California Schemin': Book One in the Malibu Mayhem Trilogy (3 page)

“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!

W
e 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.