15 Minutes Page 2

  "Well," I slowed my speech. "I did believe it sounded legitimate. I mean, I haven't been in Black Pine for a while, but I assumed, or at least Blake assumed, everything was aboveboard. I think she checked your agency with Better Business or something—”

  "I was talking to Lamar," sighed Nash. "Lamar, what do you make of this?"

  "You know my feelings. But you could use help, Nash," said Lamar. "I'd ask about qualifications."

  Nash turned from the door to look at me.

  "Me?" I said. "I've been studying Criminal Justice at U Cal, Long Beach, while doing the show. But if you don't watch TV, you probably didn't know that. The producers liked the location shots on campus. I had to draw the line at them following me into class, because the professors got upset—”

  "What show is that?" said Lamar. "One of them reality shows?"

  "All is Albright. It got picked up after the first time I went to rehab. Vicki's idea to capitalize on my notoriety. Awkward, right? I was ready to be done with TV altogether, but it did pay for college. And all the legal fees. And my other bills—”

  "Are you for real?" asked Nash. "Is this some kind of prank? Candid Camera type of thing?"

  "Candid Camera? Like Betty White's show?” I shook my head. “I am entirely serious. Before I left California, I had Blake research private investigation agencies in Black Pine and yours was all she came up with. Is Jolene Sweeney your partner? Because I'm starting to wonder how Blake made the appointment—”

  "Even I'm not old enough to remember Candid Camera, Nash," said Lamar. "I swear, you were born in the wrong century. Although, I'm not much for reality shows. Except Cops, I do like Cops."

  "Well, last season was a bit like Cops," I said. "That's when Oliver's non-profit was busted, unfortunately. Which led to my recent predicament. However, my therapist, Renata, and I do agree it all worked out for the best. I wanted out of LA. And this is a better way to fulfill my dream. A healthier alternative."

  "Now that sounds interesting," said Lamar. "A bust as a healthier alternative. Not heard that view before."

  "I think I've heard enough," said Nash.

  The doorknob rattled, and we all hushed. Nash made the finger to the lips sign, and Lamar cut me a "can you believe this guy" type of look.

  I wanted to giggle, but then a sharp knock sounded on the frosted glass, and my stomach sank somewhere beneath my knees. The donut smell and nudity should have given me fair warning. Vicki had told me moving here was a bad idea. She said I was too Beverly Hills for Black Pine.

  I hoped I had enough Black Pine in me to make this work. Although it did seem, when I thought her wrong, Vicki usually proved me otherwise.

  "I know you're in there, Wyatt Nash," said a female voice outside the door. "Open up."

  Nash glowered at the door.

  Lamar closed his eyes. A smile stretched across his face.

  I clutched my Chloé bag to my chest, hoping I hadn't got locked in a room with two crazy men.

  On the other hand, if the crazy was outside, I hoped the lock held.

  The knocking commenced to pounding. "Very funny. Wyatt, honey. Open the door. I'm late for the meeting."

  "I'm not your honey," said Nash. "And there's no meeting."

  "Like I meant honey that way. Lord help me, Wyatt, just open the flippin' door."

  "Jolene Sweeney, you have three seconds to leave the premises or I'm calling Black Pine PD and reporting a violation of your restraining order. I believe it said one hundred feet." Nash nodded his head and folded his arms.

  My eyebrows shot up to my hairline.

  Lamar sniggered.

  "You dumbshit," said Jolene Sweeney. "I'm the one with the restraining order on you."

  I edged toward the inner office door.

  "Well then, I suggest you back down the hallway, and I'll just get out of here," said Nash. "I'm not even going to point out the fallacy of your logic in suggesting a meeting within one hundred feet of me."

  I reached the inner office and checked that door for a lock.

  "Lamar," said Jolene. "Are you in there?"

  Lamar's eyelids drifted open. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Just tell me this," said Jolene. "Did a girl show up?"

  "There's one here now."

  "Miss Albright," said Jolene. "Are you there? I'm so sorry about this."

  "Ma'am?" I adopted my father's throatier, slower cadence, rather than my shriller, speedier California tongue. "Actually, my last name is Spayberry. There seems to be a mix-up. Mr. Nash, here, didn't expect me and doesn't need an assistant."

  "Spayberry?" Jolene's knocking and rattling quieted.

  Lamar and Nash glanced at me. I shrugged.

  "I had thought..." Jolene paused. "I'm sorry, Miss Spayberry. Black Pine Group and I are expecting Maizie Albright from the Julia Pinkerton: Teen Detective show.”

  “So you don’t need an assistant?”

  “We thought if we sold to a national chain, Maizie might do endorsements. You know, grown up Julia recommending a real detective agency. Anyway, I think she's just looking to do research for a new show. You can go, Miss Spayberry. And no skin off your nose, Wyatt. When Miss Albright gets here, just let her follow you around for a few days."

  Nash glared at the door. "Black Pine Group? That's who you've been talking to? Did you know I have a client there?"

  "Wyatt, stop being so unreasonable," yelled Jolene. "I don't know what that local girl is doing there, but don't hire anyone. You can't afford it. We need to keep your overhead low. Get rid of her before Maizie Albright shows up."

  "Are you just doing research for a new show?" Lamar asked me.

  I shook my head and whispered. "I'm done with TV. I really do want to become a private investigator. I've had experience with them in the past. And I loved playing the part of a detective. That's why I majored in Criminal Justice. And then there's Judge Ellis's requirements. I need a job."

  Nash gave the door a toothy smile and his cool blue eyes glinted. "Jolene, I will hire whoever the hell I want. This is still my business." He turned around and beamed the wicked blues on me. "You're hired."

  Behind the door, Jolene hammered and swore.

  "You're making my new assistant blush, Jolene."

  "Please, Wyatt. If Maizie Albright shows up, don't offend her. Lord knows we could use the PR."

  "When did I ever seem the type to let some TV personality follow me around? Now leave before I call the police and get myself removed from your presence."

  "Go to hell," said Jolene.

  "Probably," said Nash. "But later. I'm a little busy at the moment."

  The door thudded and shook as if someone kicked it. Heels clicked down the hallway.

  “Dammit." Nash punched the file cabinet. The bottom drawer slid open, revealing a mess of electrical cords. He kicked the drawer shut. "The Black Pine Group?"

  I backed farther into the inner office, my hand on the doorknob. "What's going on here?"

  "Do you know how to do billing?" asked Lamar. "Accounts receivable and payable? How to file receipts? What about surveillance? Due diligence research? Any experience there?"

  "You're not really hired," said Nash. "I don't need an assistant."

  "You can't live on spite, Nash," said Lamar. "I know for a fact your billings are a mess. You've probably got people who owe you money and you don't have time to chase them down."

  "If I needed an assistant, I would have hired one myself."

  "We've all needed someone to give us a break at one time or another," said Lamar. "And need I remind you, who gave you yours?"

  "Who?" I said.

  "None of your business," said Nash.

  "Boomer Spayberry," said Lamar. "When Nash was setting up his office and struggling to make it a go, Boomer hired him to evaluate and recommend the security at DeerNose. Huge job. And it's not like Boomer wouldn't have gotten bids from bigger firms to get the best price."

  "True," I said. "Daddy never met a dollar he liked to spend needlessly."
r />   "I wasn't a charity case," said Nash.

  "No," said Lamar, "but without a recommendation from someone like Boomer Spayberry, you would have struggled to keep your business from going belly-up. I don't need to remind you what was going on at that point in your life."

  "No, you don't," said Nash. "And I rather you keep it to yourself."

  "Am I hired?" I squealed. "You don't know how relieved I am. Judge Ellis said I had ten days after reaching Black Pine to secure a job. You see—”

  "First rule, Miss Albright," said Nash. "I don't want any details about your celebrity lifestyle."

  "I don't mind hearing details," said Lamar.

  "Do it on your own time." Nash turned back to me. "You're going to have to prove yourself. Because right now I don't see anything worth hiring. This is a serious business."

  "Of course," I said. "I'm a quick learner. My directors all said so. Except one, but it was such a B movie, nobody tried very hard. Straight to video, you know. Even the Syfy channel rejected it."

  "Do I need to remind you of rule one already, Miss Albright? Now, I've got some appointments to keep. I need to finish changing, so if you don't mind." Nash waved his hand.

  "Time to make sure they're making the donuts downstairs." Lamar popped from his chair, grinning. "This is just what you needed, Nash."

  "I need this like a hole in the head."

  "I'm sure Jolene would love to arrange that for you."

  two

  #wannabedetective #LALooks

  After Lamar left, I waited in the outer office while Nash finished changing. With the door closed, thankfully. I took to fiddling with my sunglasses and wondering if this decision to apprentice Nash wasn't just a tiny bit rash. I've been known to do rash.

  As I considered how to get Mr. Nash to write me a W-4 so I could get a copy to Judge Ellis, Nash's door swung open. A polished businessman in gray Armani slacks and Gucci loafers appeared.

  I squinted at the Guccis. Perhaps I had been judging Black Pine fashion by DeerNose gear too long.

  Nash glanced at his watch then pointedly at me. "I do have a meeting. So, see you."

  I nodded, then realized I was doing it again. Letting other people control the situation. Renata had lectured me on this. Although she mainly meant Vicki.

  While I thought of a polite way to ask Mr. Nash to allow me in on a client discussion, a knock sounded on his door again. A normal knock this time.

  Nash strode past me to usher in a middle-aged man, wearing khakis and a golf shirt.

  The golf shirt insignia said "Black Pine Club.” He also had the paunch, sunburned cheeks, and drawl of the Black Pine moneyed class. Mostly old money, although recently there'd been some new money with a resurgence of interest in the old resort town. A century ago, wealthy Georgians founded Black Pine Mountain Resort to escape the summer heat. During the Depression, muckity-mucks finagled a Works Project to dam a nearby river, thereby giving the mountain retreat waterfront property. From there, Black Pine Lake and Black Pine town emerged.

  After the man had back-slapped Nash with a hearty "mornin'," he turned toward me for a quick perusal. "Now who's this ray of sunshine brightening your gloomy office, Nash?"

  "David Waverly, this is..." Nash paused. He wasn't sure what to call me.

  "I know who this is." David Waverly stepped forward to clasp my hand in his. "Maizie Albright. I heard you were in town. Jolene said you needed to follow Nash to research for a movie. This is a good sign."

  "Now David," said Nash. "I don't know what you're talking about. This is Maizie Spayberry. She's just leaving. Come into my office so we can chat."

  Waverly continued to pump my hand between his meaty paws. "Miss Maizie, I was a Julia Pinkerton fan. It is such an honor to meet you."

  "Thank you," I said, unable pull my hand from his. "That's very nice of you to say."

  "It was such a shame when Julia left for college and your sister, Amy, took over the detective business. Just wasn't the same. Why did you leave?"

  How do I say, "Between seasons, puberty caught me and ended my career in teen television?" My look had gone from girl-next-door to Playboy centerfold overnight. I had spent my entire last season in Julia's cheer uniform, hugging books or hiding behind furniture to keep family-friendly ratings. Of course, that last season we did have a sudden spike in the middle-aged male demographic. Of which, it seemed, David Waverly was one.

  I lifted a shoulder. "That's TV for you."

  "How about an autograph?"

  "I'll need my hand for that." I smiled and yanked my hand from his.

  "Autographs later," said Nash and pointed toward the open office door, gesturing for Waverly to enter. "We need to talk, David."

  David Waverly ignored Nash. "I suspect my wife is having an affair."

  "That's horrible," I said. "Why do you think that?"

  "Sarah's been acting differently. She's quit her volunteer work, which doesn't make us look too good in the community. She denied an affair, of course."

  "Do you have children?" I asked. "This will be very hard on your children."

  Nash cleared his throat. "David, after a month of surveillance, her schedule is fairly routine. Sarah does go to the club every day. But she's not meeting anyone there. Sometimes she takes the boat out."

  David Waverly leaned toward me. "We don't have children. She's not being open with me. She never understood me. I thought I should start collecting evidence to break the pre-nup. Just in case."

  "Oh, my."

  Nash dropped his hand. "Have you noticed anything new? Odd items in your home or car? Receipts? Strange credit card charges? Anything else I can investigate? I'm sorry, David, but I'm not seeing it."

  "How long have you been married?" I didn't get a good vibe from David Waverly. Nash seemed eager to be rid of him as a client. Which also felt strange.

  Nash’s lips firmed, and he gave me a barely perceptible head shake.

  I looked back at David Waverly, who counted on his fingers.

  "Eleven years?" said David Waverly. "Sarah's number two."

  Nash folded his arms. "Mr. Waverly, in these cases, fifty percent of the time a husband is not correct in his assumptions."

  "Fifty percent." I turned to David Waverly. "Those are pretty good odds she isn't cheating. You must be happy to hear that."

  David Waverly didn't look happy to hear his odds. "I'm sure I'm right. Why don't you see what Miss Albright can find? She's got experience."

  "She played a character on TV," said Nash. "That's not experience. The show wasn't even believable."

  "You watched Julia Pinkerton?"

  Nash snapped a look at me, then addressed David Waverly. “I don’t feel I can help you, David. Continuing with the investigation is a waste of your money and my time."

  "I'm disappointed in you, Nash." A sly smile slid from Waverly's thin lips. "Is this about Black Pine Group selling your business? Don't worry about conflict of interest. Sweeney’s handling it."

  Nash's ears pinkened and a muscle flexed in his neck. "I'm not interested in selling. You've been talking to the wrong person. I'm dropping your case because I don't believe there is one, and it feels hinky to keep pursuing your wife while she golfs and shops for her lady things."

  Maybe it was the mention of his wife's "lady things," but David Waverly's golf tan deepened in color. "I know my wife, and I know something's going on."

  "Again, I'm sorry, David."

  Waverly turned to me. "You need to help me. I'm sure you understand. Everyone knows what you went through with your husband. Maybe we need fresh eyes on Sarah. A woman's perspective."

  "Oliver wasn't my husband. But I do understand feeling blindsided by someone close." I didn't like Waverly using my tabloid fodder for an appeal to make me discredit my almost-boss. But after all, Waverly must know his own wife better than Nash did. "Maybe Mr. Nash would let me practice surveillance on your wife?"

  Too late, I saw Nash's clamped lip, bug-eyed head shake.

  "How abo
ut just for a week?" I said. "And if I don't see anything odd, then you'll agree to let Mr. Nash drop the case?"

  Behind Waverly, Nash rolled his eyes.

  Waverly bobbed his head, the angry color fading from his cheeks. "Great idea."

  "Alrighty," I said. "See you soon."

  David Waverly rocked back on his heels. "I certainly hope so. Come out to the club sometime. I'll take you out on my little boat."

  I hadn't been gone from Black Pine so long that I didn’t understand the euphemism. Little boats in Black Pine are not little. Just like Black Pine is not a little lake.

  "That sounds lovely.” Which is my euphemism for "not a chance in hell."

  After a round of goodbyes and a firm closing of the office door, Nash set his blue laser beams upon me. "What in the hell was that? You can't offer your services to one of my clients. There's something hinky going on and you have no business getting involved. You're not even a real assistant. You're some crazy Hollywood detective wannabe. When you realize how dirty and sick this industry really is, you're going to wish you were back on TV."

  "I thought maybe I could help you with an awkward situation? And at the same time, get a little field experience?"

  "I tell you what's awkward. Having Maizie Albright in my office. It'll make a great bar story, but I wouldn't choose to have you meet someone like David Waverly."

  "Why?"

  "Look at the way he was slobbering all over you."

  "That doesn't bother me, don't let it bother you. It's very gentlemanly of you, though. Thank you for your concern."

  "You misunderstand me. I wasn't concerned for you. I'm sure you're used to men slobbering all over you. I couldn't get Waverly to pay attention because you were here. I need to remove myself from that job so I can focus on other assignments. Sarah Waverly is not having an affair."

  "I suppose you do have a point there. I'll work on that."

  He walked back to his desk and rooted through the folders stacked on his desk.

  "So what's next?"

  "What do you need me for?" Nash yanked on a folder and flipped it open. "Sounds like you're rounding up your own cases."