California Schemin': Book One in the Malibu Mayhem Trilogy (4 page)

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.

M
y 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.”