Dare to read: Нэнси Дрю и Братья Харди
Dare to read: Нэнси Дрю и Братья Харди
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ПРИЯТНОГО ЧТЕНИЯ!
Carolyn Keene
Nancy Drew Girl Detective: Volume Forty-Five
California Schemin’
Copyright, 2011, by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Nancy, Bess, and George get to spend an entire month at a fabulous California beach house. The house is located right on Malachite Beach and their next-door neighbors are Mandy, Mallory, and Mia Casabian, stars of the ultra-hot reality show Chillin’ with the Casabians! What could be more perfect?
But there’s an ugly side to California beach life. Someone is dumping trash on the private beach in front of the house. Could one of the Casabian sisters be up to no good? And what exactly goes on at the mysterious spa, Roland’s Renewal Retreat? Why do all the “clients” appear to be completely enthralled with Roland? It’s starting to look a lot less like a spiritual retreat and more like a cult! Instead of California dreamin’, Nancy and her friends will have to get to the bottom of some California schemin’!
SUNSET SHOCKER
“Girls,” I said, smiling between smoothie sips. “I don’t think we’re in River Heights anymore.” “For sure,” George said. She raised her own raspberry smoothie glass and toasted, “To Malachite Beach!”
“Playground of the rich and famous,” Bess piped up. “And now… us.”
Leaning forward, I clinked glasses with my BFFs, Bess Marvin and George Fayne. The three of us were lounging on a deck overlooking the most awesome moonlit beach we had ever seen in our lives.”
We’d been in Malachite for only a few hours, but I still wanted to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming. Having the run of a California beach house for three weeks was a dream come true.
George leaned back in her chair to prop her sandy feet on the deck’s railing. The first thing she’d done when we got to the house was kick off her sneakers and race down to the beach. Our own private beach.
“Do I know people in the right places or what?” George asked with a grin. “Who can say their mom worked with Stacey Manning, event planner to the stars?”
“Only you, George,” I teased. “And only about a hundred times.”
Bess scrunched her nose as she studied George’s feet. “How about saying ‘pedicure’?”
I laughed as George wiggled her feet in front of a horrified Bess’s face. Our dream vacation was going to be a blast, thanks to Stacey.
Stacey Manning was truly an event planner extraordinaire. She planned parties and events for some of the hottest celebrities in Hollywood and all over the country.
“Did you read about the Sweet Sixteen Stacey threw for those celebrity twins?” I asked. “The one aboard an actual refurbished pirate ship?”
“You mean the party where each guest left with a full-size treasure chest filled with swag?” Bess asked.
“Some swag,” George snorted. “I read online that those treasure chests were packed with MP3 players, diamond charm bracelets, and cameras.”
“Don’t forget the gift cards,” Bess added. “To the hottest restaurants in Hollywood.”
“MP3 players, diamond charms, and cameras?” I said. “Now I know we’re not in River Heights anymore.”
The three of us stopped talking to watch the setting of a deep orange sun. As it slowly sank behind the ocean, I thought of my boyfriend, Ned, back in River Heights, wishing he was at my side. But as much as I missed Ned, I wouldn’t trade this awesome getaway for anything. Even detectives like us needed a little vacay now and then.
“Hey, George,” Bess asked. “Did Stacey lend us this epic house just because she worked with your mom?”
“Not really,” George said. “Offering us the house was Stacey’s way of thanking my mom. When Stacey goofed up during an event years ago, my mom covered for her.”
“Really?” I said, surprised. “I can’t imagine Stacey goofing up any party.”
“What did she do?” Bess wanted to know.
“Her first day on the job, Stacey placed an ice sculpture next to the flambé station,” George said. “The sculpture had a meltdown, and so did their boss.”
“Not a good way to start a job,” I said.
“Was Stacey fired?” Bess asked.
“She might have been if Mom hadn’t taken the blame,” George explained. “Mom always had a soft spot for newbies.”
She stretched back lazily in her chair before adding, “Mom hadn’t heard from Stacey in years. So she was totally surprised when Stacey called last week.”
“Better late than never,” I said, smiling.
Stacey had given us the use of not only her house, but her car, private beach, and a stocked fridge.
But as cool as our temporary Malachite house was, we were in California — and that meant places to go and things to see.
“Don’t forget, you guys,” I reminded. “I want to do all the touristy stuff while we’re here. Universal Studios, Venice Beach —”
“Rodeo Drive,” Bess cut in. She flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder and smiled. “We have to do Rodeo Drive as soon as possible.”
George rolled her eyes at the mention of L.A.’s famous and expensive shopping district.
“Bess,” George complained. “Stacey Manning left us her house. Not her credit cards.”
“Okay, Miss Low Maintenance.” Bess sighed. “What do you plan to do — stare at a computer all day, as usual?”
“Actually,” George said, turning toward the ocean, “I’d like to go surfing.”
Surfing was definitely on my list. Especially since Stacey had left us three new boards.
“Maybe I’ll tag along, George,” I decided.
“While you work the California waves,” Bess said, “I’ll work on my California tan.”
Tan? I stared at Bess as if she had three heads. “Bess, you know baking in the sun can be dangerous, even with globs of sunscreen on.”
This time Bess stared at me as if I had three heads.
“Sunless spray-tanning,” Bess pronounced the words carefully. “Remember, this is L.A.”
It sure was. As I glanced up at the darkening Los Angeles sky, even the stars seemed brighter. And speaking of stars…
“Do you think we’ll see any major celebs while we’re in Malachite?” I asked.
“Hope so.” Bess smiled.
“Not me,” George said before taking a noisy slurp of her smoothie. “Who cares about celebrities unless they invented Facebook or Twitter?”
Bess stood up and leaned over the railing. She twisted her head to check out the houses along the beach.
“Maybe, just maybe,” she said slowly, “some of those famous celebrities are living near us.”
Bess could have been right. Stacey’s house wasn’t as huge or grand as the other mansions or villas. But it was on the most famous star-studded beach in the world.
“I’m not sure of our other neighbors,” I said. “But that mansion right next door seems to be some kind of spa.”
Bess spun around. “Did you say spa?” she demanded. “How do you know there’s a spa next door?”
“I read the sign as our taxi drove by,” I said. “It said something like ‘Roland’s Renewal Retreat and Spa.’”
“Talk about having a photographic memory,” George said, smiling at me. “I’m impressed.”
“So am I — about the spa,” Bess said excitedly. “You guys, we have to go there at least once for mani-pedis.”
“As if I’m the spa type,” George scoffed. “What would I need a manicure for?”
“For starters” — Bess picked up George’s hand — “they can probably scrape those calluses off your fingertips. The ones you get from all that keyboarding.”
“Keyboard” was George’s magic word, as was any word that had to do with computers — which is why it was still so hard to believe Bess and George were cousins. Not only did they look totally different, everything they did and liked was as different as Malachite Beach and River Heights.
Bess, George, and I hung out on Stacey’s deck until the cool Santa Ana winds made us shiver.
“Time to go inside,” I said, standing up.
“I’m coming too.” Bess pulled out her phone and checked the time. “I have to catch my favorite guilty pleasure on TV.”
“Who cares about TV when we’re on vacation?” George asked.
“Me,” Bess replied. “There’s no way I’m going to miss Chillin’ with the Casabians.”
I shuddered but not from the cool night air. I knew Chillin’ with the Casabians was a reality show about three super-glam sisters famous for being famous. I also knew from experience that reality shows were bad news.
“Oh, Bess, wasn’t being on Daredevils bad enough?” I groaned.
“Yeah,” George said. “We almost got killed working on that case — and being on that show.”
But Bess shook her head and smiled.
“Chillin’ with the Casabians isn’t like Daredevils. It’s good, goofy fun,” she insisted. “And you just never know what Mandy, Mallory, or Mia will do — or wear — next.”
“Or what dumb thing they’ll say,” George said.
“Does that mean you’re going to watch Chillin’ with the Casabians with me?” Bess teased George.
“I’m going on Stacey’s computer,” George said. “I’m pretty sure I can make it run even faster than it already does.”
I stopped in my tracks to stare at George.
“Excuse me, Queen of the Cyberzons,” I joked. “But we’re on vacation, and vacation means no work. Period.”
Bess cast a sly glance my way. “No work?” she asked. “Does that mean no mysteries, either?”
Good question. But as much as I loved solving all kinds of mysteries, I also loved having a little time off.
“No mysteries,” I said firmly. “I don’t know about you, but this girl detective is hanging up her spyglass for this vacation.”
“You might as well.” George shrugged. “What’s the worst thing that could happen in a place like this?”
Bess pointed to her wind-whipped hair and said, “A bad hair day?”
I gazed out at the moonlit waves rolling gently onto the beach. Bess and George were right. Malachite Beach was nothing but peaceful and serene. No wonder celebrities and millionaires called it home. Who wouldn’t want to live in such a perfect place? But just as I was about to turn toward the door —
FLASH!!
“Omigod!” I gasped as bright red flames shot up on the beach. “You guys — our beach is on fire!”
UNINVITED GUESTS
“How can a beach be on fire?” George asked. But when she saw the flames, her dark eyes popped wide open. “Whoa! Somebody must have tossed a cigarette butt on some driftwood.”
“Call the fire department,” I said, trying hard to stay calm.
“On it,” Bess said, digging into her pocket. “I’ll text 911.”
“Don’t text, call!” I said, feeling my heart pounding in my chest.
George leaned against the railing for a closer look. She then spun around and grabbed Bess’s arm just as she was about to press the last digit.
“Don’t!” George told Bess.
“Why not?” Bess cried.
“Because it’s not that kind of fire,” George said quickly.
Bess and I turned toward the flames still shooting up from the sand.
“Um, flames… smoke?” I said.
“Looks like a fire to me,” Bess insisted.
“It is a fire,” George explained. “A bonfire.”
Bess and I looked again. Squinting, I made out four silhouettes sitting on blankets near the fire. The bonfire.
“You’re right!” Bess smiled with relief as she pocketed her phone.
“But this is Stacey’s beach. Her private beach,” George reminded us.
She was right. A private beach meant no trespassing. And setting up a bonfire on private property was definitely trespassing.
“Come on,” I said, waving my hand in the direction of the beach. “We’d better find out who’s down there.”
Bess, George, and I climbed down from the deck and walked across the sand toward the bonfire crackling near the shore. As we got closer, the four figures came into view — two girls and two guys, probably in their late teens or early twenties. The girls had long, dark hair and were wearing hoodies. Not your typical sweatshirt hoodies, but ones studded with crystals and trimmed with faux fur. Two picnic baskets overflowed with breads, fruit, and drinks.
We stopped about ten feet from the fire. The partyers were shrieking playfully as flaming embers shot in their direction.
“Stiletto-heeled boots?” I whispered as one girl kicked her feet in the air. “On the beach?”
“Yeah, but check them out,” Bess said about the guys, who had long, layered hair. “They’re total hunks, no matter what they’re wearing.”
“Who cares what they look like?” George said. “They’re still partying on a private beach. Who do they think they are?”
Bess shook my arm as she gave a little gasp. “I think I know who they are,” she said. “But it’s too dark to be sure.”
A bright light flashed in the corner of my eye. I turned to see a woman wearing a ball cap and carrying a clipboard rushing toward the bonfire. Stumbling behind her were two guys, both wearing backward caps. One held a TV camera on his shoulder. The other gripped a dangling mike.
“They’re filming something?” I wondered out loud. “On the beach?”
“Listen up, everybody!” the woman called to the group. “I want Mandy and Mallory to argue over who forgot the marshmallows. Then we’ll do a one-shot of Mandy complaining how Mallory always forgets everything.”
“Who says I forget everything?” one of the girls argued. “Why do I always have to be the airhead, Bev?”
“Because you are?” the other girl teased.
“It is them,” Bess hissed excitedly. “It’s Mandy and Mallory Casabian. The guys are their boyfriends, Devon and Ty.”
“Casabian?” George asked. “From Chillin’ with the Casabians?”
“What a coincidence, right?” Bess whispered. “Mandy is the oldest and a total know-it-all. Devon and Ty are surfers and aspiring Abercrombie models. Devon already greets customers at the door.”
I cast a disgusted glance Bess’s way. The last thing I wanted in our own backyard was a reality show. Especially after what we’d gone through on Daredevils not long ago.
“Bess, it’s a reality show. Those girls are the furthest things from reality I can think of,” I said.
“I don’t care who they are,” George said in a much louder voice. She began walking ahead of us toward the bonfire. “Even if they were the March sisters from Little Women — they still can’t trespass on private property.”
“George, wait!” Bess called as she hurried after her cousin. I was about to do the same when I was blinded by the camera lights.
“Hey!” As I shaded my eyes with my hand, I saw Bev walking toward us.
“Whoever said that line about Little Women,” Bev said, her eyes darting from me to Bess to George, “can you repeat it to Mandy and Mallory so I can get it on camera?”
“So are we still rolling, Bev?” the cameraman asked.
“What do they pay you for, Wayne?” Bev shouted. “Of course we’re rolling.”
“We are not rolling!” I snapped. Making the universal throat-slashing signal with my hand, I began shouting, “Cut! Cut! Cut!”
“Excuse me, Red,” Bev yelled, charging toward me. “Only the director is allowed to say ‘cut.’”
“Union rule.” Wayne nodded.
“Nancy’s hair is strawberry blond,” George said. “And I have a rule too. No trespassing on my private beach.”
By now the sisters and their boyfriends were openly gaping at us.
“Your beach?” Mallory asked. Her hair swung back and forth as she shook her head. “Nuh-uh. This is Stacey Manning’s beach.”
“We thought Stacey was still away,” Mandy said coolly. “She is, isn’t she?”
“How do you know Stacey Manning?” I asked.
The sisters traded looks as if to say, Du-uh. Then they turned back to us.
“We live next door,” Mandy said. “Our sister Mia didn’t want us making noise on our own beach, so we came here. She is such a drag.”
“Stacey is away on business,” George explained. “But she put us in charge of her house and her beach. That means —”
“Wait a minute, did you say next door?” Bess asked the sisters. “Does that mean we’re staying right next to Villa Fabuloso?”
“Villa Fabuloso?” George repeated.
“The one and only,” Mandy said in a bored voice. A tiny Yorkshire terrier hopped out of her beach bag. The Yorkie wagged his tail at us and barked.
“Peanut Butter!” Bess declared. “Hi, Peanut.”
This time I rolled my eyes. I always knew Bess was starstruck. But this was more like being struck hard on the head with a star-studded mallet.
Waving my friends away from the blanket, I murmured, “Meeting.”
“What’s up?” Bess whispered. “You said you wanted to meet some celebs in Hollywood. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember,” I whispered back. “But I don’t want to be in another reality show. Ever.”
“And I promised Stacey I’d take care of her beach,” George said in a voice louder than a whisper. “That means no intruders, celebrities or not.”
“Oh, come on, George,” Bess urged. “Let’s let the sisters and their boyfriends stay on the beach, at least tonight.”
With a little shrug, she added, “And who knows? We may even get to chill with the Casabians.”
“Not if it means being on another reality show,” I insisted.
“I’m telling them to pack up,” George said. She started walking forward until Bess grabbed her arm.
“George, for all we know Stacey and the sisters are friends,” Bess said. “You wouldn’t want to spoil their relationship, would you?”
“How do we know they’re good neighbors?” George demanded.
“We don’t,” Bess said. “But are you willing to take that chance?”
George stopped walking. Her shoulders dropped before she finally said, “Okay. They can stay, but just tonight.”
“And no cameras on us,” I added.
The three of us walked past Bev to the blanket.
“You can stay on the beach tonight,” George told them. “Just don’t make a lot of noise, because we’re still jet-lagged. Make sure you clean up and take everything with you when you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Mandy said, pretending to salute.
“And please don’t film us without our permission,” I said, giving Bev a sideways glance.
“Whoa!” Ty stood up and ran his fingers through his hair. “Did you say you’re jet-lagged? Like, where are you guys from?”
“River Heights,” Bess said with a smile. “It’s in the Midwest.”
“The Midwest?” Devon piped up. “You mean like near Santa Cruz?”
“Give me a break,” I could hear George say under her breath.
“River Heights is in the Midwest — of America,” Bess started to explain. “Right near —”
“Places, everybody!” Bev shouted, making us jump. “Let’s pick up with the marshmallow issue. Mandy, I want you to really want those marshmallows!”
“But I hate marshmallows,” Mandy whined. “So many carbs.”
“I hate this,” I whispered to Bess and George. “Let’s go back. Please?”
We left the sisters and their show behind as we made our way back to the house.
“What’s the other sister, Mia, like?” George asked. “Is she anything like Mindy and Valerie?”
“Mandy and Mallory!” Bess corrected. “Mia’s the complete opposite. She’s the youngest and considered the plain one, even though she’s really cute.”
“Bess, you know way too much about these girls,” George said.
“I’m not finished about Mia,” said Bess. “Mandy and Mallory are always trying to give Mia a make over, but Mia would rather hang out in sweats and actually read a good book.”
“In that case,” I said with a smile, “I think I like Mia best.”
“Oh, Mia is the brainy one, all right,” Bess agreed. “But as the other sisters say, what good are brains if nobody sees them?”
“You’re kidding me, right?” George cried. “Bess, you’re out of control.”
She ran up the steps of the deck and into the house. Bess and I stopped on the deck to shake the sand off our flip-flops.
“Admit it, Nance,” Bess said as she tapped her flip-flop on the railing. “Meeting stars in Hollywood is a lot more exciting than polar bears in Antarctica.”
“I don’t know about that,” I replied. “But it is kind of cool having celebrities right next door. Even if they are reality stars.”
Bess playfully swung a flip-flop at me while we crossed the deck into the house. I could hear Mandy shouting something about marshmallows as I closed the door and locked up.
Bess turned on the last few minutes of Chillin’ with the Casabians, still excited to have met them. George was too tired to work on Stacey’s computer. My jet lag was kicking in too, so I said good night and headed to the guest room I had picked when we arrived.
It didn’t take long for me to fall asleep in the huge four-poster bed with squishy down pillows and comforters. But sometime in the middle of the night I was awakened by the sound of voices. Singing voices from outside.
The room was still dark. I looked at the clock on the night table. Three thirty a.m.! What was going on?
“Are they going to party all night?” I groaned to myself. I wrapped a pillow around my head and ears. Luckily, it was as thick as it was soft, so I had no trouble falling back to sleep.
Early the next morning I woke up to the California sun shining through the sheer white curtains. I was ready to start my first full day in L.A. We’d start the day with a short run, then decide what else to do.
“Let’s run along the water,” Bess suggested as we climbed down from the deck onto the beach. “This way we can check out the other houses.”
“And more celebrities?” I teased.
“Well, I’m ready for anything today,” George said. “I slept like a log.”
“Not me,” I admitted. “Well, at least not the whole night.”
“How come?” Bess asked. She used the hem of her T-shirt to wipe a smudge off her sunglasses.
“I heard some kind of singing that woke me up at three thirty in the morning,” I explained.
“Singing?” Bess asked, slipping on her shades.
“Or some kind of chanting coming from outside,” I said. “My room faces the beach, so it was probably the Casabians and their boyfriends. Our luck we have to have a reality show filming right next door.”
“I told those sisters to keep the noise down and to clean up.” George was livid.
“You also told them it would be their last night on the beach,” I reminded her. “So let’s just forget it.”
George sighed as we began jogging toward the water. “You’re right,” she said. “Why should a bunch of Hollywood airheads ruin my vacation?”
“George!” Bess complained.
But as we neared the water, we froze in our tracks. The bonfire, beach blankets, and picnic baskets were gone.
In its place was trash — tons of it!
SHORE DISASTER
We stared at the mess, too shocked to speak. Finally George said, “Do you believe what they did to Stacey’s beach?” “Gross,” Bess said, shaking her head.
I was appalled too as I gazed at a sea of aluminum cans, plastic bottles, sandwich crusts, even empty makeup containers.
“Not only is it disgusting,” I pointed out, “most of this stuff is probably toxic and dangerous to the environment.”
To prove my point, I picked up a plastic six-pack holder. “Some poor gull can get his neck caught in one of these,” I explained. “Or swallow a ring from one of those soda cans.”
“I don’t get it,” George said. “I thought Hollywood celebrities were all about being green these days. I mean, even their pets eat organic foods.”
“Can you believe this?” Bess said. “Our first full day of vacation and it’s already interrupted.”
“Thanks to Mandy and Mallory,” I said. “I told you I didn’t want to have anything to do with this show.”
“Well, those sisters are about to hear from us,” George said. “It’s time to pay a little visit to this Villa Fabuloso.”
George pulled out her phone to snap a picture of the trash. “Just in case they need to be reminded,” she huffed.
I could see by Bess’s face that she was worried. Probably about upsetting her television idols.
“George is right, Bess,” I told her. “If the sisters dumped the trash, then they have to own up to it, and clean it up.”
“But what if this is a setup for their TV show?” Bess asked. “What if they left the trash on the beach on purpose? So we would go over there and make a scene?”
“Oh, wow,” I said. “I never thought of that.”
“I don’t care why the trash is here,” George said. “Just that it is here.”
George started toward Villa Fabuloso, glanced over her shoulder, and said, “Coming with me?”
“Why not?” Bess sighed. “Even if we’re humiliated, I’ll get to see Villa Fabuloso.”
I decided to go too. If there was a camera crew waiting for us, I’d deal with it. The sisters’ house was accessible only by walking along the beach. I felt security cameras eyeing us as we turned onto the sugary-white beach of Villa Fabuloso.
“Funny,” George said with a hint of sarcasm. “Their beach isn’t trashed.”
She was right. All I could see were striped beach chairs and an unattended refreshment bar.
“This place is exactly like its name,” Bess swooned as we followed a stone path from the beach to the house. “Fabulous.”
It sure was. The sisters’ three-story house looked more like a mansion, with massive white pillars flanking the front entrance. The scent of exotic flowers wafted to my nose as we passed a lush garden surrounding a stone fountain.
“Where do you think the swimming pool is?” I asked.
“Which one?” George snorted.
We stepped up to a pink front door. On it was a heart-shaped brass door knocker. George chose to ring the doorbell instead.
“Oh, fun.” Bess giggled. “The bell plays the theme song from Chillin’ with the Casabians.”
I gritted my teeth as the door swung open, expecting to be blinded by camera lights. Instead the door was opened by a middle-aged woman wearing a crisp white uniform.
I glanced over her shoulder into the house. No camera. No lights. No director. Whew!
“Good morning,” she said with a big smile. “What can I do for you?”
I smiled back at the woman I guessed was the housekeeper. Seeing her made me miss our own housekeeper, Hannah Gruen. Ever since my mom died when I was three, Hannah had been more like a mother to me than a housekeeper. She always wore comfy pantsuits and dresses, never a uniform.
“Good morning,” I said. “We’re guests of Stacey Manning next door, and we’d like to see Mandy and Mallory.”
The housekeeper glanced at the six-pack holder still in my hand and said, “I’m afraid Mandy and Mallory are still asleep.”
“Too much partying last night?” George asked before Bess gave her a swift elbow jab.
“I heard that,” a voice piped up.
The housekeeper stepped away from the door to make room for Mandy, still in pajama pants, a cami, and fuzzy slippers. I couldn’t help but notice how much prettier she looked without gobs of makeup.
“Ursula, can you make a full pot of coffee, please?” Mandy croaked, her voice still raspy from sleep.
“Certainly,” Ursula said, and quickly left.
Mandy blinked her sleepy eyes at us.
“So… what’s up?” she asked.
George pulled out her phone and waved the picture she’d taken in front of Mandy’s face.
“This is what’s up,” George declared. “We woke up this morning to a ton of trash on Stacey’s beach.”
Mandy blinked at the picture, yawned, then murmured, “Really?”
I stared at Mandy in disbelief. Not only was she careless — she was callous!
“Yeah, really,” I said, holding up the six-pack holder. “We told you guys to pick up your things before you left last night.”
“Our crew picked up everything,” Mandy insisted. “At least that’s what they were doing when Mallory and I left the beach last night.”
“They did?” Bess asked.
Mandy yawned again. She continued, “Mallory and I didn’t stay much longer after you left. Just long enough to tape the marshmallow scene and that’s it.”
I remembered the singing I’d heard early this morning. Was that what they called not staying late?
“What time did you leave?” I asked, cocking my head.
“What are you — some kind of detectives?” Mandy asked. “It was right before midnight, since we had some serious clubbing to do. The Bill E. Boyz were promoting their new CD on Sunset.”
Was Mandy for real? Or was this clubbing excuse just some made-up alibi?
“If you guys didn’t leave the garbage on the beach last night,” I asked, “then who did?”
Mandy groaned under her breath. “Look, I don’t have time to argue,” she said. “I have to eat breakfast before the crew gets here.”
Bess was looking past Mandy into the house. “Do you think we can meet Mia?” she asked with a smile. Leave it to Bess — she never gives up.
I was surprised to see Mandy’s face drop at the mention of Mia. “You’ll have to go to Roland’s Renewal Retreat and Spa for that.”
“You mean the spa at the end of the beach?” Bess asked. “I thought Mia wasn’t into spas. What’s she doing there?”
“Mallory and I sent Mia to the spa a few weeks ago, for the complete makeover,” Mandy said.
“Another brilliant idea for your show?” George asked.
“No, I’m afraid not,” Mandy answered. “The Renewal Retreat doesn’t allow cameras, not even personal ones. It wasn’t easy getting Mia to go,” she went on. “She finally went over for the full-day package.”
“How did she like it?” Bess asked.
“Well, she must have liked it.” Mandy frowned. “The full-day package turned into a few weeks.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, trying to understand. “You mean she’s still at the spa?”
Mandy nodded, and then —
“I need coffeeeeeee!” another voice shouted from upstairs. “Somebody make a humongous pot, please. The extra-strong kind!”
“It’s already on, Mallory!” Mandy yelled up the stairs. She turned back to us with what seemed like a fake smile. “And don’t worry, because we won’t be partying on your beach anymore.”
“But what about the garbage?” I asked. “You’re the only ones —”
“Buh-bye,” Mandy cut in before shutting the door in our faces. We stood staring at it for a few seconds before turning and walking away.
“So what do you think?” George asked as we walked away from the door. “Was Mandy telling the truth about the trash or what?”
I tried to remember everything Mandy had told us. What time they left the beach, where they’d gone.
“The noises I heard were way after midnight,” I pointed out. “If Mandy lied about when they left, she could be lying about the trash, too. I don’t trust them.”
“If only we could ask Mallory some questions,” Bess said. “After her coffee, of course.”
“We don’t have to bother,” George said as we turned onto our own beach. “I’m pretty sure Mandy lied and that the sisters are guilty as charged.”
I was pretty sure they were too. But it was no use crying over dumped trash.
“It’s still our beach, at least for now,” I said. “Let’s clean it ourselves and get it over with so we can start our vacation.”
“Then Rodeo Drive!” Bess declared with a smile.
“I think I’d rather pick up trash,” George joked. “But not with our bare hands. Maybe Stacey has some work gloves we can wear.”
“Let’s check the shed over there,” I said, pointing to a small wooden hut near the side of the house.
As we headed toward the shed, I remembered what Mandy had said about Mia.
“How can Mia go to a spa for a day and end up staying for weeks?” I wondered.
“Maybe she wanted to get away from her sisters,” George said.
“Or maybe she decided she likes being pampered from head to toe,” Bess said.
George rolled her eyes. “Another Hollywood princess. Just what this town needs.”
As we approached the shed, I smiled when I saw the three surfboards leaning against the outside. I couldn’t wait to surf some real Malachite waves. Or at least try to.
“Check out all those tools,” Bess said when we opened the door. Wrenches, screwdrivers, and drills hung on the walls. “Imagine all the things I could fix and build.”
“How about a robot to clean up the beach?” I joked.
We searched the shed, only to find more tools, a shovel, a lawn mower, and some folded beach chairs. But then George found something in the back that caught her eye: a black wet suit hanging from a hook on the wall.
“I didn’t think Stacey was the deep-diving type,” George said.
“She must be.” I pointed to an oxygen tank, goggles, and flippers underneath the suit on the floor. “She’s got all the gear.”
“Maybe one of her fabulous parties was under the sea,” Bess suggested.
After exploring a little more, we found what we were looking for: a box filled with canvas work gloves, and a roll of jumbo garbage bags.
“We’re all set,” I said. “Now let’s hit the beach and get to work.”
The three of us carried our cleanup gear to the trash pile on the beach. As we picked up junk, we couldn’t believe what the sisters had left behind: empty face cream containers, used makeup compacts, lipsticks, nail files, and cotton balls, along with empty cans, bottles, and gross stuff like chicken bones, browned and soggy lettuce leaves — even used dental floss. Gross.
“How can four people make such a mess?” Bess said. “They must have invited some friends after we went to bed.”
“It sure sounded like more than four people last night,” I agreed. “Those Casabians better not ruin this vacation for us. We hardly ever go away.”
But as I picked up an empty nail polish bottle, I noticed something else. All the makeup containers seemed to have something in common: a yellow sunburst design on the package.
“It looks like some kind of brand logo,” I said, pointing it out to Bess and George. “It’s on half of these bottles and jars.”
“I’ve never seen that brand before,” Bess admitted. “Whatever it is, the sisters must really like it.”
“Eureka!” George joked. “Step aside, famous archeologists of the world. We’ve just dug up the Casabian sisters’ beauty secrets.”
I picked up a handful of makeup containers and dropped them into a plastic bag. “Why would Mandy and Mallory need so many beauty products at a bonfire?” I wondered.
“Nancy, there’s not a mystery everywhere you look,” Bess teased. “The sisters were filming a TV show. They have to be ready for their close-ups at all times.”
We stopped cleaning to gaze at the spa. Guests were meditating on the beach. A huge yacht was anchored about two hundred feet from the shore.
“I wonder who that belongs to,” I said.
“It’s probably for the guests,” George replied.
“Or it could belong to that guy Roland who owns the spa,” Bess figured. “Business must be good.”
There was one more thing on the beach that caught my eye. It was a large tarplike tent covered with thick blankets. “That’s a weird-looking tent,” I said, pointing it out. “What do you think it’s for?”
“Camping? Parties?” Bess shrugged.
“Covered with blankets?” I wondered.
Suddenly —
“OWWWWW!!”
Bess and I whirled around to see George hopping up and down on one foot.
“George, what happened?” I asked.
George clutched her other ankle. “I stepped on something sharp. It went underneath my sandal and pricked the side of my foot.”
“Maybe a jellyfish stung you,” Bess said.
Bess could be right, I thought. But when I saw a stream of bright red blood beneath George’s ankle, I changed my mind.
“That’s no sting,” I decided.
“Well, it was either that soda can ring, broken glass,” George said, her face turning ghost white, “or… or…”
“Or what?” I asked.
“Or that hypodermic needle?” George gulped.
TOXIC TROUBLE
My blood froze as I stared at the hypodermic needle sticking halfway out of the sand. It still contained some kind of liquid, which worried me the most. What if it was toxic? What if it went straight into George’s bloodstream?
“George, do you really think it was that needle you stepped on?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “I guess it could have been any of those sharp things.”
“We have to get to a hospital, just in case,” I said. “Fast!”
Bess shared my panic. She held on to George to keep her from fainting. “I’ll help you to the car,” she told her cousin. “Lean on me and keep hopping.”
“I’m hopping, I’m hopping,” George declared. She leaned on Bess, then hopped alongside her as they made their way up the beach.
“I’ll be right there,” I yelled as I pulled off my sweatshirt. “I want to bring this with us to the hospital.”
“What for?” George called over her shoulder.
“So the doctors can send it to a lab for testing,” I answered.
I wrapped my sweatshirt several times around my hand, even though I still had gloves on, almost up to my elbow. Then, very carefully, I scooped up the needle and some surrounding sand into a garbage bag.
Holding the bag out in front of me, I made my way up the beach and around the house to the driveway.
“Hurry up, let’s go!” Bess said as I slid into the driver’s seat. She had already entered the address of the nearest hospital on the GPS. George sat silently in the backseat as I followed the directions.
“This is not funny,” I said as I drove. “Who would think the Casabian sisters could be doing drugs?”
“Unless they’re plastic surgery fillers,” Bess said. “Let’s face it. Those sisters are pretty augmented.”
“Can we please shut up about the Casabian sisters and get me to the hospital?” George cried.
“Turn right at the next light,” the perky GPS voice said as I steered the car away from the house. “Then proceed a quarter of a mile.”
“Jeez,” George grumbled. “What a way to start a vacation!”
Malachite General was only ten minutes away from the house. Bess helped George through the emergency room doors while I followed, the bagged hypodermic needle in hand.
“Please let it only be Botox,” I whispered to myself.
A woman behind the desk wasted no time taking George’s medical information. A physician’s assistant soon joined George to check out her cut.
I knew Bess was worried about George when she didn’t flirt with the cute PA. I was worried too. George might not have been my cousin, but she was still one of my two best friends.
“So what do you think I stepped on?” George asked. She tilted her head to read the doctor’s name tag. “Dr. Viola?”
“Was it a hypodermic needle?” Bess asked, her voice cracking.
“I don’t think it was a needle,” Dr. Viola said. “But I’ll have to examine it closer to know for sure.”
“You can tell just by looking at the cut?” George asked.
“Most of the time,” the doctor said with a reassuring smile.
“Well, just in case it was the needle — and we hope it isn’t,” I said, holding up the garbage bag, “I brought it in for testing.”
“That… and the whole beach,” George blurted.
“Huh?” I glanced down and felt my cheeks burn. Pouring out of a tiny rip in the bag was a steady stream of sand.
“Oops,” I groaned.
“Hey, this is Malachite Beach.” Dr. Viola chuckled. “But you did the right thing by bringing it in. We’ll send it to the lab for testing and let you know the results.”
Dr. Viola and a nurse helped George into one of the examining rooms. Bess and I found two empty chairs in the waiting room and sat down.
Bess grabbed a fashion magazine from the table and quickly flipped through it. After a few seconds, she tossed it aside.
“Nancy, what if the stuff in the needle was toxic?” Bess asked. “George is my cousin — even if nobody believes it.”
“George is in good hands, Bess,” I assured her. “Although now I think we should have covered our hands and our feet when we were cleaning up.”
“It was an accident.” Bess sighed. “A terrible accident.”
But deep down inside, I wondered. What if the needle on the beach was no accident at all? What if it had been left there on purpose?
“Bess?” I asked slowly. “I hate to bring this up now, but what if Mandy and Mallory left that needle on the beach to provoke us?”
“Provoke us?” Bess repeated.
“You know,” I said. “To get back at us for giving them a hard time when we found them on our beach?”
“Well, if it was meant to hurt one of us,” Bess said, “they succeeded.”
I was about to grab a news magazine when someone shouted, “Somebody help. Please!”
Bess and I turned in the direction of the voice. A woman who looked about thirty was helping a younger guy through the door. His face was pale, yet beaded with sweat.
“Hang in there, Brad,” the woman said.
“I’m… okay,” the guy panted as he leaned on the woman. “Let’s go back, Danielle. Please.”
Bess and I watched as a doctor hurried over. She shone what looked like a penlight into his open mouth.
“I’m Dr. Wainwright,” she said, her brows furrowed with concern. Do you know what happened?”
I was curious myself. But instead of answering the doctor, the two of them exchanged silent glances.
“Do you have any idea?” Dr. Wainwright asked again.
“Um… too much sun?” Danielle answered.
“We’ll see,” Dr. Wainwright said. She helped Brad into a chair. “You’ll need to fill out some forms at the desk while I find an examining room. It shouldn’t take long.”
The doctor walked past me and Bess.
“Can too much sun do that?” Bess whispered.
“Not according to the doctor,” I murmured.
What struck me as weird was how reluctant they were to answer. As if they had something to hide. As if they — and then I stopped myself. Why couldn’t I turn off my radar? This wasn’t even my business!
At that moment the door to the emergency room slid open once again. A tall blond woman dressed in a white pantsuit practically marched inside, straight over to Danielle.
“Danielle, why on earth did you bring Brad here?” the woman demanded in a Scandinavian-sounding accent. “We have perfectly good natural remedies at the retreat to help him.”
“Sorry, Inge,” she said, and dropped the forms on the desk. “I panicked when Brad almost passed out.”
Bess and I were stunned when this Inge lady walked over to Brad and pulled him out of the chair.
“My car is out front,” Inge said, leaning Brad on Danielle’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“Do you see that?” Bess asked as the three headed toward the door. “She’s taking that poor guy out of the hospital.”
I couldn’t believe it.
“Excuse me,” I called to Inge. “The doctor was just going to check him out.”
Inge barely glanced at me before the door slid shut behind them. Seconds later Dr. Wainwright returned, looking for Brad.
“They just left,” I said with a shrug. “With some blond woman.”
“Left?” Dr. Wainwright said. “That’s weird.”
“That was weird,” Bess agreed as I sat down. “Why were those two so scared of that woman?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “But she did mention something about a retreat. She had some yellow emblem on her pocket, but I couldn’t make out what it was.”
“Wait a minute — a retreat?” Bess asked, her eyes wide. “What if that creepy Inge works next door to us at Roland’s Renewal Retreat and Spa?”
“What are the odds of that, Bess?” I asked. “There must be more retreats and spas on Malachite Beach.”
“I guess.” Bess sighed. Her eyes suddenly lit up as George entered the waiting room, a white bandage wrapped around her ankle.
“Dr. Viola found shards of glass in my cut,” George said with a grin. “Which means I didn’t step on the needle.”
“That’s great,” Bess said, giving her cousin a big hug. I giggled as George grimaced. She was about as affectionate as a sumo wrestler in the ring.
I was just as relieved. But my questions still hadn’t been answered. One: Did the needle really belong to the Casabian sisters? Two: What was it filled with? And three: Were there any more where that came from?
I knew I’d said we wouldn’t try to find any mysteries while on vacation. But I had a funny feeling a mystery had just found us.
SPA SECRETS
“What are Dr. Viola’s orders?” I asked George as we drove back to the house.
“I got a tetanus shot.” George raised her arm to show a small Band-Aid. “I have to keep my foot dry for a day or two.”
“There goes swimming and surfing,” said Bess.
“We’ll be in Malachite Beach for three weeks, Bess,” George said. “At least I didn’t step on that needle.”
“That’s for sure,” Bess agreed. “Now the hospital can dispose of it safely. They deal with hundreds of needles every day.”
“Actually,” George said, “I asked Dr. Viola to send” the contents to the lab anyway. If the Casabian sisters were doing illegal drugs and trespassing, someone ought to know.”
My hands froze on the steering wheel. As much as I thought the sisters had dumped trash on our beach, the last thing I wanted was to spread a rumor that they were users.
“George, you didn’t tell that to Dr. Viola, did you?” I said. “Celebrity gossip spreads like wildfire around here.”
“I’m not stupid, Nancy.” George smirked. “I just told the doctor that if the needle had anything toxic in it, we would want to tell the police.”
“Spoken like a true detective.” Bess smiled.
“Speaking of the sisters, as soon as we get back, I want to go straight to Villa Fabuloso. I’m going to show them what they did to me,” George said.
“Let it go, George,” Bess pleaded. “Fighting with Mandy and Mallory would just be bad karma.”
I could see George roll her eyes in the mirror.
In no time we were back at the house. While we made sandwiches for lunch, Bess and I told George about the drama in the waiting room.
“See what you missed?” I joked.
“I’m glad I did,” George said as she twisted open a pickle jar. “I think I’ve had enough drama from one morning, which is why I’m not calling home. My parents would freak if they knew I’d been in a hospital ER.”
After lunch I went out on the deck to call my dad. Even though he was Carson Drew, distinguished attorney and helper of all things mystery, I decided not to worry him, either, about the hypodermic needle on the beach.
“Guess what, Dad?” I asked. “We have celebrities living right next door.”
“Celebs, huh?” I heard Dad’s voice say. “Anybody I know?”
“The Casabian sisters,” I said. “Ever hear of them?”
“Casabian sisters,” Dad said slowly. “Weren’t they a singing group in the eighties?”
“The eighties?” I laughed. “Oh, Dad, we have got to get you into the twenty-first century once and for all.”
“Hey, no fair,” Dad said. “I have an iPod.”
“Because I gave you one for Father’s Day,” I reminded him. From the corner of my eye I could see Bess and George step out on the deck. “Dad, I’m going to go. We’ve got to figure out what to do on our first full day in L.A.”
“I’ve got to go too,” Dad said quickly. “Bye, sweetie.”
“Bye, Dad.” As I ended the call, I knew what to get him for next Father’s Day — a cordless kitchen speakerphone.
“What’s on the agenda?” George asked.
“Bess and I have to finish cleaning up the beach,” I said.
“Then what?” Bess asked.
“My foot is still kind of sore,” George said as she lowered herself into a chair. “So forget a lot of walking like Universal Studios or Rodeo Drive — thank goodness.”
Bess’s shoulders slumped. Then almost immediately she seemed to perk up.
“Why don’t we go next door to Roland’s Renewal Retreat and Spa?” she suggested. “We can get basic manicures, which would be a treat after picking up all that garbage.”
I smiled at the thought. If anything could relax me, it was a luxurious manicure and hand massage.
“Sounds good,” I said. “And lucky you, Bess, we might even meet Mia Casabian over there.”
“What about you, George?” Bess asked.
George heaved a big sigh before saying, “Sure. Anything but Rodeo Drive.”
After Bess called the spa to make appointments for manicures later that afternoon, she and I finished cleaning up the beach, this time wearing gloves, sneakers and thick socks. We found no more hypodermic needles but plenty of makeup containers with the yellow starburst design.
“Done!” Bess declared when our last trash bag was filled. “Now let’s get these hardworking hands buffed and buttered.”
Bess, George, and I walked along the road until we reached the pink stucco mansion at the end of the beach. Two men wearing “Roland’s Renewal Retreat and Spa” T-shirts pulled open the massive gate to let us through. I noticed yellow emblems on their T-shirts — yellow sunburst emblems.
“You guys,” I said as we made our way up the long driveway to the mansion, “did you see the logos on those shirts? I’m pretty sure they’re the same as —”
“The makeup bottles we found on the beach.” George nodded. “Yeah, I noticed it too.”
“Most spas sell their own products,” Bess said. “The Casabian sisters might buy their makeup here.”
When we reached the front door of the mansion, George whistled through her teeth. “You’d think Brad and Angelina lived here,” she said.
“They probably did at one time,” I joked.
After stepping up to the heavy wood and iron door, George pulled a cord that rang the bell.
“Sounds like wind chimes,” Bess pointed out.
“At least it’s not some tacky TV tune like the Casabians’,” George said.
It wasn’t long before a young woman wearing a black tunic and matching leggings pulled the door open. I noticed how perfect her hair and makeup were — lips glossy, eyelashes curled, bangs and layers thick and bouncy.
“I’m Luna,” the woman chirped. “And you are?”
Bess introduced herself, then added, “And my friends are Nancy and George.”
“George?” Luna said, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Is that your real name?”
“No,” George replied with a smirk. “It’s Henry.”
“George!” Bess hissed. She smiled at Luna and said, “Her real name is Georgia. But she hates her real name more than she hates —”
“Spas?” George cut in.
“Well, the name Georgia is lovely,” Luna said. “Are you here for one of our treatments?”
“We each have an appointment for the basic manicure,” Bess explained. “I made them about an hour ago.”
“Then please come in.” Luna made a sweeping motion with her hand to whisk us in. “I’ll show you where to change into your robes and get a glass of fresh pomegranate juice.”
“Robes?” George asked as we stepped through the door. “For a manicure?”
“Relax and enjoy,” Bess said.
Following Luna, we crossed under a huge wroughtiron chandelier and down a long hallway. Candles flickered from iron sconces hanging from burgundy-colored walls. The air smelled like orange blossoms and cinnamon from the scented candles.
“Mmm,” I said as I closed my eyes to take a whiff. Suddenly —
“Hot stuff coming through!” a voice barked.
My eyes snapped open. A guy with sandy-brown hair was coming down the hall. He was wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt. He walked almost zombielike past us, holding a steaming mug of what smelled like peppermint tea.
“Cute… but snooty,” Bess murmured. “He didn’t even look at us.”
I watched the guy as he continued down the hall. Where had I seen him before?
“Over here, ladies!” Luna stood outside a door farther down the hall. “Here’s our waiting room.”
Waiting room? I thought.
WAITING ROOM!
So that’s who the zombielike guy was!
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
“Bess,” I said. “That’s Brad from the emergency room at Malachite General.”
“I think you’re right,” she whispered. Vacation or not, I had to find out what was up with Brad.
“Nancy, where are you going?” Bess called as I raced the other way down the hall.
“Excuse me,” I said when I caught up with Brad.
Brad turned around. He cocked his head as if to say, Do I know you?
“I’m Nancy,” I said with a smile. “I just wanted to see how you were feeling.”
“Feeling?” Brad asked, stone-faced.
“I saw you in the hospital earlier with Danielle,” I explained. “You looked pretty sick. Actually, you’re still pretty pale —”
“I’m fine,” Brad interrupted, making me blink. “I just had…too much sun.”
Then he slipped into a room off the hallway.
If he had too much sun, I thought, why is he so pale?
As I made my way back to the waiting room, I felt the color drain from my own face. If Brad was at this retreat, then that scary Inge probably was too.
“Well, it’s about time,” George said when I joined them. What a waiting room: low lights, soft music, and water cascading gently down one wall.
Luna handed me a white terry-cloth robe and matching slippers. “You and your friends can change behind any of the screens,” she said, and then left us alone.
We talked to one another over the partitions as we changed into our robes.
“So was that guy Brad?” George asked.
“Not only was he Brad,” I said, “he seemed annoyed when I asked him how he felt. He said he was much better, even though he still looked pretty sick.”
“He was walking kind of like a zombie,” Bess remembered.
“He spoke like one too,” I said. “Which makes the whole thing even weirder.”
The three of us stepped out from behind the screens at practically the same moment. The sight of us in those plushy white robes and slippers made me smile.
“Nancy, I just thought of something,” Bess said. “If Brad is here, I bet crazy-lady Inge is too.”
“I thought that too, Bess. But we don’t know why she wanted Brad to leave the hospital,” I said.
“Maybe Brad got sick from a spa treatment and they want to cover it up,” Bess gasped.
“I think we should look for Inge and ask her some questions,” I said.
“No way!” George was furious. “Nancy, didn’t you say we should take a break from mysteries while on vacation? You don’t even know who these people are!”
“But how can we not get involved after what happened to you on the beach?” Bess asked.
“You said we need to come here to relax,” George said. “So let’s just relax!”
Bess and I looked at each other. George was right. Taking a deep breath, I poured myself a glass of pomegranate juice, secretly hoping it wouldn’t make me sick.
We sat quietly, sipping juice and listening to the gentle gurgling of the waterfall. As amped up as I was, the room did have a relaxing effect on me.
“Ladies?” Luna said softly as she stepped into the room. “Your hand specialists are ready for you now.”
“Hand specialists?” George asked. “Are you sure we’re getting manicures?”
We followed Luna into the hall. She opened a door and held it as we filed through. Three women dressed in white suits with the yellow starburst logo stood behind neatly arranged manicure tables.
“Come right in,” one said cheerily.
“You bet.” I smiled as I walked to a table.
Here I was in Malachite Beach, about to get a pampering spa treatment. Life was good, even if it was a little crazy sometimes.
After we were seated, the manicurists introduced themselves: Lotus, Ivy, and Cinnamon. NO kidding.
Ivy studied George’s nails and asked, “When was the last time you had a manicure?”
Bess and I traded looks that said, Uh-oh.
“The last time,” George said slowly. “Let’s see… it was… about… never.”
“No problem,” Ivy said perkily. “We’re not here to judge at Roland’s Renewal Retreat and Spa.”
Lotus gently placed my fingertips in two bowls filled with soothing warm water. “Ivy is right,” she said. “This retreat is not only about outer beauty but inner beauty as well.”
“I never saw myself on the inside,” George said.
I felt the stress of the last two days slowly melt away. Instead of focusing on dirty hypodermic needles, drama queen sisters, and crazy ladies in white suits, I focused on the scent of the rose water. Leave it to Bess to ask, “Is there a woman named Inge working at this spa? A tall blond woman with a European accent?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Cinnamon said. “But we can’t talk about other employees.”
But Bess wouldn’t give up. “Do you know Mia? Mia Casabian? I heard she’s a guest here.”
“We can’t talk about the guests, either. But we can tell you everything we know about the retreat,” Lotus said.
“Okay,” I said while Lotus dried my hands with a fluffy white towel. “I’d like to know why they call it a retreat as well as a spa.”
Lotus smiled and said, “Roland’s Renewal Retreat and Spa is a place for people to retreat from everyday stress and life’s challenges.”
“Who is this guy Roland?” George asked while Ivy worked hard at digging dirt from under her nails. “Or are we not allowed to talk about him, either?”
The manicurists beamed on hearing Roland’s name.
“Oh, yes!” Lotus exclaimed. “We’re happy to talk about Roland.”
“Roland is not only the owner of the spa, he’s an incredible teacher,” Ivy said.
“What does he teach?” Bess asked.
“Roland teaches his students how to connect with the light that shines from within us,” Cinnamon said.
“And to cleanse the mind of negative, harmful thoughts,” Lotus went on.
So… Roland was a kind of New Age motivational speaker. There was nothing wrong with teaching people to think positively. The question was, how did someone like Inge or that zombie Brad fit into this philosophy?
“Oh, dear,” Ivy said, interrupting my thoughts. She was leaning over to look at George’s bandaged ankle. “What happened to you?”
“I stepped on a piece of glass,” George replied.
“There was trash all over our beach this morning,” Bess explained.
“We’re not totally sure where it came from,” I said as Lotus massaged my hands. “We just have a theory.”
The manicurists smile. They seemed to share a lot of little secrets.
“We know where the trash came from,” Cinnamon said.
“You do?” Bess asked, practically rising from her chair. “Where?”
George and I leaned forward. Did the manicurists know things about the Casabian sisters?
“Well,” Ivy said as she began filing George’s nails, “chances are you willed that trash on the beach.”
“Willed?” Bess, George, and I chorused.
“Through what Roland calls ‘garbage thinking,’” Ivy said a little too excitedly.
“Garbage in,” Cinnamon said with a little shrug, “garbage out.”
The three of us slumped back in our chairs. Back to square one.
“Silly us,” George said sarcastically. “Next time we’ll think of bunny rabbits and unicorns.”
“It’s all in Roland’s book, You Are That,” Lotus went on. “It’s attracted many followers — I mean fans.”
“Can we meet Roland?” I asked.
“What for?” George mouthed to me.
Lotus shook her head and said, “Sorry. Only those who check into the retreat for intense renewal get to meet Roland.”
“But you can look at his portrait,” Cinnamon said. She nodded her chin at a gold-framed portrait hanging on the wall. It showed a towheaded guy sitting in a red velvet chair, surrounded by flowers. His hands were gently folded in his lap as he smiled serenely.
“Long live the king,” George said.
Roland’s portrait did look pretty regal for a guy who owned a spa. But the way the manicurists gazed at his portrait told me he was a lot more than that.
“Roland lets us do his fingernails and toenails sometimes,” Cinnamon said. “If we’re lucky.”
Ivy jumped to her feet and wheeled over a cart filled with nail polish bottles.
“Go ahead and choose your colors,” she said, sweeping her hand over the cart. “May I suggest choosing a shade to match your aura?”
“How about one to match my keyboard?” George laughed, grabbing a bottle of grayish-beige polish off the cart.
Bess finally picked a funky aquamarine shade, and I went with a cool coral. We were at a beach, after all.
We totally relaxed while Lotus, Ivy, and Cinnamon worked their magic on our hands. By the time we said good-bye and left, even George was admiring her nails.
“I think I can get used to manicures,” she admitted. “At least once every few years.”
We returned to the waiting room to change back into our regular clothes.
“This spa definitely does good work,” Bess said, pulling on her sandals. “But you have to admit that whole Roland thing sounds bizarre.”
“What’s bizarre is how the manicurists weren’t allowed to talk about Inge — or anyone else,” I pointed out. “Not even tell us if she works here.”
“It’s like Roland is some kind of rock star,” George said.
“More than that,” I said. “It sounds like he has some kind of power or influence over everyone here.”
By now I was really curious about the retreat. Maybe we could talk some more to Brad or even find Mia. I glanced at the clock over the juice cart and said, “We don’t have to leave yet. Why don’t we check the place out before we go?”
“Sure,” George finally agreed. “I’m kind of curious now too.”
When we asked Luna for a tour of the retreat, she shook her head. “The retreat is in the west wing,” she said. “Only those who sign up for the intense renewal get a tour.”
“Oh,” I said, disappointed.
“But I’ll be happy to sign you up for more treatments,” Luna added perkily.
Great, I thought. How were we going to see the retreat now?
“Um,” George blurted. “I think I forgot something in the waiting room. Come on, Nancy, Bess. Help me find it.”
“Okay,” I said, knowing that George never forgot a thing.
We left Luna in the foyer. But instead of heading to the waiting room, we continued down the hall. We passed more treatment rooms, some marked WAXING, MASSAGE, and EYEBROW THREADING.
“This is still the spa part,” Bess whispered. “I wonder where the west wing Luna was talking about is?”
“The ocean in California is we