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  Laci cut in. “Can you give us references?”

  “References? For you?” Actually, I probably couldn’t. Not with those cases. And where was this going? The clock was ticking. I needed to meet Dr. Trident before he called Gladys. If she didn’t like my dog in the tree excuse, she really wasn’t going to like the teenagers in the office excuse.

  “My two most major cases had missing persons in them,” I said quickly. “They were also murder—” I stopped myself, remembering to whom I was speaking. “But why don’t you come back later? I’m sorry but I really—”

  “You were going to say murder cases,” said Mara. “That’s perfect. We need you to investigate a murder.”

  “We don’t know if he’s murdered,” said Laci.

  “He’s probably murdered,” said Mara.

  “Hold up,” I said. “What’s going on with you three? You have a missing friend who may be murdered? And you want to hire me to investigate?”

  They nodded.

  “Are the police also investigating?”

  They shook their heads.

  I slowed down my speech and took another step back, rocking the chair. “You don’t have anything to do with this missing probable-murder, do you?”

  “We were camping together.” Mara glanced at Fred. He nodded. “And that’s when Chandler disappeared.”

  “Oh my God. Why didn’t you tell the police? What did Chandler’s parents say? They must be out of their minds with worry.”

  “We don’t really know his parents,” said Laci.

  “Holy shiz, that doesn’t matter.” I checked the tone of my voice and forced myself to calm. “You have to tell his parents. And the police.”

  They shuffled back a step, glancing at each other.

  “We’ll do it now.” My thoughts hopped from every teens-in-the-woods horror flick to every teen-murder-pact news story I’d seen. I couldn’t hide my shudder, but I maintained the even keel to my voice. A benefit of acting. Staying calm among possible teen killers. Surely Gladys would allow me the excuse of reporting a teen homicide if it included turning in the main suspects. “I’ll go with you. It’ll be okay. The police will appreciate you reporting it.”

  “We already went to the police. A week ago,” said Fred. “They’re not interested.”

  “What do you mean they’re not interested? It’s their job to be interested in missing and murdered people. Did you give them all the facts?”

  “Of course,” said Laci. “Our parents went with us and we filled out a report detailing everything that happened that night. And everything we knew about Chandler.”

  I watched them side-eye each other. “What about Chandler’s parents? His parents must have noticed he’s missing and gone to the police.”

  “He’s not a minor,” said Mara. “He’s like twenty-something. We don’t know his parents.”

  “You were camping in the woods with a twenty-something-year-old man?” My stomach turned over. I licked my lips and wondered if Chandler was missing because he was in jail. I hoped he was in jail.

  “Chandler’s the producer of our YouTube channel.”

  “Your YouTube channel has a producer?”

  Mara nodded. “Bigfoot Trackers. Chandler’s also the star. Fred and Laci are research and hosts, too. I direct. I prefer behind the scenes.”

  I would, too, if I had a Bigfoot show, but whatever. “Let me guess, you were vlogging on your camping expedition.”

  “Of course,” said Laci. “Right behind the new Wellspring Center.”

  “Wait a minute. I’m supposed to go to the—” They didn’t need to know that. “And Chandler struck out on his own, looking for Bigfoot, while you were…”

  “Making s’mores,” said Fred.

  “Chandler was actually investigating Wellspring,” said Mara. “Not Bigfoot.”

  “We’re always investigating Bigfoot,” said Fred. “That’s our job.”

  “It’s not a job unless you actually get paid,” I said. “Back to Chandler…”

  “We get paid. Ad revenue,” said Laci. “Our Kickstarter blew the roof. And we have sponsors.” She turned so I could read the Bigfoot logo patch on her backpack. Next to an even bigger logo for a camera. And one for a sports drink. Plus a patch for a s’mores-flavored protein bar.

  “Way to rock the product placement,” formed on my lips, but then I remembered I was adulting. I cleared my throat. “Anyway, you were making s’mores. Near the Wellspring Center. Why were you near the Wellspring Center?”

  “We believe Bigfoot — Ouch. I have this theory about chickens — Stop kicking me, Laci.” Fred rubbed his chin. “It’s a good spot to look for Bigfoot.”

  “And Chandler never came back? Did you look for him?”

  The teens cut their eyes to the ground.

  “He told us not to leave the campsite,” mumbled Fred.

  “He never said goodbye or came back to get his stuff,” said Mara. “That’s why I know he’s murdered.”

  “We looked the next morning,” said Laci. “We couldn’t find anything. And the police looked. They used a dog, but the dog traced his scent back to where he parked. His car was gone and they put out an APB. But they couldn’t do much else.”

  “The police think he just took off?”

  The three nodded, tight-lipped. Then glanced everywhere but at me or themselves.

  “What else did the police say?”

  “That he drove to the Atlanta airport and bought a ticket to Mexico,” said Mara. “Chandler wouldn’t do that. At least without telling us. The police said we were confused. But how could the three of us be confused at the same time?”

  If they convinced themselves into confusion, that’s how. A very teenager-y thing to do. I should know. I spent most of my teenage years in confused convictions.

  “How close were you to the Wellspring Center?” I said.

  Mara dragged her toe across the floor. A loopy line appeared in the dust. “Very close.”

  “Were you trespassing?”

  More toe dragging. Laci stared at Fred. Fred focused on the dust trail pattern.

  “If we weren’t inside the fence, I don’t think it counts as trespassing,” said Mara.

  Okay, then. “What do you think happened to Chandler? Fred, you answer. And no kicking, Laci.”

  Fred ran a hand through his curls, grabbed a handful, and squeezed. “Well…we’ve been investigating this area for a while. I have a hypothesis that Sasquatch would be attracted to the chicken farm. A perfect source of food, right there in his habitat. He might want retribution for humans tearing up the mountain to build stupid things like spas—”

  “In any case, we have evidence Bigfoot’s been there,” interrupted Laci. “The Wellspring Center opened recently, and we were worried that they may be adversely affecting Bigfoot’s habitat. But—”

  “But then…” Fred gave Laci a side-eye. “Watching the construction and fortifications, we started thinking there may be another reason for the Wellspring Center to build there. Chandler was convinced of it. We began a plan to see if we were right.”

  “Fortifications?” I said. “I thought this place was like a health retreat or something.”

  “Okay, fences.”

  “Fences are not so unusual. Actually, they’re pretty common.”

  “To keep people out?” said Mara. “Or to keep something in?”

  “Wait, you think the Wellspring Center has something to do with Bigfoot? And Chandler got…kidnapped? Murdered? By the Wellspring Center? Like a Stranger Things plot? Or Twin Peaks?”

  They refused to nod, but I could tell by their steely-eyed expressions that I’d hit on their suspicions. Teenagers hated being told their opinions weren’t valid. They also didn’t like to be patronized.

  I wasn’t left with much else to say.

  “And hiring me to look into Chandler’s disappearance would mean…”

  “You need to help us investigate the Wellspring Center,” said Fred. “To see if they’re
behind Chandler’s disappearance.”

  “I have to do community service—I mean, volunteer work at the Wellspring Center. And there’s a Dr. Trident—” I wasn’t going to get into the details of therapy with them. “Who needs my help.”

  “It’s a perfect cover,” said Mara, hopping in place. “That means this is meant to be. You’re already there.”

  “Wait,” said Fred. “We don’t know if she’s working at the Center or for the Center. You can’t trust the first detective you find.”

  “Stop saying ‘detective.’ We’re private investigators. And I’m not getting paid by the Wellspring Center. I’ve never even been there. Although I was supposed to be there about fifteen minutes ago.”

  The conversation had a “Who’s on First Base” quality that made me dizzy. Or maybe I was still dizzy from hyperventilating.

  “Anyway,” I continued. “My working at the Center doesn’t mean anything. It’s a coincidence built on the fact that the Wellspring Center just opened. I’m going there because…Dr. Trident needs my help. Moving in.”

  “You’re helping a doctor move their stuff in?” Mara’s eyes slid to Fred. “Like moving furniture?”

  “Possibly. And maybe painting.” I controlled my shudder. My phone beeped. I glanced at the incoming number. Gladys. Shizzles. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”

  “We’ll talk later,” said Mara.

  I gave her a tight smile. I didn’t have the heart to tell these kids that I didn’t have the time or patience for a missing person-Bigfoot hunt. I had to seek out actual paying jobs. Deal with the disappointingly tangible demands of a business. And fulfill the terms of a genuine probation mandate.

  Plus help a very real-life Nash. As long as he kept on living.

  Four

  #TridentGleam #TeenAgeMutantNinjas

  Black Pine Wellspring Center smelled like its chicken farm days hadn’t been too far off in the past. Unfortunate for a beautiful tract of land cut out of the forest near Black Pine Mountain’s peak. The main building had that gothic stone architecture popular more than a century ago with the turrets, heavy wood decor, and sweeping staircases. And the creepiness. I’m sure in its spa days, the rich carpetbaggers seeking to avoid the heat of a Southern summer thought it stately and comforting. Now it had the look of an old mental hospital favored on those ghost-hunting reality shows.

  The teens’ Bigfoot reports weren’t helping.

  While parking my dirt bike Lucky (because thus far, luck had kept me from dying in a hideous crash), I spotted several new buildings that looked modern and not-so-creepy. I hoped Dr. Trident would have an office in one of the smaller buildings.

  No such luck.

  Main building. East wing. Suite thirteen. It was like the gods of creepiness had conspired against him.

  I found the suite, expecting heavy drapes, oriental rugs, and The Haunting of Hill House wallpaper. Instead, it had white plaster walls, plantation shutters on the windows, and bamboo floors. Not unlike many of the California therapist offices I’d visited over the years.

  The bamboo floors soothed me. I’d been surrounded by pine and oak since my move to Georgia.

  Except for a desk, no furniture yet. Which, I guessed, was why I was there. Or at least one of the reasons. I knocked on the suite thirteen doorframe to alert the man sitting behind the desk.

  The knock echoed in the cavernous room, startling the doctor from his phone thumbing perusal. He jerked his head up, then adjusted his glasses and peered at me.

  “I’m Maizie Albright,” I said. “I’m your pro bono. And your community service volunteer. Happy to help. But I’m also in a hurry? My boss is in the hospital and I need to see him.”

  Dr. Trident rose from his desk and crossed the room to meet me. He looked older than me, though young to have his own office. He and Gladys had that in common. Unlike Gladys, he didn’t dress the part to signify age and wisdom. Instead, he rocked a dreadlock man bun and beard. He also wore the loose pants and mandarin-cut top I recognized as a martial arts uniform from my years starring in Kung Fu Kate.

  He patted my wrist while we shook hands, then gave me a short bow. Coming from California, I didn’t find it odd. Many of the psychologists I knew liked to give their patients an East-meets-West psyche mashup.

  “Excuse my attire, but I find it comfortable for moving day,” he said. “The Center has a brand-new gym. I did my meditative exercises before arriving. Do you do meditative exercises, Maizie?”

  “I like yoga breathing.” I wasn’t sure if that counted as exercise. But it sounded like something Dr. Trident would like to hear. I left off the part about my recent tendency to hyperventilate during yoga breathing which probably defeated the purpose. My ex-therapist, Renata, would call that a topic for the couch.

  “Excellent. We’ll work on that.”

  Which left me confused. Unless he guessed I hyperventilated.

  “I understand you’re a television star,” he said.

  “Not anymore. I started working in the industry when I was a toddler and had a lot of success in my teens. Julia Pinkerton, Teen Detective was my big breakout role.” I shifted, not sure if I was supposed to delve into couch topics or if this was just a community service work introduction.

  “I work exclusively with celebrity clients. One could say it’s my calling.” He smiled, showing me a beautiful set of veneers. “I’m here now that the entertainment industry has set up in Black Pine.”

  “Yes, it’s kind of ironic for me. Since my probation sent me home to get away from the industry.”

  “Many industry professionals need help. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

  To be polite, I gave him a faint smile instead of a head shake.

  “Selfie?” He held up his phone. “We can Instagram our first meeting. Hashtag-doctor-celeb-meet-and-greet.”

  Startled, I smiled up at the camera he’d already tilted above us. I wondered which meeting he’d post, community service or therapy. Neither did me any favors. Both smacked of all kinds of patient-doctor confidentiality issues.

  But at least he knew how to hold a camera to get the most flattering shot.

  * * *

  Dr. Trident gave me a quick tour of the main building, then walked me to the parking lot. We stopped for “photo ops” along the way.

  “How long will this take?” I said.

  “According to your probation officer, you need a lot of hours. But don’t worry. I talked to the manager and he feels there’s a lot of work here to keep you busy. You’ll accumulate time in a jiffy.”

  I was pretty sure time accumulated whether one was doing community service or not. In fact, an accumulation of time was something I needed to acquire, not spend. Lamar waited for me at the hospital. And Roger Price’s mother waited for her debriefing. Which I wouldn’t mind putting off. At the police station last night, our conversation had an accusatory ring. Kind of screaming ring, too. Somehow, I had to convince her to pay for our services. My breath tightened, and a squeezing pain lit my chest. I stopped to yoga breath and repeat my mantra.

  Dr. Trident halted his forward stride to glance over his shoulder. He rushed back. “Are you all right?”

  I held up a finger. Leaned over until the blood funneled back to my brain. Straightened. And gulped air. “Fine.”

  “Is it the children? Do you find them distressing?”

  “Why would I find children distressing? Wait, what?” I jerked my head up. Mara, Fred, and Laci loitered against a moving truck, watching me.

  I eased closer to Dr. Trident and lowered my voice. “What are they doing here?”

  “Same as you. Helping me move in. They’re just volunteers. Are they a trigger? Pediaphobia?”

  “Pedia-whasit?”

  “Fear of children. It’s not uncommon. Shall we try some behavior therapy?”

  “My behavior’s fine. I’m more concerned with theirs. Hang on.” I strode forward and stopped before the three, accosting them with a fierce whisper. “What are you doing
here?”

  “Helping you,” said Mara.

  “I don’t need this kind of help.”

  “Maizie,” said Dr. Trident. “Don’t waste our time.”

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  “You’ll have a chance to get to know each other in a moment. I have a meeting and I hate to remind you, but you were late.”

  I sighed and slid in line next to the reason I was late. Then scooted several steps to my left, leaving a gap between us.

  For someone in a hurry, Dr. Trident spent an inordinate amount of time explaining how to carry boxes and furniture. How to bend our knees. How to measure doorways. How to use an elevator.

  I found myself leaning against the truck with crossed arms, gazing into space. Trying not to think about Nash. Or roll my eyes at Dr. Trident’s excessive mansplaining. I glanced at the teens. And realized we all had the same posture and glazed eye syndrome.

  Old habits die hard.

  But didn’t they have homework to do? People their own age to stalk? Bigfoot to capture?

  Dr. Trident clapped his hands and our small group simultaneously straightened. “Can you repeat what I just said?”

  The kids and I mumbled something about elevators, safety, and knees.

  “Good,” he said. “Are we cool?”

  We stared at him. Then gave him an almost imperceptible nod that we understood his archaic slang.

  “Great. We’ll get ice cream when you’re done.”

  I felt my spirits rise.

  “And no worries, it’s gluten and dairy free.”

  And crash.

  As Dr. Trident strode into the building, I turned to the teens. “Seriously, why?”

  “Dr. Trident said you’re here for community service,” said Laci.

  “That does not answer my question.”

  “What’d you do?” said Mara.

  “Again. Why are you here?”

  “We want to get to know you,” said Fred.

  “Google me. I have work to do.”

  “We know,” said Laci. “You seem kind of busy, so we thought this would be a good way to—”