Malibu Mayhem Trilogy 02: Mystery At Malachite Mansion Read online

By now Bess was peering over my shoulder at the strange woman.

  “Towels,” the woman mumbled. She lifted a basket filled with folded towels and bars of soap. “For your room and your friend’s.”

  I took the towels from the woman, and then it finally clicked….

  “Oh!” I said with a smile. “You must be—”

  “Olga,” the woman mumbled. Without another word, she turned and shuffled down the hall.

  Bess and I leaned out the door, watching Olga until she disappeared down the staircase.

  “That’s the housekeeper Stacey hired?” I asked. “The one who was so passionate about saving the beach that she’d work for free?”

  “She doesn’t seem like the passionate type to me. Maybe she’s just eccentric,” Bess said.

  “Or weird,” I said.

  We checked out George’s room, which was as nice as ours, then went downstairs to help Stacey with the party planning.

  The first thing she had us do was send out the invites, which had arrived from the printer. We sat in the newly renovated dining room, stuffing envelopes, then sticking preprinted labels on them.

  “How amazing is this?” Bess said, waving a sheet of labels in the air. “These are the addresses of just about every A-list celebrity in Hollywood.”

  I looked up in time to see Austin walking past the door. He slowed when he saw Bess, but when he caught my eye, he blushed and hurried on.

  After finishing the invites, we ordered the flowers Stacey wanted for the party. I couldn’t believe I was calling the island of Bora-Bora in the South Pacific.

  “So this is the glam life of an event planner,” I said after making the call.

  “Glamorous?” George said. “Tell that to my mom when she’s rushing a melting ice cream cake to a party of screaming three-year-olds.”

  It was close to dinnertime when our stomachs started to growl. We were eating cold leftover pizza from the House Busters’ lunch when Stacey appeared in the doorway.

  “She’s here, she’s here!” Stacey cried. “Miss Zaza’s limo has arrived.”

  We jumped up from our chairs and raced out of the kitchen to the front door. Stacey was standing at the end of the driveway, waving to a parked stretch limo. As a chauffeur opened the back door, Bess named each passenger as they stepped out of the car.

  “The man in the black suit is Kurt Lambert, Miss Zaza’s manager,” Bess said in a low voice. “The woman in the long gypsy skirt and tank top is her choreographer. I think her name is Suki.”

  “Who are those two guys?” I asked of the tall, slim pair who filed out of the car.

  Bess didn’t miss a beat. “Brad and Russell—Miss Zaza’s backup singers.”

  “There’s Mandy!” I cut in as Mandy Casabian stepped out of the limo next. She was dressed in a white pantsuit with Western fringes and silver studs.

  Miss Zaza’s entourage waited silently. And then, one leg wearing green fishnet tights and a tasseled mini-boot slowly emerged from the car door.

  “It’s her!” Bess squealed.

  The leg was soon followed by the entire body of Miss Zaza.

  “How cool is that?” I whispered.

  Stacey’s arms waved excitedly as she spoke to Miss Zaza. I couldn’t hear what Stacey was saying, but I could see what Miss Zaza was wearing—a forest-green cape and feathered cap that reminded me of Robin Hood.

  “If I knew it was Halloween, I would have brought candy,” a voice muttered.

  We turned. Austin was standing behind us. He was about to take a sip from a plastic water bottle when Stacey called, “Austin, come give us a hand.”

  Austin sighed. He stuck the bottle inside his jacket pocket, then brushed past us to join the others. It wasn’t long before he was unloading Miss Zaza’s costume from the trunk.

  “We’d better go help him,” I said as Austin buckled under the giant half shell.

  The moment Mandy saw us, she introduced us to Miss Zaza. The superstar smiled and said, “Nice to meet you.”

  Bess and I just grinned, too stunned to speak. George, on the other hand, had no trouble.

  “Is Zaza your real name?” she asked.

  Stacey seemed horrified by George’s question, but Zaza didn’t seem to mind.

  “No, Zaza isn’t my real name,” she said. “I actually hate my real name. It’s Zenobia, but don’t tell anyone, especially the press.”

  “Hey, I hate my real name too,” George said, surprised. “I guess we have more in common than I thought.”

  “Girls, girls,” Stacey said, pushing us toward the limo. “Why don’t you help Austin with Miss Zaza’s costume?”

  I could see Austin grinning at Bess as she happily lifted Miss Zaza’s towering platform shoes from the trunk.

  He carried Miss Zaza’s giant half shell while I carefully cradled the mermaid costume, heavy with hundreds of tiny bulbs sewn to the fabric. George ran to help Austin shimmy the gigantic shell through the front door.

  “It could have been worse,” George grunted as they struggled with the shell. “She could have brought her stinky lobster dress.”

  Stacey whisked Miss Zaza and company into the living room and called to us, “Bring everything upstairs to the sanctuary, please!”

  “I wish she’d stop calling it the sanctuary,” Bess whispered to me.

  “We’ll call it the rehearsal hall,” I said.

  Lugging Miss Zaza’s gear to the west wing and up the spiral staircase wasn’t easy, but the effort was worth it. We found state-of-the-art audio equipment set up for her rehearsal. Even a rolling garment rack for her costume stood before the small stage.

  All traces of Roland’s cult were gone—like the velvet “throne” he’d sat on as he stared down his followers.

  George and Austin placed the giant shell on the stage. Bess carefully stood Miss Zaza’s shoes on the floor beside the rack where I struggled to hang the heavy, elaborate mermaid costume.

  “Look at all these tiny bulbs sewn onto the costume,” I said once the costume was up.

  “Allow me to demonstrate how it works,” Austin said. Reaching around it, he flipped a tiny switch located near the zipper. Soon the bulbs began blinking and twinkling. “Ta-da! I could see the switch from where I was standing.”

  “How does it work?” I asked. “It’s not like it has a cord to plug in.”

  “It was probably electrically charged before it was brought here,” I heard Bess say. “If you think that’s neat, check this out.”

  Bess towered over us—a whole foot taller than her usual height. I glanced down to see Miss Zaza’s shoes on Bess’s feet!

  “Get out of those shoes before Miss Zaza or Stacey see you,” I warned Bess. “Then let’s go downstairs. Maybe Stacey will let us sit in on the meeting.”

  Austin held Bess’s hand as she carefully stepped out of the shoes. Then he said, “You guys go ahead downstairs. I want to hang out up here for a while and take some pictures of Zaza’s costume.” He pulled out his phone. “Some of my buds are Zaza fans.”

  I didn’t like the idea of leaving Austin alone with Zaza’s things. After all, he wasn’t exactly a Zaza fan himself. Quite the opposite, it seemed.

  “Stacey might want to keep the costume a secret,” I told Austin.

  “Nancy, relax,” Bess said. “It’s not like he’s sending the pictures to AMZ.”

  I still felt uncomfortable about Austin being alone with Miss Zaza’s costume. But maybe George was right. Maybe I was thinking too much.

  “Okay,” I told Austin. “Just be quick and don’t let Stacey see you.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Austin said, giving me a little salute. He gave Bess one last smile before we filed down the staircase.

  When we reached the living room, the meeting was going strong. Miss Zaza was sitting on the sofa, daintily nibbling on a sandwich. Stacey was pacing back and forth in front of Zaza’s manager, Kurt, a coffee cup in her hand.

  “Let me get this straight,” Kurt said. “Zaza is going to be singi
ng on the beach?”

  “The dirty beach?” Zaza asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “Your feet will never touch the sand,” Stacey promised. “Starting tomorrow, we’ll be constructing a stage just for the event—with a full sound system and lights.”

  Bess, George, and I were about to sit on a brand-new divan when Stacey said, “Now, if we’re all finished here, I’d like to show you our rehearsal space.”

  Oh no, I thought. What if Austin was still photographing Miss Zaza’s dress?

  “Um … we have a few questions about the party,” I blurted.

  “Can they wait?” Stacey asked as they exited the living room. “We really have to run through Zaza’s number.”

  The three of us fell behind as Stacey led the others toward the staircase.

  “At least Stacey didn’t call it the sanctuary this time,” Bess whispered.

  “I just hope Austin is finished,” I said. “I knew we shouldn’t have left him upstairs alone.”

  But once we were upstairs, Austin Gruber was nowhere to be found.

  “Where’d he go?” I whispered.

  “Who knows? At least he wasn’t caught taking pictures,” George said. “That’s what you were worried about, remember?”

  That—and leaving Austin alone with Miss Zaza’s costume.

  Mandy waved us over to the stage, where Suki was choreographing and explaining Miss Zaza’s number. “The backup singers enter first in darkness, then the lights come up and Zaza will make her grand entrance.”

  “Let’s do this!” Miss Zaza said, whipping off her green cape. Underneath she wore a one-piece leotard perfect for slinking into a tight costume.

  “Nancy, Bess, George?” Stacey called. “Can you help Zaza into her costume, please?”

  We carefully slipped the costume off the rack, then held it while Miss Zaza stepped into it. Next we lifted the heavy shell, holding it steady until Zaza slipped her arms through the attached straps. When Miss Z was fully costumed, Suki flicked the switch. Stacey gasped with delight as the tiny bulbs blinked, twinkled, and flashed.

  “Wait,” Bess called out excitedly. “Don’t forget your shoes.”

  Bess hurried over to the shoes near the clothing rack, and as she carried them to Miss Zaza, I noticed two wet footprints on the floor—wet spots left by the shoes!

  I started to panic as I did the math: Wet shoes … plus electric costume … equals disaster!

  “Stop—Zaza, stop!” I shouted. “Don’t dare step into those shoes!”

  ON THE HEELS OF DANGER

  All eyes were on me as I raced over to Miss Zaza.

  “Nancy, what are you doing?” Stacey said when I snatched the shoe out from under Miss Zaza’s foot.

  Without saying a word, I tipped the shoe upside down—and water poured out onto the floor.

  Everyone stared while I grabbed Miss Zaza’s other shoe from her. I didn’t need to tip it over to see a small amount of water sloshing around inside.

  “My shoes were filled with water?” Miss Zaza asked as I flicked off her flashing costume.

  “Omigosh,” Mandy said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I’m not a scientist, but I know not to blow-dry my hair near water. That’s dangerous, right?”

  “Try fatal,” I said. “If Zaza had stepped into those shoes with wet feet, she could have been electrocuted.”

  Stunned whispers filled the room, but my thoughts turned to Austin. Had he really taken pictures? Or had he taken his bottle of water to Miss Zaza’s shoes?

  “How did water get inside her shoes, Stacey?” Kurt demanded. “They were bone-dry when I packed them.”

  “The shoes were dry,” Bess said. “At least they were dry when I tried them on.”

  Silence.

  “Uh-oh,” George said under her breath.

  “You tried on my shoes?” Miss Zaza asked, more surprised than angry.

  Bess turned bright red when she realized her mistake. “Um … I … I—,” she started to say, but didn’t get very far.

  “Hold on.” Stacey looked from me to Bess to George. “Didn’t I ask you girls to carry Miss Zaza’s costume up here before?”

  Us … and Austin Gruber, I thought, but kept my mouth shut.

  “Wait a minute, Stacey,” George said. “Are you accusing us of trying to harm Miss Zaza?”

  “Well,” Stacey said frostily. She nodded at the platforms. “If the shoe fits …”

  “Stacey, that’s crazy,” I said. “If we wanted to hurt Zaza, why would I have stopped her from putting on her shoes?”

  Stacey looked at me, unable to answer.

  “Well, somebody tried to hurt Zaza,” Brad, the backup singer, said. “I’m not sure I want to perform at this party.”

  “Me neither,” Russell agreed.

  Kurt turned to Stacey. “As Zaza’s manager, I have to decide if we’re participating in this fund-raiser,” he said. “I’ll call you tomorrow with my answer.”

  Stacey looked devastated. “Kurt, wait! I’m sure there’s an explanation for this,” she cried as she chased Zaza and her entourage down the staircase.

  Mandy turned to us, her face dark with anger. “Good job, you guys,” she said sarcastically.

  “Don’t tell me you think we poured water in Miss Zaza’s shoes,” George said angrily.

  “I’m not saying you did it,” Mandy explained. “You just should have been paying more attention to Miss Zaza’s costume, that’s all.”

  “Mandy, we were told to take the costume upstairs,” Bess said. “Not to guard it.”

  “Somebody got to those shoes,” Mandy said as she headed to the staircase. “It’s too bad my crew wasn’t here to film all this. From now on I’m not going anywhere without them.”

  We watched as Mandy wound down the stairs. I was about to share my thoughts about Austin when Bess said, “Maybe Zaza uses insoles that are filled with liquid? They could have leaked, no?”

  We examined the insides of Miss Zaza’s shoes. No insoles—or clues anywhere.

  “Okay, you guys,” I said. “There’s an eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room.”

  “Is the gorilla’s name Austin?” Bess asked. “I thought of him myself but didn’t want to believe it.”

  “Austin did want to be alone with the costume,” George added. “And he left before everyone got here.” She walked over to the stage and leaned against it.

  Just then I spotted a plastic water bottle with a Bubbling Brooks Water label, right near George.

  “There’s Austin’s water bottle,” I said. “He must have left it here.”

  Bess shook her head and said, “How could squeaky-clean Austin Gruber do anything so evil?”

  I couldn’t imagine the baby-faced singer doing anything evil either, but Austin did have a motive, and a pretty big one.

  “Austin was dumped by Stacey for Miss Zaza,” I said. “Sabotaging her costume could have been his way of getting revenge. Or maybe he was hoping Miss Zaza would drop out so Stacey would replace her with him.”

  “Drop out or drop dead?” George said. “The artist formerly known as Zenobia could have been killed.”

  I wish I knew more about Austin and what made him tick. Then suddenly—a brainstorm!

  “What are you doing, Nancy?” Bess asked as I pulled out my phone. “Calling the police?”

  “I’m contacting Alice,” I said. “She gave me her number back at the meeting.”

  “Why her?” George asked, surprised.

  “Because Alice told us to ask her anything about Malachite or its residents,” I said. “I think I’ll ask her about Austin.”

  I texted Alice: WHAT DO U KNOW ABOUT AUSTIN GRUBER?

  I pressed send and waited. Alice answered in record time. Bess and George looked over my shoulder as we read the reply together: R U KIDDING ME? AUSTIN IS THE NICEST BOY ON EARTH. ☺ HE’S KIND TO ANIMALS, VOLUNTEERS AT CHILDREN’S HOSPITALS. OK, HE’S SHY AROUND GIRLS SO HE HAS NO GIRLFRIEND. YET. I HOPE SOMEDAY IT’S ME!

  I
smiled at the text. Alice made Austin sound like he wouldn’t even hurt a fly.

  “Austin can’t be the culprit, you guys,” Bess said. “I mean, he volunteers at children’s hospitals.”

  “Culprit, no,” George agreed. “Suspect, yes.”

  I glanced at the doomed shoes, still damp with water.

  “Here’s a thought,” I said. “What if the person who did this didn’t want to kill Zaza? What if he or she wanted to kill the event?”

  “Why would anyone want to kill an event to save the beach?” Bess asked.

  “Yeah,” George said. “It’s all for the good.”

  “All I know is that somebody is out to sabotage this party,” I said. “And we’re going to find out who—before he or she strikes again.”

  “Good night, Olga,” I called.

  Bess and I stood in the doorway, watching the quirky housekeeper walk out of the gate. In the moonlight I could see Olga nod her head.

  “Doesn’t she have a car?” Bess asked. “I mean, doesn’t everybody in California drive everywhere?”

  “Olga isn’t exactly everybody,” I said. “Who knows? Maybe she lives within walking distance.”

  I closed the door, making sure to lock it. It was going to be our first night alone in the mansion.

  “We’d better make sure all the doors are locked,” I said.

  “I already did,” George said, joining us in the entrance hall. “I locked some windows, too—the ones with ledges wide enough to climb.”

  The thought of someone climbing through a window in the middle of the night made my skin crawl—but I refused to obsess.

  “Do you think we should check the other rooms?” Bess asked.

  “No,” George said. “Stacey left, Olga left. No one is in the mansion except us.”

  We had planned to look for more clues about Zaza’s shoes, but our cushy new beds were calling to us.

  “Remember, George,” Bess said when we reached our rooms. “If you get scared alone in your room tonight, just come in.”

  “Oh, puh-leeze,” George groaned as she shut her door.

  Once I was in bed, my head sank into the marshmallow-soft pillow, but my thoughts turned to Stacey.

  After watching her today, I couldn’t imagine her joining any kind of cult. She had an incredible event-planning career, a beach house on Malachite—why would she need a crazy associate like Roland to prop her up?