny," I said. "I'm sure the Waverlys appreciate the humor, too. But wait, they can't because they've been murdered and my boss and I are trying to figure out who killed them."

  That shut down the giggling.

  I leaned back and rolled down my window. Fresh salt air washed over my skin, cooling my heated cheeks and ebbing my headache.

  "We're sorry," said Rhonda. "We're just teasing."

  "I'm sorry, too," I said. "It's
nice to have friends who'll give me a hard time and not report it to the tabloids."

  "Aw," said Rhonda. "After you talk to Ed Sweeney, maybe we can have a couple Coronas before heading back to Black Pine. Get us some shrimp and grits. Or a Po Boy and some fried oysters. We could go to the Crab Shack!"

  My stomach gurgled. “That’s a totally awesome idea."

  We crossed another marsh and turned onto a smaller road lined with trees. Large, sprawling mansions peeked between vegetation. The road ended at the entrance to Magnolia Marina.

  Tiffany pulled over next to the Magnolia Marina sign. "Okay chief, what's the plan?"

  The Sprinter van drove past us to find parking.

  "Check on the vehicles first. Nash has a Silverado. And see if any are Pine County plates. Look for rentals. Ed would've driven his rental down here."

  "Aye, aye."

  We crawled through the crowded lot, checking plates.

  "There's a rental." Rhonda nodded at a Navigator. "Black Pine plates. Must be Ed Sweeney's."

  "I don't see Nash's truck." A wave of relief washed over me. Followed by a wave of anxiety. "Let's find Ed's boat. Maybe he's still here."

  We parked and strolled through the parking lot. On the muggy island, my Belstaff motorcycle boots felt clunky and my jeans sticky. Music poured out of the marina’s waterfront bar. Cups and people lined the open railings.

  "Wow. That's a big party for a Wednesday night," I said.

  "You're in Savannah, girl." Rhonda bounced. "That's what I'm talking about. Savannah knows how to have fun."

  "How long is this questioning thing going to take?" asked Tiffany, her eyes on the party.

  "Help me find Ed's boat and I'll take it from there. You two can hang out at the bar. Maybe watch the parking lot for suspicious peeps. Like Jolene. Especially Jolene. And ignore anyone from that big, black van that’s been following us."

  "I love being tailed by the paparazzi," said Rhonda.

  I didn't have the heart to tell her it wasn't paparazzi. I also didn't have the heart to say she and Tiffany might make the next season of All is Albright as extras. Unpaid extras.

  We sauntered on the dock and surveyed the pier. Forty-foot sailboats, luxury speedboats, and catamarans filled this harbor.

  "These boats make Black Pine Lake yachters look like amateurs," said Tiffany.

  "This is going to take a while to find your boat." Rhonda glanced back at Magnolia Marina's bar. "I need to tee-tee."

  "And after four hours in the car, I need a drink,” said Tiffany. "We'll be back in a minute."

  I waved them off, traipsed toward the boardwalk, and began my diligent search for Ed's sailboat. Each dock had an adorable brass lantern hanging from a post, lighting the dock number but not much else. Some yachts had festive party lights, providing me illumination. Most were unlit. At the end of the second pier, the forty-plus-foot A Little Nauti bobbed, tall, dark, and silent. With a quick glance around, I scooted closer to the boat, then braved a shout for Ed.

  No response.

  I waited another moment, considered boarding, and glanced toward the marina. It made more sense to find Ed in the marina restaurant than hanging out alone on his dark boat. He was on vacation. Charming Ed probably sat at the bar with a martini in one hand and his attention on a woman. Maybe his other hand, too.

  A thump caused me to turn back toward the boat.

  "Hello?" I called. "Ed? It's Maizie."

  Nothing. The water sloshed and a neighboring boat butted against the pier.

  I shivered and hurried to the boardwalk. Questioning Ed at a party sounded a lot better than waiting for him to return to a dark and desolate sailboat.

  Back at the bar, I waded through a room full of "Shuck it" shirts and more swishy, maxi dresses. Surprisingly, no Paul Newman eyes hid in the crowd, waiting to pounce on me with the "I told you to hide from the homicidal stalker at home" lecture. I found Tiffany and Rhonda parked at the bar. Spotting me, they waved a mai tai and a Corona.

  "Have you seen Ed?" I asked.

  "You forget, we don't know Ed." Tiffany jerked her chin at the bartender. "But we met Patrick. Say hey, Patrick."

  A young, grinning ginger pushed a beer toward me. "Don't I know you? Are you a member?"

  "We're with Ed Sweeney. Nice to meet you, Patrick." I stood on my toes to look over the crowd. "Girls, give me some news. Have you seen Nash? Or Jolene?"

  "No and no," said Rhonda. "Did you find the sailboat?"

  I nodded. “Nobody's home. I'm going to search the bar. This place is packed."

  "Who are you looking for?" asked Patrick. "If they're a regular, I probably know them."

  I turned toward him. "Ed Sweeney. He sails A Little Nauti. He might have been with another guy. Big. Shredded, but not bulky. A scar on his chin. Brilliant blue eyes and sometimes when he smiles, he shows a dimple. It's really heart stopping. But he rarely smiles so I've doubt you've seen the dimple."

  "No, you don't have a thing for him at all," said Tiffany.

  "I know Ed Sweeney,” said Patrick. “I saw him earlier, actually."

  "When was this?"

  "Couple hours ago."

  "Thanks." I chewed my lip. "Ed could have gone out to dinner in Savannah."

  "I thought we saw his car," said Tiffany. "The rental."

  "Maybe he left with Nash. I should go hang out near the parking lot and wait for him to get back."

  "Don't forget we have two lots," said Patrick. "Other one's on the far end of the harbor, near the slip. Not many people park there unless they're using the slip, but you might check it anyway."

  "Girls, I'm going to check this other parking lot. Thoroughness is key in an investigation."

  "Right." Rhonda's mai tai disappeared through a straw with a powerful squelch. "Let's go."

  Tiffany handed Patrick her bottle and wiped her lips on the back of her hand. "Later."

  I shot Patrick with my finger and signature catch phrase.

  Charlie's Angels we weren't.

  But Patrick didn't know that.

  The second parking lot anchored the far end of Magnolia's piers. A wide boat slip gave the yachters access to the water. And as Patrick guessed, the parking lot here was empty.

  Save for a BMW and a Silverado truck.

  The parking lot was surrounded by trees, obscuring the already murky security lighting and making the scene Savannah Spooky. We hid behind the bathroom at the far end of the parking lot. The bathroom smelled like a Febrezed monkey house, making it hard to think. And breathe.

  "I should have checked to see if there was another parking lot right away. Nash was here the whole time."

  "Nash hasn't seen you yet," said Rhonda. "No way is that guy going to let you skulk around the marina detecting on your own."

  "No kidding," said Tiffany. "That man'd be all over you like white on rice. Probably toss you over his shoulder and throw you in the bed of his pickup."

  An extraordinary image flooded my mind, beginning with the memory of me bouncing against Nash's back, his hand tightening over my bottom.

  Rhonda poked me. "You're doing it again. Focus, Maizie."

  "You're right." I took a deep Ujjayi yoga breath. Inhaling Febrezed monkey house did wonders for shaking off my Nash crushing. Unfortunately, my focus moved from plans of action to hurling. I fought off my shudders and stepped away from the building. "I guess we should check on the BMW."

  We slid out from behind the bathroom and tiptoe-ran toward the vehicles. At the sedan, I squatted behind its trunk and squinted up at the Silverado.

  "No one's in the truck," I whispered. "Thank goodness."

  "This is another rental." Rhonda pointed at the sticker in the window of the BMW.

  "Fulton County plates, though," I said. "Where's Fulton County?"

  "Atlanta," said Tiffany. "That could be anybody."

  "It's weird Nash would park right next to this car in an empty lot." I peered into the sedan's back window. "Everyone keeps their cars so clean here."
r />   Rhonda edged around the car to the passenger window. "There's a coffee mug in the cup holder. It's a Black Pine Club mug. I'd know that little crest anywhere. The golf club sticking out of the lake always looks like the Loch Ness monster to me."

  "But the Black Pine rental’s in the other lot," said Tiffany. "One has to be Ed Sweeney’s."

  "Who else from Black Pine would be down here?" said Rhonda. "Except for us. And Nash. Why would they rent a car?"

  "My friggin’ gun-toting stalker. A good stalker would rent a car to better stalk." I backed away from the BMW and bumped against Nash's Silverado. "They must have followed Nash down here."

  “Gun-toting stalker? Girl.” Rhonda’s hand flew off the vehicle to her throat. "Do you think they got Nash?"

  I leaned over, supporting my heavy head with my hands. "I need to find Nash and Ed Sweeney. The stalker told me to get Nash to drop the case. If he's down here talking to Ed Sweeney, he obviously did not drop the case."

  Rhonda rubbed my back. "It's gonna be okay, Maizie."

  "It's not going to be okay," said Tiffany.

  I looked up.

  Tiffany stood on her toes, looking into the Silverado's window.

  "Why is it not going to be okay, Tiffany?"

  "Because there's a dead guy in Nash's truck."

  twenty-six

  #WeekendAtEd's #HandyCam

  "Ed Sweeney has a bullet hole in his head." I couldn't turn off my babbling mechanism. "Someone shot Ed Sweeney in the head. In Nash's truck. He's never going to get the blood out of those seats."

  "Stop saying that," moaned Rhonda. "We need to call an ambulance."

  "An ambulance ain't going to help this guy," said Tiffany. "I think Maizie's in shock. Her eyes are bigger than her head and she's even whiter than usual."

  "I'm in shock, too," said Rhonda. "I'm never drinking a mai tai again. It's not feeling so good."

  "No puking near the crime scene, Rhon," said Tiffany. "The cops get testy about that."

  I didn't want to know how Tiffany had come across this information, but it did snap me out of my shock. "You're right. This is a crime scene."