15 Minutes: Maizie Albright Star Detective

by Larissa Reinhart

  Remi held the spoon out for the dog to lick. "Is that why Daddy said you had to live with us? Because the devil's got your soul?"

  "No, a judge said I had to live with my father until my probation ends." I considered her point. "Our daddy worries I might be a bad influence on you. But I'm good now. I've had lots of therapy. Tons."

  "My kindergarten teacher had therapy when she hurt her knee."

  "Is she better now?"

  Remi nodded. "But she don't play Monkey in the Middle no more. That's how she hurt her knee. Slid out and fell when Carter tagged her."

  "See, I'm like your teacher. And instead of Monkey in the Middle, I avoid LA to stay healthy."

  "Remington Marie, you better not be feeding the dog again,” thundered a deep voice behind us.

  Remi dropped her spoon, and I slammed my laptop shut.

  I spun in my seat to face Boomer Spayberry. The man stood six foot three, but in my eyes he was closer to seven. The only evidence of his aging in the last ten years was the accumulation of white in his nearly chest-length auburn beard. With his blue eyes and rounded cheeks, someday Boomer Spayberry would make an excellent Santa. He wore a sports coat with his jeans and boots. A sports coat of hand-painted camo and smelling like deer pee.

  "Did you eat your lunch?"

  "Yes, sir," I said. "Carol Lynn made pimento sandwiches, deviled eggs, and banana pudding for dessert. I was pretty hungry because I skipped the biscuits and gravy this morning. I'm watching my carbs. Do you think she could do gluten free biscuits? You can do gluten free just about anything now. I don't want to bother Carol Lynn, but I think I've gained about five pounds in three days."

  "I meant Remi." Boomer sighed. "I'm not worried about you skipping meals, hon'. Remi doesn't have your appetite."

  I cut a glance toward Remi, but she had disappeared under the table. "Well, she'll appreciate that when she gets older. Daddy, do you remember a woman named Sarah Waverly? She worked on the DeerNose Charity Ball as treasurer."

  Boomer stopped his stride toward the kitchen and dipped his hands into his coat pocket to pull out a phone. "Sarah Waverly? I don't rightly remember, but the charity committee ran that thing. I just rubber stamped most of their decisions." He thumbed through his contacts. "There she is. Do you need her number?"

  "I was hoping you could tell me about her."

  "Let's see." He scratched his beard. "Treasurer? All the reports were in good order. I don't really remember the woman, but I was impressed with her accounting. Sometimes these volunteers can barely add two and two. Made a decent profit on the ball for the children's hospital. DeerNose matched the funds and we cut them a pretty check. Yes, ma'am, that was a good fundraiser."

  "Did you notice her cozying up to any men in her group? Did she leave the meetings early or come late? Did she," I paused, then rushed through the words, "come on to you? Like flirt or act suggestive?"

  "Maizie Spayberry. God Almighty, why would you ask me such a thing?"

  "It's nothing personal against you. I'm trying to learn more about Sarah Waverly's character. I'm working on a case."

  "Are you now?" His smile shone through the beard. "There you go, getting on to honest work. I'm proud of you, girl. I was a little worried about you securing a position in ten days. I could get you something at the plant, but don't want to be accused of nepotism. You got the job, then?"

  "Sort of." I gave him my Seventeen magazine cover smile and tried for a vague description. In my experience, particulars led Boomer toward statements such as, "people who act like idiots deserve to spend the night in the pokey without bail."

  "Mr. Nash isn't entirely convinced yet of my abilities or qualifications. I kind of forced myself upon a case, and due to my involvement the investigation heated up. I hope to make things right and, in the end, keep the job."

  "You keep at it, sugar. That's how I was able to make DeerNose the company she is today. Persistence and hard work. Didn't listen to the doubters or the disbelievers. Visited the bank every week until I finally secured my first loan, then personally hand-delivered the check that paid it off. You've got to believe in yourself and work your tail off to achieve your goals."

  "I hope so. I'm worried I've screwed things up for Mr. Nash."

  "You can't even think that way." Boomer shook his phone at me. "See, that's Hollywood talking. You don't believe in yourself because you've been living other people's dreams for too long. And look what they did to you. Turned my beautiful baby girl into some nut-cake living on bean sprouts and poison and running around with a bunch of fruit-loops. They made you into a lowlife criminal who can't even hold her head up around decent folks no more."

  "I can't be around decent folks?"

  "Probably shouldn't until this last TV show wears off. Thank the good Lord that's done. I’ve never been so glad as the day you came home and said that part of your life was all over. Even if it took a judge to do it."

  I chewed on my nail and considered warning him about Vicki. But did it really matter if I wasn't going to do another season? Carol Lynn's cooking probably gave him enough high blood pressure. "I thought you might not approve of me becoming a private investigator."

  "Shoot, I'd be just as happy if you got a job flipping burgers. As long as it's got nothing to do with those Hollywood people, you can do as you please." He glanced at my t-shirt. "'Cept stay off the poles, baby girl. Not that I think you would, but you do get talked into things."

  "Daddy." I flashed another wholesome Seventeen pose, figuring we were on a good roll. "I was wondering if you had a car I could borrow. I no longer have my Jag and need something to get around town."

  He narrowed his eyes. "What happened?"

  "It was a lease. And it was collected, so to speak."

  Boomer shook his head. "That's why I pay for everything in cash. Took out one loan and personally—”

  "I know, sir. You hand-delivered the check to pay it off as soon as you could. But I wasn't exactly raised that way."

  His bright blue eyes pierced me. "It's time you learned, then, isn't it? I love you, Maizie, and that's why you need to tough it out. You're like those indigenous folks the missionaries talk about. The ones who have to be taught how to live in civilization. God bless them, they don't even know how to use a fork, much less get a job. And you were educated. Supposedly."

  "Wha…? I had a tutor. And I went to college." I mentally shook off the analogy. I know he'd seen me use a fork. Plenty. "But Daddy, how can I persist and work my tail off without a car?"

  "I bought you a vehicle for your fourteenth birthday. It's still in the barn where you left it."

  "What vehicle?" My face squinched and I almost forgot to smooth out the wrinkles. "The dirt bike? I can't ride a dirt bike around town."

  "Sure you can. The KLR's street legal. I've kept it maintained. Sometimes Carol Lynn rides it. May need to register it, but that's no big deal."

  I shook my head. "I never learned how to drive it. It scared me."

  "That's because you were fourteen and I got you 250 cc's. Too much power for a city girl. Should've started you at 125. My fault."

  "I doubt I could drive it now. The only time I'm on a bike is for spin class. And those bikes don't have a motor. You have to pedal. Which is the point of spin. Pedaling and getting yelled at by the instructor."

  Boomer folded his arms. "I don't know about spin, but I guess you better learn how to drive that dirt bike. And don't think about touching your trust fund or hitting up Carol Lynn for a vehicle."

  "I'm twenty-five years old, Daddy. This is ridiculous."

  "Your lifestyle was ridiculous, that's why I won't let you touch the DeerNose stocks until you prove your worth. I want you home again, but you've got to learn how to live like real folks."

  I glanced around the palatial cabin and wondered how real was real. Daddy loved to make a point. Although sometimes it felt like I was punished for being raised by his ex-wife.

  "How do I ride a dirt bike in a dress?"

  "Yo
u don't. You need to stop dressing so fancy, anyhow. You don't see Carol Lynn prancing around in those see-it-all dresses."

  Besides DeerNose-wear, Carol Lynn favored Carhartt, Simply Southern, and Dixie Outfitters. And Carol Lynn never pranced. At least I didn't think so. I wasn't even sure what that meant. And considering most women at the Cove did wear "see-it-all dresses," I felt Daddy a tad uninspired about my wardrobe.

  "I guess I better learn how to ride the motorbike." I tuned my voice from glum to chipper, which made me sound like a sliding whistle. "I want to talk to the client on my own. See if I can do some damage control. My publicist taught me a few tricks."

  Boomer brightened. "I'll get Carol Lynn to teach you how to ride. This weekend we can take the bikes and ATVs out on the trails. Remi will love it."

  "Yay," I said in my most convincing “yay” voice. "Off-roading with the fams."

  Good thing I was an actress. Because off-roading did not sound “yay.” It sounded “boo.” Maybe I was too Hollywood for Black Pine. Or too much Vicki's daughter.

  With that disturbing thought, I set off, determined to learn how to ride a dirt bike to work.

  Yay.

  It took an hour, but I finally got the hang of the dirt bike. Because it was kelly green and white—which showed dirt like crazy but maybe that was the point?—I named my bike Lucky. Like a four-leaf clover. And to maintain positive thoughts I wouldn't die driving the thing.

  Remi loved the name Lucky. Said I needed it because I was "about the worst rider" she'd ever seen. Then she told me not to "kill myself" and laughed.

  Carol Lynn gave me a tight smile, said I'd "do fine" and "remember to wear a helmet" and "don't forget about the clutch" and find "better shoes." She was right. My suede Rag & Bone ankle boots didn't go with kelly green and white. They also didn't go with dirt.

  On shoulders of streets in almost-heart-attack-inducing traffic, I putted through town toward the Black Pine Group. On the quieter side streets, my anxiety lessened and I began to enjoy Lucky. Except for the deafening noise, bumps, jolts, and motorized friction that made my legs itchy, my butt hot, and my hands hurt.

  Parking in front of the lodge-y office building, I fought the urge to shove my hands down my jeans and scratch my thighs. I wished I could have dressed nicer for this mission, but dirt bikes did not lend themselves to nicer. After a week of Carol Lynn's cooking, my Isabel Marant Étoile tee had shrunk. And my J Brand Minx jeans could not hide my love of biscuits. But as a fan of Julia Pinkerton's cheer ensemble, I figured David Waverly would not hold my wardrobe against me.

  I planned to humble myself to save Nash's business. When I screwed up—or appeared I had screwed up—my publicist, Sherry, believed in an immediate public apology. In our culture of instantaneous news, a celebrity's speck of dirt morphs from meteor to asteroid in minutes. If not circumvented by a spaceship-sized apology, that chunk of dirt will create a Deep Impact crater in your career.

  But I couldn't fool myself. It wasn't only self-sacrifice that led me to the Black Pine Group office. Besides an apology, I also hoped to learn more about the interest BPG had in buying Nash's business. And what was the deal with Sarah Waverly bringing her husband lunch every day?

  As an ex-actress, I understood motivation. One may accuse TV of using too many stock characters, but there's a reason why they work. Mrs. Waverly's behavior didn’t fit her character type.

  I pushed through the glass door, into the airy lobby, and to the receptionist. She gave me an “I know you” look. Either she recognized Maizie Albright or remembered me as the bimbo in yoga pants from this morning. I decided to be neither and adopted my newest character, grown-up Julia Pinkerton.

  "Is Mr. Waverly in?" I asked.

  She looked at the appointment book, then the phone. Not that they told her anything. She needed time to think. Which meant she recognized me as the bimbo.

  "It's business related."

  "I'll see if he's available?" Her voice rose at the end as if she questioned my request as well as my integrity.

  I strode to a modern black leather couch, dropped the Illesteva backpack that had to replace a purse for dirt bike driving, and gave a disgusted sigh at the financial magazines arranged on the glass coffee table. Not a single InStyle or W among them. Not that I wanted to check on news from home. I watched the receptionist pick up the phone, then set it down as an older man strode to the desk.

  Not David Waverly. This man was tall and lean, with a thick shock of white hair and sun-browned, outdoorsy coloring.

  He glanced in my direction and I detected a double take.

  I smiled.

  For a moment, he stood looking at me and strumming his fingers on the desk. Making up his mind, he strolled over. "Maizie Albright, right? I'm Ed Sweeney."

  I shook his hand and noticed the absence of a ring from habit. "Any relation to Jolene?"

  He gave me an aw-shucks grin and held up his hands. "My niece. I'm really not that old. Are you friends?"

  I hesitated, wondering if I should reveal how I got my job with Nash. "I met her last night at the Cove, and she's helping me with a few things. I moved back a few days ago. Staying with my father."

  "Boomer? We'd love for DeerNose to go public."

  "I'm not involved at all in DeerNose business."

  Laughing, Ed stuck his hands in his pocket and rocked back on his heels. "You caught me. Talking to you is a pleasure, let's keep it that way. No business. What brings you to our firm?"

  "I'm here to speak to Mr. Waverly. More personal than business. I owe him an apology."

  "Really? I can't believe someone like you would ever need to apologize to David. What'd you do? Put a dent in his Vette?" Ed put his hand to his mouth and mock whispered. "I won't tell. Come back and have a drink with me instead."

  "Now really, Mr. Sweeney," I said, knowing to play coy. Charming men were like bottled water in LA. Ubiquitous and obligatory. "It's not even five o'clock."

  "Now really, Miss Albright. Maybe I meant coffee." His smile dimpled. "Call me Ed. Can I call you Maizie? Anyway, David's on a business call. It'll take some time."

  I stood, swinging the backpack over one shoulder. "I'll take coffee. And some news. I heard you want to acquire Nash Security Solutions."

  "We're not acquiring, we'll just broker the deal." He held out his hand, ushering me past reception and toward the back offices. "Jolene brought it up. She's part owner and wants out. Unfortunately, Wyatt Nash can't afford to buy her out. I'm looking into it as a favor for Jolene. It's one of the services we provide. Find a company interested in buying a smaller outfit to enlarge their hold in an industry."

  "Nash's office would get bought out by a larger investigation company?"

  "Sure. They might even keep him to man the office, but he'd most likely need to learn to play by corporate rules."

  I couldn't see Nash playing by corporate rules. I doubted he paid much attention to any rules. Other than the ones he made for me. "I don't think he wants to sell."

  "That's what I've heard. I promised Jolene to look into a buyer and all I can do is present the option to them." He held open the door to his office. A glass wall gave a view of the forested area behind the building. The other wood-paneled walls held framed photos of boat and island scenes.

  I examined a two-foot model of a sailboat. "I guess you're a sailor?"

  He chuckled. "Most in Black Pine claim to be."

  "Do you sail on the lake?"

  "Naw, I like the Caribbean. But then who doesn't?" He grinned. "I'll be back in a minute with your coffee. Don't go anywhere."

  I dropped my backpack in a chair before circling the walls, studying the photos. A few showed candid shots of Ed Sweeney working the rigging on a large sailboat called A Little Nauti.

  His desk didn't hold any personal photos. Only a laptop, a cup of pens, and a leather folder. A neat, orderly man. I thought of Nash's messy desk with folders spilling every which way, and file cabinets used for cord storage and who knew what else.


  Ed returned with a coffee tray and more charm. "I should ask for an autograph, but I've never collected them. More fun to talk to celebrities in person. I heard you were going to film in Black Pine. Is that true?”

  “No, I’m not on the show anymore.” Hadn't Jolene mentioned me working for Nash? "You do know David Waverly hired Nash? Isn't that a conflict of interest?"

  "Not now. Nash isn't on the case, right?" Ed paused to sip his coffee. "I wasn't thrilled when David told me he had hired Nash. He sold it to me as a trial run on Nash's detecting skills. I thought David meant using Nash for due diligence work, not investigating his wife. A little bird told me Nash wanted off the case because he couldn't find any dirt."

  "Who's your little bird?"

  Ed smiled. "Black Pine is growing but still talks like a small town. Anyway, if the investigation is done, that makes the conflict of interest less conflicted."

  "What did Mr. Waverly hope to achieve in employing Mr. Nash?"

  "As far as investigating his wife? Who knows? For the sale, good service would be in Nash's best interest. It's not like Nash Security Solutions has shareholder value or anything. We'd have to rely on personal testimony as well as his financial standing. It's a simple acquisition."

  "And if Nash didn't do well? Would you drop the deal?"

  "Ah. That's more complicated." Ed pursed his lips. "You didn't hear this from me, but you don't screw around with David. With all these questions, I assume you’re friends with Wyatt Nash. I hope he did his best. Whether he wants to sell or not."

  "What would Mr. Waverly do?" I pressed a thumb against my wrist, willing my heart rate to slow.

  "Publicize the mess, blackball Nash, and force him to liquidate. David's specialty is takeovers. David's also got a temper fit to beat the band."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  "I know Nash because of Jolene. Nash is stubborn as an old mule's mother. But if David suspected Sarah of anything..." Ed shook his head. "I never understood why she stays. David's an excellent partner in business, but I'd hate to be married to him."