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  “We thought you were a detective,” said Mara. “But community service? Really?”

  I’ll admit, hits to my vanity still stung like nettles. Luckily, acting builds up a thick skin of wounded pride. “It’s a long story. It was in the news.”

  They wrinkled their noses.

  “It’s not that bad. Entertainment news mostly. Look for the Julia Pinkerton, Teen Detective fan blogs if you want a gentler read.”

  They blinked at me.

  “Julia whatta?” said Laci. “Is that someone for your references? Wikihow said we should ask for references.”

  “You don’t know Julia Pinkerton? What about Kung Fu Kate?”

  Nothing.

  I wasn’t going to go through my list of TV movies. Julia Pinkerton wasn’t on that long ago. How could they not know Julia Pinkerton? It’d won Teen Choice awards and was nominated for an Emmy. “What about All is Albright?”

  Laci snickered.

  Of course, they’d seen Vicki’s reality show. “If you’ve seen All is Albright, you know why I’m here.” They shook their heads and I tried to hold back the surprise from my voice. “Really? I’m Maizie Albright.”

  They shrugged.

  “I was an actress. Until I was on the reality show, All is Albright. Although that’s also acting.”

  “Have you done anything lately?” said Mara. “Like on Netflix? Prime? Hulu?”

  After my head shake, she shrugged. “Sorry. We mostly watch YouTube. I’ve heard of All is Albright but I’ve only seen a few clips. Pretty funny.”

  It was a reality show, not a comedy. But I supposed one could argue, that sort of reality show was one and the same.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Now I’m a private investigator. But maybe that didn’t make the YouTube clip. Well, I’m training to be a private investigator. It takes two years of apprenticeship in Georgia to get a license.”

  “That means you don’t have references.” Mara pulled a folded paper from her pocket and shoved it at me. “Here’s Chandler’s picture, anyway.”

  I glanced at the photo of a mid-twentyish blond man in full hiking gear. The picture looked like they’d made a screenshot from a video frame. Did they even know him?

  “Thanks.” I slipped the the paper into my pocket. “Since you’re here, let’s focus on moving these boxes now. The faster I get it done, the quicker I can get out of here.”

  “Yes, we should start.” Mara jumped into the back of the truck. Began pushing boxes toward us.

  I was surprised at their willingness to help. Teens had changed a lot since my day.

  Fred pulled off a box and dumped it into my arms. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  I trudged toward the side door of the Wellspring Center’s main building. Shifted the box in my arms to grab the handle. The box was too heavy. I turned to ask for help.

  The kids had disappeared.

  Five

  #NiceCream #ChickenDance

  I set the box down and considered reporting the teens. They were obviously using my community service to play the Bigfoot equivalent of The Goonies. Which meant they were trespassing. However, my short visit with Dr. Trident caused me to doubt my ability to explain to him the young YouTubers stalking tendencies without considerable time and effort. It’d be much easier to find them myself.

  Jogging through the building, I glanced down halls and unlocked doors. Exited out the back into a lush garden with winding paths leading to the other buildings. Asked a couple sitting on a bench if they’d seen the kids. At their no, I turned around and reentered the building. Tried a side door in the west wing that exited to the parking lot. Reentered. Rode the elevator, asking the few people I passed if they’d seen the kids. Poked in more unlocked rooms.

  Nothing.

  Okay, then. They must have bounced. They’d judged me on my community service and my lack of references and bailed.

  I admit to being a teensy bit hurt. I’d built a previous career on being a teenager and appealing to teens. Or so I’d thought. I had a soft spot for them, particularly considering I never got to experience the rites of passage typical to American high schoolers. If I’d had the chance of participating in Bigfoot hunts on the weekend instead of Teen Vogue shoots, I would have become a stronger person. I was sure of it.

  Part of me wanted to help them look for their friend. Too bad they hadn’t come to see me before my life literally exploded.

  * * *

  Finished with unloading the boxes — by myself — I sat with Dr. Trident in the Wellspring Center’s cafe, Café. Café was one of the new buildings set in the back garden, or the plaza as Dr. Trident called it. We sat at a patio bistro table, gazing at the stone monstrosity called the “Center,” housing the main offices and suites. I tried not to think of The Shining. Or if the Center had eaten the children.

  “What do you think?” Dr. Trident sipped distilled water while I ate.

  “You need more volunteers. Or more mature ones.”

  “I meant the ice cream,” he said. “You don’t consider yourself mature?”

  I made a play of snorting and waving off the mature comment. “The ice cream’s not bad. It has a slightly gummy texture and kind of a menthol flavor, but it is refreshing.”

  “We use an herb blend that has carminative qualities similar to menthol. Good for your stomach. Our chef developed the ice cream from soy milk, protein powder, and monk fruit sweetener.”

  It saddened me when chefs developed instead of cooked. But at least the healthy choice had a calming effect. I placed my mantra on hold for a minute and enjoyed the stillness of the Wellspring Center. For a newly opened place, the stillness was surprising. I supposed the guests were retreating. In silence.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “You noticed?”

  “It’s my job to notice.” He shot me a Trident-styled grin. “But it’s not hard when your breathing is so labored.”

  “I’m worried about my boss. He was recently hurt in an accident. Well, not exactly an accident. More like a work-related catastrophe. But still, I hate to think of him lying in the hospital alone. Lamar will be there, but he has to supervise the donut shop. And there’s no one else but me to watch over my boss.”

  Dr. Trident patted my hand. “Why do you feel responsible for him?”

  “I guess I feel responsible for the office. We’re on shaky ground financially. Our new competitor is my boss’s ex-wife, so that’s been rough on him.”

  “You’re worried about your job?”

  “I need my job. But the office is all my boss has. His ex-wife already cleaned him out of everything else. I have to make sure we stay afloat while he recovers.”

  “You have a lot of animosity toward his ex-wife.”

  “I do?”

  “I can tell. Is it her ability to undermine your financial security?”

  “Um.” I think it was her ability to undermine my relationship with Nash, but that was for the couch.

  Wait. Were we doing the couch here?

  He gripped my hand. “Maizie, don’t let someone else’s success compromise your future triumphs.”

  “Okay?” I slid my hand out. Renata hugged, but we didn’t do a lot of hand-holding.

  A man stopped before our table, thankfully ending this non-couch confab. Like my father, he had the beard, ruggedness, and camouflage favored by local mountain men who “dealt” but didn’t “fraternize” with Black Pine’s nouveau wealth. The three teens stood behind him, shifting glances between the man, us, and themselves.

  “Are these yours?” The man jerked his thumb behind him. “I found them nosing around the back buildings.”

  “They are, Everett.” Dr. Trident motioned for the three to sit. “Did you get lost?”

  “Yes,” said Mara. “We were lost.”

  They were so not lost.

  Everett agreed. “They were snooping.”

  “We’re interested in architectural history,” said Fred. “We’re t
aking AP Art History.”

  “This area is an important landmark, you know.” Laci tossed her long, brown hair behind a shoulder and raised a brow.

  “That’s a crock of bull,” said Everett.

  “It’s true,” I said, meaning the crock of bull but intimating their fake class. “My probation officer told me the Wellspring Center was originally a spa for rich Southerners. And then a chicken farm.”

  “We were looking for chickens,” said Mara.

  “It does smell like there could be chickens.” Wait. Why was I helping them? “But I haven’t seen any chickens.”

  “Stay away from the outbuildings,” said Everett. “We’re in the process of tearing them down. We’re liable if you get hurt. These old buildings could kill you.”

  “That is sage advice,” said Dr. Trident.

  We watched Everett stomp off, and Trident grinned at the teens. “Who wants ice cream?”

  They shook their heads.

  “We have a lot of homework,” said Mara. “It’s getting late. We just wanted to say goodbye to Maizie.”

  Yeah, right. I jerked myself out of the post-ice cream stupor. “I need to get to the hospital before visiting hours close.”

  “Remember what I told you,” said Dr. Trident. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I’d already forgotten what I was supposed to remember, but I promised myself to pay better attention during the real couch session. I took the brick path toward the castle. The teens trailed behind me. Raised gardens filled with a mix of wildflowers, herbs, and bushes nestled between junctures in the path. Small wooden signs pointed to various buildings among the flowers. The largest building was called “Physical Life.” A glorious multi-storied structure fronted with a wall of glass, so viewers could see the evidence of guests getting physical. Although none were currently.

  We strolled the paths and stopped beneath the back portico of the castle. The area had lost its creepiness. And smelled less like chicken. More like flowers.

  “I think I like this place,” I said, opening the heavy oak door. Flowers had been carved into the lintel and the wrought iron handle was shaped like a ginkgo leaf. I got the vibe now. Seeing how it would appeal to celebs who dug quirky, historic places. The Wellspring Center made you feel like an appreciator of quirky and historic.

  Mara rolled her eyes, suggesting my IQ had been lowered by brick paths, carved lintels, and flowers. “When can you start working?”

  “I just finished working. Remember? Me with the boxes? While you were snooping? That’s your freebie. I distracted Dr. Trident with actual work while you were free to snoop.”

  Their adorable faces looked less adorable when sneering.

  I released the handle. “I’d really like to help you. But if your friend is missing, the police are your best bet.”

  “We told you about the police,” said Fred. “There are bigger forces at stake.”

  “I think that’s a mixed metaphor. And there is nothing sinister about the Wellspring Center other than that weird chicken smell. Which may not be chickens, by the way. Because I’m pretty sure this place is vegan.”

  “Don’t you care that Chandler disappeared? He could be dead,” said Mara. “Or hurt.”

  “Of course, I care.” Although I wasn’t sure if Chandler was real. But I wanted to care. “How are you getting home?”

  “We biked.”

  “On the mountain road? Are you crazy? The SUVs take those corners way too fast. I’m scared I’ll be run off the mountain.” Seeing their look, I checked myself. “I drive a dirt bike. For now.”

  “We take mountain trails in the forest,” said Fred. “Is the dirt bike part of your probation?”

  “No.” My cheeks heated. “It’s a long story.”

  “You have a lot of long stories,” said Laci.

  “My life is a little complicated,” I said stiffly. “And that’s why I can’t go all X-Files with you. I’m super busy.”

  “Everybody’s busy,” said Laci. “You have to make time for what’s important.”

  “Exactly.” I’d gone all day without visiting Nash at the hospital. Talk about important. The sharp edge of panic ripped at my lungs. I yanked open the heavy door before the teens could witness me hyperventilating again. Timing my breath to my steps, I fought for self-control and wormed through Oriental-carpeted halls hung with botanical prints. Found the front lobby with its turn-of-the-century heavy wood decor.

  I’d parked Lucky on the far side of the lot. Close to the forest where I wouldn’t have to experience a pea gravel kick-start. Rolling Lucky onto the dirt, I heard a call from one of the teens. I left Lucky and moved closer to the woods, wondering if I could find my way to whatever dirt bike track or old logging road they’d used. Riding mountain roads on a dirt bike did scare me. Nash often lectured me on turning into road kill.

  Nash.

  I leaned over. Mantra’d. Rose and studied the forest to draw my focus away from my wounded boss. And spotted the teens. Without bikes.

  Decidedly skulking.

  Six

  #TheNotQuiteSecretGarden #RazorWhyre

  Hells. They were going to get into trouble. I should’ve made the kids come with me. Or gone with them to the mountain trail shortcut. I’d just left them to trespass on their own.

  Adulting sucked.

  Leaving Lucky, I crashed into the woods after them. Switched to stealth mode and picked my way through trees, brambles, and thick vines until I heard the high schoolers again. Talking about chickens.

  “Carcasses would show…” Fred’s lecture was drowned in a gusted rattle of leaves.

  “I’m not looking for a chicken burial mound,” said Mara. “That’s stupid.”

  “What if they used the chicken mound to bury other…you know?” said Laci. “Like Chandler?”

  “They didn’t have a graveyard for the chickens,” said Mara. “Besides he would’ve eaten everything.”

  “You don’t think there would be a bone cache?” said Fred.

  “Possibly. But not here. It’d be deeper in the woods.”

  Were they looking for Chandler or chickens?

  The teens stopped talking. I halted, fearing I was lost. Hugged a tree and talked myself out of a panic attack. Spotted the Physical Life building to my right. I scurried through the woods to the outside of Wellspring’s rear grounds. Behind the huge sports facility was a wooden privacy fence. It continued its run alongside the forest ending somewhere in the distance. The fence rose above my head, but I could see the far-off top of a greenhouse somewhere inside.

  Likely, a vegetable garden. Dr. Trident had said Wellspring grew their own produce and herbs.

  Stepping out of the forest, I scoped for the little delinquents. Spotted them about a football field away as they darted from the forest toward the fence. Fred leaned over. Laci helped Mara climb onto his back. Mara hoisted herself over the fence. Fred and Laci took off, running alongside the fence toward the far reaches of the property.

  I hollered, but they were too far away. Or ignoring me. I knew I couldn’t catch Fred and Laci. I also knew I wouldn’t get over that fence. But I might find a gate and Mara before she did whatever they were doing.

  The passage between the garden fence and gym was a tighter fit than it looked from the woods. The fence has been built at the edge of the gym’s cement slab. Giving me about a one-foot gap. I slipped in sideways. Right arm. Right shoulder. Right leg. And felt the crush of the softer parts of my body between wood and wall. I sucked and straightened, then inched along with my back against the sports facility.

  Getting stuck between a gym and vegan garden seemed an apropos fate.

  I changed my mantra to one vowing exercise and healthy eating if I could squeeze out with all my parts intact and within the next hour. I scraped along, popping crystals from my Dries Van Noten Haidet T-shirt like a Hansel and Gretel breadcrumb trail.

  I hoped my future mammograms would be more comfortable.

  Eventually, my right shoulder co
nnected with open air. Like a sausage freed from its casing, I oozed from the passage. Dusted my shirt of loose threads and dangling crystals. Checked my surroundings. I was on the back side of another fence. This one chain link. And hidden by a series of hillocks covered in shrubbery.

  Behind me, there was the ridiculously long and tall garden fence stretching into the distance where it looked like it made a right and traversed the back of the property in an L shape. No pretty gardens or paths here. Cleared land that had yet to be used. An open field with crumbling buildings, scrubby vegetation, and a bit of timber in the distance.

  I followed the wooden fence, searching for the garden entrance. Twenty yards ahead, I spied a gate. Much panting later, I stood before the wooden gate. This handle was steel and not decorative. And locked with a high-tech security panel.

  Meaning Mara should really not be in the garden.

  Calling for Mara, I followed the tall fence to where it cut right and stretched along the back of the property. A couple football fields-sized walk-jog later, the wooden fence ended on the east side of the property. No gate on this end. But another fence began.

  Chain link trimmed with rolled razor wire.

  I studied the east fence and wondered why a holistic wellness resort needed razor wire. Beyond the chain link, the dense forest climbed the mountain. The razor wire could protect celebrity retreaters from paparazzi. Or keep out local ne’er-do-wells looking to score a free spa day.

  But the woods appeared thick. The trespassers would have to be determined to break in. They’d do better squeezing between the gym and garden fence. Which, I realized, was my only exit unless I found a way back into Wellspring’s plaza area.

  And no way was I scaling razor wire. I’d already ruined my top. I didn’t need to tear up my jeans.

  I studied the barren area of the Center’s back property. If I followed the chain link, I’d eventually reach the plaza. Thick timber grew around the fence farther down. The Center’s imposing castle-like towers rose in the distance. The flower hills hid everything else. They reminded me of the grassy dunes used to create a windbreak at a beach. Minus the sand.