Malibu Mayhem Trilogy 02: Mystery At Malachite Mansion Read online

  Half listening to her, I looked out on the beach. It had been two days since the Malachite meeting. We had never told Stacey about the strange note or the noise coming from Roland’s office. Not that Stacey would have even heard us, the way she was focused on the party and her phone.

  Cleanup crews were still working the beach, and I wished we were down there helping out instead of eating a leisurely breakfast, but Stacey insisted she needed our help today, especially today.

  “Guess what?” Stacey’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Thanks to those amazing House Busters, the renovations on the mansion should be ready by tomorrow.”

  “Have you come up with a date for the party?” Bess asked.

  “I’m shooting for next Saturday night,” Stacey said. “I know it’s just a little over a week, but we can pull it off.”

  “What about the entertainment?” I asked. “And the food—”

  “Done!” Stacey declared. “I just received two confirmations this morning. The first was Miss Zaza’s manager to tell me that Zaza will perform at the event with two of her backup singers.”

  Even George looked excited at the news. Getting Miss Zaza for any party was huge!

  “I can’t believe we’re going to meet the incredible Miss Z,” Bess said.

  “I can’t believe she once wore a dress made of cooked lobsters,” George said.

  “Zaza assured me she will not be wearing her famous lobster number to the party,” Stacey said. “Instead she’ll be wearing an illuminated mermaid costume with a giant half shell. Which reminds me—”

  She picked up her smartphone. “Ten a.m., schedule rehearsal time for Zaza,” she said aloud as she entered the latest addition to her schedule. “Ten thirty a.m., order stretch limo … Now, doesn’t this beat picking up stinky oil clumps and dead crabs?”

  I blinked at Stacey’s question. There was no comparison between a party and a disastrous oil spill.

  “This might be more fun,” I admitted. “But not necessarily more important—”

  “Waiters!” Stacey interrupted.

  “Huh?” I asked.

  “I can’t believe I forgot to hire waiters for the party,” Stacey said, grabbing her phone again.

  “My mom usually lines up a catering service for her parties,” George said. “They handle the food and the waitstaff.”

  “Catering service—how River Heights!” Stacey said with a snort. “For this party I got Chef André Walters to create some of his famous recipes. That was my second confirmation.”

  “André Walters?” Bess asked. “He’s the hottest celebrity chef these days. How did you get him?”

  Stacey grinned and said, “I just happen to roll with a fabulous crowd.”

  I heard George sigh. What Stacey had said about her mom was kind of tacky.

  “Oh, and I’ll need you to do something else for me, if you don’t mind,” Stacey went on as she added another item to her schedule.

  “Sure, what is it?” I asked.

  “Can you move into the mansion next door until the party’s over?” Stacey asked with a smile. “The bedrooms have just been finished, and I hear they’re fabulous.”

  Had she just asked us to move out of her house into Roland’s old mansion?

  She continued, “You would have the whole mansion to yourselves. I’ll even make sure the fridge is stocked.”

  “Um,” I said. “That sounds nice, Stacey, but—”

  “But why do you want us to move out of your house?” George finished for me.

  “Nothing personal,” Stacey blurted. “It’s just that the closer I get to an event, the more peace and quiet I need at home. You know, my office is here in the house.”

  I couldn’t imagine frenetic Stacey needing any peace and quiet. I was about to promise to be quiet when George piped up.

  “Sure, Stacey,” she said. “If that’s what you want, we’ll move next door.”

  Bess stared at George, horrified. “After what happened to Nancy and me over there?” she said. “I wouldn’t stay at that mansion for all the money in the world.”

  “Does that mean no?” Stacey asked.

  Her eyes were still on Bess as she answered an incoming call. I wasn’t crazy about moving next door either, but it seemed important to George.

  “Meeting,” George whispered to us.

  As we walked to the steps of the deck, Bess said, “Don’t bother talking me into it, George. I am not moving into that mansion. Period.”

  “I don’t really want to move there either,” I admitted. “I mean, why can’t we just stay here? We’re already unpacked.”

  “Because Stacey was nice enough to invite us to Malachite Beach,” George said. “Now that she needs her privacy, I think we should let her have it.”

  “What about our awful experience?” Bess said.

  “After the House Busters get through with that mansion, it’ll look like a totally different place,” George said.

  “On the outside,” Bess groaned under her breath.

  What had happened at Roland’s was still pretty fresh in my mind—but the thought of having a whole Malachite mansion to ourselves, I had to admit, was pretty sweet.

  “It could be fun,” I said with a shrug. “Think of all that awesome food Stacey is promising us.”

  “Okay, but what about that strange thumping noise we heard the other day?” Bess said. “How would you like to hear that in the middle of the night?”

  “The construction work caused that noise,” I said, still hoping it was true. “We figured that out, remember?”

  “Getting out of Stacey’s hair is a good idea,” George said. “My mom is a raging lunatic right before one of her events. Can you imagine how nuts Stacey gets right before a party?”

  The three of us glanced at Stacey pacing back and forth while shouting on her phone.

  “Come to think of it,” Bess said with a smile, “maybe we’d better move into that mansion.”

  “Yes!” said George. She slapped Bess playfully on the back, almost knocking her off the deck.

  Stacey had just finished her call as we walked back to the breakfast table.

  “We’ll be happy to move next door, Stacey,” I said. “Just tell us when you’d like us to do it.”

  “How about right now?” she said.

  “Now?” I repeated, not expecting the urgency.

  “Yes. And so you can continue to help me and focus on the party, I hired a housekeeper named Olga to clean up the mansion while you’re there,” Stacey added.

  She glanced down at her phone. “Olga arrives at three p.m.,” she said aloud, adding it to her schedule.

  “Stacey, you don’t have to spend money on a housekeeper for us,” George said. “We clean up after ourselves.”

  “Olga said she’ll work the event for free,” Stacey said. “She told me over the phone that she’s really into saving the beach and wants to do whatever she can to help.”

  “Nice,” I said.

  We sat and chatted awhile longer, finishing our coffee, croissants, fruit, and yogurt.

  “I had no idea you were so traumatized by Roland’s cult,” Stacey said, taking another sip of coffee. “How are you girls holding up?”

  Other than the dead bird on our doorstep, the creepy note around its neck, and the weird bump we heard yesterday? I thought.

  “We’re fine,” I said aloud. “Now that we’re going to be involved with this amazing party, even better.”

  Stacey took a final sip of coffee and stood up. “I’m going next door to meet with the House Busters crew. You girls can start packing, if you don’t mind doing the dishes first.”

  “Where is this Olga when we need her?” George joked. But in record time, we cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, swept the deck, and sponged down the table. Then we went to our rooms to pack.

  I opened my suitcase on the bed, then grabbed my clothes from the closet and dresser and jammed everything in. I was about to toss in the T-shirt I’d bought in Sa
nta Monica when I noticed the price tag still dangling from it.

  I rummaged through my makeup bag for a pair of scissors to snip off the tag, but couldn’t find them.

  So I went to Stacey’s home office, opened the top drawer of her desk, and found rubber bands, paper clips, pens, and a tube of berry lip balm, but no scissors.

  Come on, Stacey. You’re all about the details. How can you not have scissors? I thought, and pulled the drawer open some more. Success—a pair was in the back, on top of a hardcover book.

  I picked the scissors up and gasped. Staring up at me was Roland!

  Omigod! It was Roland’s book, You Are That!

  I opened it, and the first thing I saw on the title page was a handwritten note: To Stacey. Thank you for being such a dear, dear friend. Yours always, Roland.

  My eyes stayed glued to the page. I read the note twice more. What was Roland’s book doing inside Stacey’s desk—and why did he call her his friend?

  “Bess, George!” I shouted. “Get in here—NOW!”

  MYSTERIOUS MANSION

  In a flash Bess and George were with me in Stacey’s office. When I showed them Roland’s personal note to Stacey, they couldn’t believe it either.

  “Stacey told us she barely knew Roland,” Bess said. “So what’s up with this?”

  “Kind of weird, huh?” I said.

  “Maybe,” George said. “Or maybe not.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Maybe Stacey was being a good neighbor,” George said. “She could have helped Roland when he first moved in. Maybe she planned an event or party for him and the book was his way of saying thanks.”

  “With a little self-promotion, perhaps?” I asked.

  “Exactly,” George said. “I’ll bet Stacey never even read his dumb book.”

  She then stuck the book back into the drawer and slammed it shut. “Come on. Let’s finish packing.”

  Bess and George left Stacey’s office. It was hard for me not to look at Roland’s book as I opened the drawer again for the scissors. This time I noticed something else—the top edge of a red bookmark peeking out from the pages.

  Once again I pulled the book out and opened it to where it was marked, right before the fifth chapter, “Success at Any Cost.” If Stacey was reading Roland’s book, had she gotten that far? I knew Roland believed in success at any cost, but did Stacey?

  “Nancy?” Bess shouted to me from her room. “Have you seen my purple flip-flops?”

  I slammed the book shut and slipped it inside the drawer again. “I think they’re on the deck, Bess,” I called as I finally snipped off the T-shirt’s price tag.

  Leaving Stacey’s office, I decided not to tell Bess and George about the bookmark.

  Roland could have put it there himself, I told myself. To point out his favorite chapter.

  George and I finished packing in less than half an hour. Bess needed more time to fill up two suitcases and a duffel bag.

  We finally left Stacey’s house, pleased to see no more dead birds or menacing notes on the doorstep. Bess lagged behind, grunting from the weight of her bags, as we rolled our luggage down the road to the mansion.

  “What’d you do, Bess?” George called back to her. “Bring your whole closet from River Heights?”

  “We’re in L.A. for three weeks,” Bess grunted. “Three times seven equals twenty-one different outfits, plus extras for evening. Do the math.”

  When we reached the mansion, the front door was wide open. We left our luggage in the entrance hall and stepped farther inside.

  I could see Stacey flitting around and shouting last-minute suggestions to the House Busters. She didn’t seem like the type who would fall under the spell of a crazy cult leader like Roland. There had to be an explanation for Roland’s book.

  “Hi, guys!” a voice said.

  I turned around to see Alice hurrying by, holding a can of paint in one hand.

  “Helping out here today, Alice?” I asked.

  “Just for the morning, before I help clean the beach,” Alice said. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You are not going to believe who else showed up to help.”

  I looked to see where Alice was nodding. There, standing next to a ladder and handing a hammer up to a carpenter, was Austin Gruber.

  “After the way Stacey spoke to him at that meeting, you’d think he’d never show his face,” George said.

  Alice had already left to deliver the can to the painter. When Austin looked our way, he smiled and walked over.

  “Hey,” he said, his cheeks turning pink. Although the greeting was meant for all of us, his eyes were on Bess.

  “Hi, Austin,” Bess said, and smiled back.

  “We didn’t think we’d see you here,” I said.

  “How come?” Austin asked.

  This time I blushed. “Um … well, after the way Stacey … you know—”

  “Spoke to you like you were some five-year-old kid,” George finished for me.

  “I know, but it’s still my beach,” Austin said, flashing Bess a tiny smile. “I want to do whatever I can to pitch in.”

  I smiled too. Maybe Austin was as nice as he was cute. And I had to admit he was cute!

  “That’s really awesome of you, Austin,” Bess said.

  “You think?” Austin asked softly. He seemed so shy that I couldn’t believe he sang in front of thousands of teenage girls on a regular basis.

  “Um.” Austin nodded to the luggage we’d dropped in the entrance hall. “Can I help you carry those bags somewhere?”

  I was about to thank Austin when Stacey raced over.

  “Drop whatever you’re doing, girls,” Stacey said. “Miss Zaza is coming here to the mansion tonight to rehearse her big number.”

  “Seriously?” Bess gasped. “We’re going to get to meet Miss Z tonight?”

  “Miss Z … six p.m….,” Stacey said, entering the rehearsal time in her phone. “Miss Zaza is also bringing the mermaid costume she’s planning on performing in. The one with a giant shell that lights up.”

  Austin muttered something under his breath, but I couldn’t quite hear it.

  “I want to hold the dress rehearsal upstairs,” Stacey said. “There’s plenty of room up in Roland’s old sanctuary.”

  Had she said “sanctuary”? I knew the huge room upstairs had been called Roland’s sanctuary—but how did she know?

  “Maybe Austin here can help Miss Zaza during the rehearsal,” Stacey went on, pointing a finger at him. “You know, like bring her water or coffee, that kind of stuff.”

  “Uh-oh,” George murmured.

  “I figured Miss Zaza would feel comfortable around you,” Stacey told him. “Since you’re a performer too.”

  Austin pretended to be surprised. “I am?” he asked. “Thanks for reminding me—I almost forgot.”

  “Super,” said Stacey. “I’ll add you to the schedule: Five thirty, Austin to set out sandwich and fruit platter … five forty-five, Austin make coffee … one urn decaf.”

  Stacey looked up at Bess, George, and me. “The bedrooms upstairs in the west wing have been totally refurbished,” she said. “Choose any you want and make yourselves at home.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Austin was almost seething as Stacey walked away, her phone pressed to her ear.

  “Oh, well,” he said. “If Her Majesty is arriving soon, I’d better start rolling out the red carpet.” And he walked away.

  “Too awkward,” George said.

  “I can’t believe Stacey had the audacity to treat Austin Gruber that way,” Bess said. “Doesn’t she know who he is?”

  That wasn’t the only thing that bothered me.

  “Did you hear how Stacey called the upstairs room Roland’s ‘sanctuary’?” I asked.

  Bess’s eyes widened. “That’s what Roland and Inge called it,” she said. “How would Stacey know that if she hardly knew her neighbors?”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  I was
about to tell them about the bookmark in Stacey’s copy of You Are That when George said, “Not for nothing, Nancy, but I really think you’re thinking too much.”

  “And you aren’t?” I asked.

  “Not as much as you,” George said. “I even forgot about the dead bird and the creepy note on our doorstep.”

  “Me too … until you just reminded me,” Bess said.

  So I decided not to bring up the bookmark, at least for now. George seemed to be protective of Stacey, probably because the event planner knew her mom.

  We took our bags and hurried past the House Busters crew, who were putting the finishing touches on the mansion. Gone were the heavy furniture, darkly painted walls, and iron candle sconces. Now the same walls were a cool aqua with white trim. But the real surprise came when we opened the doors to our bedrooms….

  “Epic!” Bess exclaimed.

  Bess and I walked into the exact same room we’d used during our cult investigation—and I hardly recognized it.

  “Look,” Bess said, pointing to the beds. “This time there’s bedding.”

  I smiled at the elegantly made beds, strewn with satiny pillows. Roland’s cult had not allowed any bedding—not even pillows—in order to discourage sleep.

  “We’ve got a TV, too,” I said, pointing to a sleek flat-screen on the wall.

  George was fine with having her own room next door. She was already in there unpacking.

  “Let’s check out George’s room,” Bess said. “While it’s still clean.”

  Before Bess and I could head for the door, we heard a knock. We jumped, but then we giggled.

  “I bet it’s George,” I said. “She probably wants to see our room.”

  I opened the door and my mouth dropped open. A tall, unfamiliar woman was standing there.

  Her hair was long—long and bright orange. One side hung over her face like a curtain, brushing against a bulbous nose. I couldn’t see her eyes because they were hidden by thick black sunglasses, but I could feel them piercing through me.

  “Um,” I said, my mouth dry. “May I help you?”

  DOOM SERVICE