15 Minutes: Maizie Albright Star Detective Read online

  Really, Vicki should have thanked me. Instead of pointing out the effects of Patrón and Pinkberry on my hips. Easily seen through the wet Isabel Marant dress. But Renata the therapist helped me reconcile all that. No dwelling on the past. Although Patrón remained on the unimbibeable list. No more Patrón for Maizie Albright.

  Oddly enough, my real problem was with Pinkberry.

  I set that thought away and turned to my old standby: WWJPD, What Would Julia Pinkerton Do? Julia Pinkerton would solve Wyatt Nash's cases for him, thereby making it necessary for him to hire her. Though Wyatt Nash had made it clear he didn’t want to hire Maizie Albright. He’d purposely set me up with a violent nail esthetician. But why wouldn't he want to work with Julia Pinkerton? Julia Pinkerton was a teenage detecting genius.

  And Julia Pinkerton never let Patrón get in the way of a case. Mostly because she was underage. But still.

  Considerably cheered, I pulled in front of the donut-scented building, next to Nash's Silverado. I sailed through the front door and up the stairs to the Nash Security Solutions door and, remembering my earlier mistake, rapped on the glass.

  At Nash's, "Come on in," I grasped the old-timey knob and graced Wyatt Nash with Julia Pinkerton's presence.

  Without the cheer ensemble. And I lost the teenage hip-pop, eye-roll attitude. I couldn't pull it off at twenty-five.

  Nash looked up from his desk. “What are you doing here?"

  "I am here to report my progress. Checking in."

  Nash studied my face for a long second, then dropped his eyes to my blood splattered dress. "I suppose you're going to try to sue me, but I will take it to court. You brought this on yourself. I warned you. This is a dangerous business."

  "Why does everyone think I'm going to sue them? Tiffany was so worried about it, I offered to buy her drinks tonight at the Cove."

  "You. Offered to buy her drinks?" Wyatt Nash squinted at me. "What's wrong with you?"

  "Nothing. A little swelling, but I think it's going to be okay.” I patted the skin beneath my eyes. "I don't think they'll blacken, although Tiffany does. So, did I do good? You were able to serve Tiffany's papers pretty quickly. I feel sorry for her, having to testify for her ex-husband. That's got to suck. I called her boss and told her it was an accident. That should help.”

  "Are you nuts? She assaulted you. You could have googled her image on your phone in thirty seconds instead of pretending to get your nails done."

  "But I helped you."

  "Miss Albright," Nash's voice lowered and took on the cadence of one speaking to very young, intellectually challenged children. "Thank you for trying to help me, but just because you played a detective on TV doesn't mean you can be one in real life."

  “We made a deal.” I fought feelings of panic and septum pain and sought inner peace through Julia Pinkerton bossiness. “I'm going to start investigating Sarah Waverly tonight."

  "Go home, Miss Albright." He slid a cool look over me. "Go put some ice on that precious nose before your pretty face really turns black and blue. Or you might think differently about suing everyone."

  four

  #SueCity #DetectingFail

  It seemed Black Pine had turned sue-happy, which I had thought was a California thing. Once Nash knew I didn't blame him for my perhaps-broken nose, I hoped he'd feel differently.

  After a cold compress, nap, and change at the DeerNose cabin, I, too, felt differently. Mainly less sore in the face. But also less distracted by the doubts and insecurity my therapist advised me to turn into something positive. "Because negative thinking creates negative actions. And haven't you had enough of those?"

  So positive thinking told me buying drinks for Tiffany and Rhonda at the Cove could turn into the positive action of finding information about David Waverly's wife. Then I’d show Wyatt Nash I was more than an ex-teen star and together we could calm David Waverly's fears. I dressed for success and dashed to my little Jag.

  Turning off the local highway, I followed the mountain road to Black Pine Yacht and Golf Club and Resort. Positioned between the club and guest buildings, the Cove featured a patio on the lake with docks for yacht members. I hadn't much experience with the Cove or the Club. I did know folks like David Waverly and Mrs. Waverly hung out there. Everybody with money, except Daddy, hung out there.

  I left the Jag with the valet and entered the stacked stone and timber building. Very woodsy-resorty with giant walls of glass for lake viewing and French doors open to the patio. A massive stone fireplace divided the restaurant from the bar. I skipped the fireplace bar and headed to the patio, where the guests draped themselves around glass tables and lounge chairs. A handful of cigarette boats and even more cabin cruisers bobbed along the line of docks. Bartenders and servers, dressed in plaid vests, scurried to and fro with bourbons, scotches, and vast quantities of wine.

  The Cove seemed more for those on a liquid diet. Hopefully, Black Pine could provide some sort of fatted calf for their prodigal actress. Renata the therapist wouldn't allow me bourbon, scotch, or wine. Veal was okay although she'd be happier if I were vegan.

  Casual formal was the dress code for the Cove. Men had their Ralph Laurens and Brooks Brothers rolled to the elbow. Diamonds and designer maxi dresses adorned the women.

  Tiffany and Rhonda were easy to spot at the bar. Rhonda in a cotton halter dress. Tiffany's sequined tank matched her blue-tipped hair. Tiffany had also added more eyeliner to her repertoire. Like Rhonda, I also wore a halter dress, but in a shimmery, dotted chiffon, with matching crisscross sash-wrapped jute wedges. Gucci. In honor of Wyatt Nash's loafers.

  I hugged Rhonda, who enveloped me in a starchy-cotton, soft-bodied squeeze that left me a little dizzy. Partly because of her hugging strength. Partly because she had bathed in Vanilla Musk.

  Rhonda peeled herself off me, rearranged her breasts, and turned to Tiffany. "I told you she'd come."

  Tiffany did not hug me, but she unfolded her arms and uncocked her hip. I took it as a welcoming gesture.

  "Did you order yet?" I asked.

  Tiffany gave me a look that said, "Of course we didn't order. If you didn't show, we’d get stuck with the bill."

  "Not yet," said Rhonda. "I'm wondering what to get. Maybe a mai tai. I'm feeling coconutty. You think they can make those?"

  "I'll take a Jack and Coke," said Tiffany. "What're you having?"

  "Seltzer with lime. And food, I hope." I raised a finger and a plaid vested bartender appeared to take my order. I skimmed the menu and turned back to Tiffany and Rhonda. "They have fried pickles."

  Rhonda arched a brow that said, "Of course they have fried pickles." Rhonda and Tiffany spoke a lot without words.

  "Your nose don't look too bad," said Rhonda. "But you need to chill on the concealer under your eyes. You come see me tomorrow and I’ll fix you up. I do makeup."

  "Thanks," I said. "Do you know anybody here? I need information on a Sarah Waverly."

  Between my cold compress nap and shower, I had googled David Waverly. Waverly worked for a firm that bought and sold other firms. Although I didn’t understand his LinkedIn description’s catchphrases. His wife, Sarah, was on Facebook, but other than recipes and forwarded memes, she didn't share much. She had checked married for her relationship status. She and David belonged to the Black Pine Club and Black Pine Methodist Church. She didn’t have photos of her tennis or golf pro. Or the pool boy. Or her pastor. Or any other men, for that matter.

  That was about it for Sarah Waverly. If she was having an affair, she was having it offline. And according to Nash, invisibly.

  Tiffany and Rhonda also pondered Sarah Waverly for a moment but came up empty. Sarah Waverly did not get her hair or nails done at LA HAIR.

  "What do you need to know about her?" Tiffany leaned against the bar, making quick work of the Jack and Coke.

  "If she's cheating on her husband.”

  Rhonda's brown eyes grew bigger and she refocused on sucking down her mai tai.

  "Why do you care
if Sarah Waverly is cheating on her husband?" asked Tiffany.

  "I'm trying to get a job working for Wyatt Nash, the private investigator. When I quit acting, I went to college for criminal justice. I have a bachelor's degree."

  "I thought you starred in that reality show, All is Albright," said Rhonda.

  "My contract said it was supposed to be guest appearances. I did that while going to college. And when I graduated, I left."

  "Why in the hell would you go to college if you could do reality shows?" Tiffany eyed me over her glass. "Is it because you're no longer an A-lister?"

  My face heated. “Because I want to be a private investigator, not a TV personality."

  "Like Julia Pinkerton?" asked Rhonda.

  "Exactly."

  "You do know Julia Pinkerton isn't real?" said Tiffany. "Being a detective ain't going to be anything like Julia Pinkerton. Especially if you work for that ass who busted me today. That's all you'll be doing. Serving papers to ex-wives of dumbasses."

  "There's more to it than that. Like finding out if Sarah Waverly is cheating on her husband."

  "Even better," muttered Tiffany. "You're crazy, throwing away a perfectly good reality show for some job spying on other people."

  "Well, some people deserved to be spied on.” I folded my arms. "And it wasn't a perfectly good reality show. All is Albright struggled in the ratings and was razzed by critics all the time. The word "inane" was used a lot. Besides, some of the nicest people I've ever met are detectives."

  "I think being a detective is kind of exciting," said Rhonda. "You'd get the four-one-one on all sorts of juicy stuff. I love the low down. Especially on celebrities. Y'all are messed up worse than real people."

  "There's also security," I said, deftly moving away from my celebrity messes. "Security is very important in LA."

  "For security 'round here, you buy a deadbolt. Or a pit bull," said Tiffany.

  "Not these people." Rhonda cut her eyes to the Cove regulars. "I bet none of these club people have a pit bull. They've got security issue needs. I bet you'd clean up on rich folks' security needs."

  "Yep," I said. "And lots of secrets they want to be kept quiet. Believe me, I know. Although it's probably worse in LA than Black Pine. The secrets, I mean."

  "If you were smart, don't tell anyone you want to be a detective. Nobody's going to share secrets with a snitch." Tiffany leaned against the bar, dangling her drink from glossy blue nails.

  "Use Maizie Albright as a disguise? Good point. That's just what Julia Pinkerton did. Except her disguise was her high school cheer uniform." I turned to the bartender who offered me a square china plate. A handful of fried pickle chips had been arranged into an artful hill next to a squirt of white sauce shaped like Black Pine Lake. I breathed in the salty and tangy goodness, happy my trainer and nutritionist were two thousand miles away.

  "That is the sorriest plate of fried pickles I've ever seen," said Rhonda. "They barely gave you any."

  "She's right," said Tiffany. "The Cove is for steak, shrimp, and scotch. You want real food, we'll take you to town."

  “I'd love that. But tonight, I need to do some business." I glanced around the patio at the Black Pine hobnobbers. "I figure I have two strategies. One is to speak to the staff privately. I'm sure they know Sarah Waverly, but they might not be allowed to share gossip without getting in trouble. I can also announce my presence as Maizie Albright, meet some club members, and try to pry information from them."

  I reached for another pickle. The plate was already empty but for two swipes of sauce. That was the problem with fried pickles. "Okay, who should I try first?"

  Tiffany pointed at a collection of servers hovering at the edge of the patio. "They're not doing anything."

  I placed my pickle plate on the bar and sauntered to the cluster of servers. Three minutes later I sauntered back.

  "What happened?" asked Rhonda.

  "No go," I said. "I asked them if they knew Sarah Waverly. They said yes. I asked them if she was here tonight. They said no. Then I asked them if she came to the Cove without her husband. They said sometimes. Then I asked if she ever met anyone here. They said yes. I asked who and they all took off to their tables."

  Tiffany shook her head. "You need to ask what they call leading questions. Those are yes/no questions."

  "My last question was leading. I asked who Sarah Waverly met at the Cove. They refused to answer."

  "Maybe their tables needed another round of drinks," said Rhonda. "They are working, after all."

  "Maybe they don't want to say who Sarah Waverly is meeting.”

  "Maybe they don't give a shit and wonder why you're being so damn nosy," said Tiffany. "Go ask someone else."

  "Make your celebrity status work for you, girl.” The purple orchid from Rhonda’s mai tai was now tucked in her hair. "Make them want to tell you all about Sarah Waverly because you are flippin' Maizie flippin' Albright."

  "Okay." I held up a finger.

  The bartender materialized in front of me. His brown eyes smiled in appreciation. It was the Gucci. The dress looked like money. Or it was my boobs. The Gucci worked both like that.

  "How do you get him to do that?" muttered Tiffany. "It takes a normal person years to get that guy for a refill."

  "Hi," I said, using my Julia Pinkerton street-smart voice. "I bet you know Sarah Waverly. David Waverly's wife."

  "If they're a member, I know them." The bartender waggled his brows. "But I don't know you. I’m Alex.”

  "I'm not a member," I said. "I just moved here."

  Alex crossed his arms on the bar and leaned forward. "To Black Pine? You look familiar. Have you lived here before?"

  "She's Maizie flippin' Albright," said Rhonda and pushed her empty mai tai glass forward. "We're partying with Maizie Albright. Up in the house."

  I shot a look toward Rhonda. She had her hands raised and danced on her stool. She managed a good hip roll for a bar seat. "Cut back on the Bacardi for her," I whispered.

  "No kidding?" said Alex. "I mean, you're really Maizie Albright?"

  “Yes, but I'd really like to know about Sarah Waverly. I think she's seeing a friend of mine. On the side, you know? Like maybe you've seen her with someone?"

  "Can I get your autograph?" He bent beneath the bar and came up with a stack of napkins and a pen. "Could you do a couple? My sister is a huge fan. So's my mom. And my memaw."

  I signed three napkins. "Now can you tell me about Sarah Waverly?"

  "Sorry." He shrugged. "David Waverly is here all the time. Don't really know her. I'll come back and talk later. I've got to take an order."

  "Thanks anyway," I said.

  "Damn," said Tiffany. "You sure you want to be a detective? You're too polite."

  "I just need to work on my technique. Quickly. So I can impress Mr. Nash."

  Tiffany shook her head. "I think you're better off going back on the reality show."

  "Excuse me."

  We turned from the bar to face a woman rocking an apricot maxi dress that clung to her tall, slender frame. Her sleek, auburn bob brushed her bare shoulders, drawing attention to a diamond pendant at her throat. Tiffany and Rhonda slouched back on their stools, while I felt myself straightening.

  "I'm sorry to bother you.” She held out her hand. "I'm Jolene Sweeney. Did I hear y'all say you're Maizie Albright? I'm glad I finally caught you. Sorry I couldn't meet you today. There was some kind of confusion. You're moving back to Black Pine?"

  "Nice to meet you in person, Jolene." I winced at her iron grip. I still hadn't figured her for friend or foe, particularly as she wasn't the one who set me up for a sock in the nose. I decided to play it cool, waiting for the right moment to talk to her about the job.

  "Are you looking to buy a house?" She pressed a card into my hand.

  Sweeney Realty. "I thought you were with Nash Security?”

  "Full disclosure. Nash Security is one of my businesses. I don't officially work there, but I'm part owner."


  "Are you related to Mr. Nash?"

  "Not related. Just a business relationship." An uneasy smile curled her lips. "Have you talked to Wyatt? Your assistant made it sound like you wanted an actual position. I thought maybe you wanted to do some character research. Or did you need security detail? Wyatt can certainly help you there."

  "Actually, Jolene, tonight I'm trying to find Sarah Waverly."

  "Sarah Waverly?" Jolene frowned. "David's wife? She doesn't spend much time at the Cove. I thought I saw her car, though. I can introduce you around, if you'd like. Fortunately, I know quite a few people here."

  "That'd be really awesome. Maybe Sarah Waverly is here and you missed her." I slid off my stool and turned to Rhonda and Tiffany. "Did you hear that? Sarah's car is here. Are you coming?"

  "We'll hang here a bit," said Rhonda.

  Jolene tugged on my arm. "Come on, Maizie. Can I call you Maizie?"

  "I'll see you girls in a little while?" I kept my eyes on Tiffany and Rhonda.

  Tiffany shrugged. "Just don't forget the bill. I doubt Mr. Autograph'll let us leave without paying."

  Jolene rolled her eyes. "Like Maizie Albright isn't good for a bar bill. Besides, once the whole crew of All is Albright gets here, they'll probably get a house tab going."

  "Wait.” I grabbed Jolene's hand. "What are you talking about? Why would the Albright team come to Black Pine?"

  "I assumed everyone would come if they're going to film down here. They wouldn't hire a new crew, would they?" Jolene tucked my hand into her elbow and steered me toward the far side of the patio. "I was talking to Miss Vicki about it. She said the producers are real excited about an alternative location. Something about ratings."

  "Vicki is here?" I clutched my Fendi Piccola pochette to my chest. The pickles flared into southern fried heartburn. "In Black Pine?"

  "Not just Black Pine," said Jolene. "At the Cove. I figured y'all were here to meet each other, not Sarah Waverly."

  "Oh. My. God." The crowd parted and I locked eyes with the woman leading court. Ironically, she also wore Gucci. Maybe not so ironic. She loved Gucci.