Malibu Mayhem Trilogy 02: Mystery At Malachite Mansion (8 page)

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?

With that thought, I fell into a deep sleep….

“Nancy, wake up!”

“Huh?” Bess was shaking my shoulder. As I peered through the darkness, I saw her face staring down at me.

“Did you hear that?” Bess hissed.

“Hear what?” I groaned.

“Listen,” she whispered. “It sounds like someone’s downstairs.”

I groggily sat up in bed but heard nothing. I was about to tell Bess to go back to sleep when I heard a noise.

“What was that?” I said.

“It sounds like somebody is creeping around the house,” Bess whispered. “I told you we shouldn’t have stayed here overnight.”

“Calm down,” I said. “It’s probably George sneaking leftover sandwiches from the kitchen. She always gets hungry in the middle of the night.”

I turned on the bedside lamp and climbed out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Bess asked.

“Downstairs,” I said, heading toward the door. “I’m kind of hungry myself. I’ll keep her company.”

But when I opened our bedroom door, I ran into George coming out of
her
room.

“Uh-oh,” Bess said.

“You heard it too?” George asked.

“We were hoping it was you,” I said, but then had
a thought. “It could be Stacey. Maybe she couldn’t sleep, so she came back here to take care of stuff.”

“That sounds like Stacey,” George said as we made our way down the stairs.

The clattering stopped when we approached the staircase, but as we headed downstairs, the air suddenly became thick.

Omigod—smoke!

“You guys,” I said, my heart beginning to pound, “the mansion’s on fire!”

W
e thundered down the stairs to see the front door wide open. Through the smoke-filled entrance hall I saw a fire burning on the hardwood floor near the door. It looked small, but the winds coming from outside were causing it to grow by the second.

I felt the blood drain from my face as I frantically weighed our options: run out and call the fire department or try putting the fire out ourselves. Since we didn’t have our phones, I went for plan number two.

“Shut the door!” I shouted.

I darted past the flames to a window in the entrance
hall. “Help me with this!” I yelled, trying to pull the heavy curtain down.

George yanked the curtain, sending it—and the rod—crashing to the floor. Gathering the material in my arms, I ran toward the fire and threw the thick curtain over it, covering it completely. Bess and George followed my lead, patting at the material to smother the flames.

The smoke began to die down, and carefully I lifted the curtain to make sure the fire was out. All that was left were the remains of a charred rag—a rag I was sure had been first soaked with some kind of flammable liquid.

“Somebody set this fire,” George said. “If we hadn’t come down in time, we would have been killed.”

“The most important thing is that we did,” I said. “The second most important—who threw the flaming rag into the house?”

“The Blue Greenies are into burning mansions,” George said angrily. “That rag could have been their calling card.”

I opened the door and checked the lock.

“There’s no sign of breaking in,” I said. “Whoever opened the door must have used a key—and the Blue Greenies definitely have no key.”

“We’re the only ones with keys to the mansion,” George said. “Us and Stacey.”

“And Roland … and Inge,” Bess murmured.

George snapped, “Bess, what part of ‘Roland is dead and Inge is in jail’ don’t you get?”

“If you say so,” Bess said. “Shouldn’t we let the police know what happened?”

I gave it serious thought. The citizen in me said to call the police. The detective in me said to hold off.

“I’m not ready to call the police,” I said. “If someone is determined to keep this event from happening, I’m just as determined to find out who it is.”

We checked the room for burning embers, put the ruined curtain outside near the trash, and headed back upstairs.

“We’ll tell Stacey about the fire in the morning,” I said. “In the meantime, let’s try to get some sleep.”

“In this crazy place?” Bess said with a shudder. “Good luck!”

As I slipped back into bed, I wondered about the noises we’d heard earlier. They sounded like more than just a front door being opened—they sounded as if someone was inside and rummaging around the house.

The thought was troubling but not troubling enough to keep me awake.

The next morning I woke up, not to Bess’s panicky voice, but to the awesome aroma of breakfast wafting
up from downstairs, along with lively conversation and laughter.

Wow
, I thought, remembering the crazy night before.
What a difference a day makes
.

I shook Bess awake and called George’s cell to wake her up too. Ten minutes later we headed downstairs to the dining room.

“And I thought I liked to sleep in,” Mandy’s voice said.

I turned to see all three Casabian sisters sitting at the dining room table eating breakfast—but nothing like scrambled eggs or toast. The sisters were feasting on what looked like fried shrimp, tilapia fillets, and fresh grilled tuna steaks.

Circling them like buzzards was the crew of the sisters’ reality show,
Chillin’ with the Casabians
.

“Mia,” the producer Bev barked, “make some kind of comment about how you thought tuna only came in cans.”

“I will not pretend to be dumb, Bev,” Mia said, rolling her eyes. “Now can you please leave us alone and let us eat our breakfast?”

“You call that breakfast?” George asked.

Stacey flitted into the room, staring at her phone. “There you are,” she said. “You know, I didn’t think you girls were smokers.”

“Smokers?” I said.

“We don’t smoke!” Bess insisted.

“Then what was that smell when I came into the house this morning?” Stacey asked.

“Last night, somebody broke into the house,” I said. “They—”

But Stacey cut me off. “We’re trying out Chef André Walters’s dishes for the party.” She smiled past my shoulder. “In fact, here he is now.”

Chef Walters swept into the dining room, wearing a white jacket and a traditional chef toque. I recognized him from the pictures on his special seafood sauce labels.

“André asked Mandy, Mallory, and Mia to taste the food he’s planning to prepare,” Stacey said.

The jovial chef turned to us and smiled. “Ah!” he said, rubbing his hands together. “More guinea pigs to experiment on.”

“He means grab a seat and eat!” Stacey said. She gestured to the table with her phone. “I hope you girls like seafood, because that’s what’s on the menu.”

I did like seafood, but the thought of such heavy dishes first thing in the morning made my stomach churn. So did the camera that pointed directly at Bess, George, and me.

“Thanks,” I said. “Maybe we’ll have some leftovers later.”

“That is,” Chef Walters said with a wink at the camera, “if there are any leftovers!”

Bess took me aside and whispered, “Aren’t we going to tell Stacey about the fire last night?”

“You saw,” I whispered back. “I tried to tell her, but she cut me off. I’ll try again later when there aren’t so many people around.”

“’Scuse me,” a gruff voice said.

We turned to see Olga behind us, a platter of boiled lobster in her hands. As I watched her place the platter on the table, I noticed something odd: Her nose looked
crooked
.

My thoughts were interrupted, as usual, by Stacey. She came over and said, “No word yet from Miss Zaza or her manager, girls. Looks like we might have to settle for that young kid after all.”

“You mean me?” Austin asked as he entered the room.

“Austin, there you are,” Stacey said. “Try some of Chef Walters’s dishes and tell me what you think. I’d like a boy’s opinion.”

“No problem,” Austin said with a shrug.

Before he could head toward the table, George whispered, “Nancy, Bess, we have got to ask Austin about Miss Zaza.”

“George!” Bess objected.

“She’s right, Bess,” I said. “Austin may be kind to animals and sick kids, but he’s still a suspect.”

Austin looked surprised as we stepped in front of him. “Hey. What’s up?” he asked.

“We didn’t see you at Miss Zaza’s rehearsal last night,” I said in a low voice.

“I know,” Austin said coolly. “How did it go?”

“Other than Miss Zaza almost getting electrocuted?” George said, glaring at him.

“Electrocuted?”
Austin said. “What happened?”

“Someone poured water into Miss Zaza’s shoes,” I said. “Zaza was wearing her electric costume when she almost stepped into them.”

“Who do you think did it?” Austin asked. When we didn’t answer, he looked straight at me and said, “Oh, come on. You don’t think I did it—do you?”