15 Minutes

by Larissa Reinhart

  I was glad the dark hid my flushed cheeks. "Did you spend a lot of time studying that picture? You seem to know the hand placement pretty well. For a guy who doesn't like entertainment news, you seem really up on your stuff."

  "The front page of the local paper is hardly entertainment news. Get in the truck."

  "I will see you in the morning with Bethann's report." I widened my eyes and used my Cosmo Girl smile. "My bike, please."

  Nash pulled in a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Miss Albright, it would comfort me greatly if I could drive you home."

  I hastily recovered from my jaw drop. I didn't know Nash could do Southern Gentleman.

  "If you put it that way..." I climbed into the truck. Then flinched at the bang of Nash's door slamming shut.

  He jammed his key into the ignition. "I bet you still don't have a phone."

  "Why do I need a phone?"

  "To call a cab instead of driving that piece of shit bike? Or to call an ambulance when you get hit by a truck?"

  I thumbed the edge of the head shot. "To be fair, I don't have money for a cab. And if I got hit by a truck, an ambulance wouldn't do me much good."

  I don't think my words comforted Nash. The glow of the dashboard light highlighted the bulging vein in his neck. Bulging veins didn't promise me jobs. I knew that from experience. Producers were famous for their throbbing veins.

  I switched topics. "Bethann Bergh had some interesting things to say about the Waverlys. First off, she's never seen nor heard of Sarah with another man in the time they've been neighbors, which has been about eight years. However, there's an old rumor. Ten years ago, Sarah left David for another guy but came back. They went through marriage counseling. Bethann's not sure if that rumor is true, but might account for David's paranoia."

  Nash's grip on the steering wheel relaxed.

  "On the other hand, David is a well-known Mack Daddy. Bethann thinks it's the money that attracts the women, but he's pretty bold. He's hit on Bethann at parties. Get a couple scotches in good ol' David and his horny meter shoots through the roof. Bethann blames this on Sarah. Says she's a cold fish. But this is coming from a woman who likes to pair handcuffs with her vajazzle."

  Nash cut me a side glance.

  "Yeah, she flashed me. There are some things I will never get out of my head."

  "Good Lord," he muttered.

  "Here's the thing about the boat. David joined Ed Sweeney and the Black Pine Group because he and Sarah knew Ed from some racing club out on the coast. David sold their sailboat for the Playbuoy when they moved to Black Pine. Guess what David uses the Playbuoy for now?"

  "Not fishing?" Nash slipped a hand to the seat console, rolled his shoulders, and eased his back against the seat.

  "Yep. Hooking up." I shook my head. "If the woman also has a boat, they meet in some notorious cove on the lake to cover their tracks. Isn't that disgusting? If David's going fishing, he’s using his junk as a pole."

  "I'll tell you what's disgusting. Hearing those words come out of that mouth."

  "I'm sorry. Growing up in Hollywood, I spent a lot of time with adults who didn't filter."

  He cast me a long look.

  "I know, rule number one. So, if David was acting suspiciously today, he might have been cheating on the boat."

  "And Sarah might have bolted."

  "Except she left her purse. Did you talk to the house cleaning service?"

  "A man did ask them to come on Friday, but they couldn't say if it was David Waverly. He left a message without his name." Nash drummed his fingers against the cup holder. "But the housekeeper said a suitcase was missing along with some of Sarah's clothes."

  "Did she say what kind of clothes?"

  "Nothing special. As a matter of fact, the clothes missing were actually ones Sarah had set aside for charity. The housekeeper only noticed because she'd planned on taking them today."

  "That makes absolutely no sense." I curled the headshot in my fist and banged it against my knee.

  "Why?"

  "If you're running off with a man, you'd take your best, not your worst. Who starts day one of your new life in Goodwill clothes?” I thought of his old Armani. "I'm speaking from a woman's perspective."

  "So we're back to David as a suspect. He could have gotten rid of any evidence and then had the maid come in for double duty. I wonder what he did with that suitcase."

  We had reached the entrance to the DeerNose cabin. I pulled a remote from my backpack and the gates swung open. We fell into silence as the Silverado bumped along the wooded drive. No golden glow of decorative lighting on the Lincoln Log Mansion. Security lights flared at our entrance, flooding the drive and house in their harsh light.

  Nash squinted at the house. "Did you recommend those surveillance cameras? Those are new."

  "I thought they needed some updating. I recommended a varifocal lens with night vision and 1080p HD."

  "I did the original security installation." Nash paused. "But that was a while back. When I first opened Nash Security Solutions."

  "With Jolene," I prompted, but Nash didn't take the bait. Instead, he opened his door and walked around to pull Lucky from the bed. I grabbed my backpack, slid out the door, and met him at the tailgate.

  "Am I still on the job?" I clutched my backpack and the head shot but leaned against his tailgate with all the nonchalance I could muster.

  Nash turned from Lucky to face me. "This again? I appreciate you spending your Friday night gossiping with Bethann Bergh, but you need to extricate yourself from the Waverly mess."

  "I didn't just gossip with Bethann. I sat through an audition that would have made adult entertainment history."

  "I can't even promise I'll be in business next week. You know David Waverly is gunning for me. Jolene will do whatever she can to proceed with the buyout. Maybe Sarah didn't run. Maybe she and David planned this together to make me look bad. Did you think about that?"

  I shook my head. I had higher hopes for the poor, beleaguered wife of philandering David Waverly. To think she'd help her husband dupe the private investigator who had been following her? That's worse than hating on the homewrecker instead of your cheating boyfriend.

  "I want to help you."

  Nash pinched the bridge of his nose, then strode forward, forcing me to straighten against the truck. "Miss Albright. Do you have no instinct for self-preservation? I am royally screwed." He laid a big palm on the tailgate and leaned in.

  His aftershave’s spicy scent wafted toward me, making me melt just a tiddle. I'd always been a sucker for bergamot.

  "You need to find another job. You shouldn't be associated with me. Waverly could make you look bad. I’m trying very hard to be a nice guy."

  "Are you kidding? Bad press should be my middle name. Why would that stop me?" The headshot curled in my hand reminded me what I had at stake. Gathering my best Maizie Albright grit, I pushed forward until I hovered just below his icy blue gaze. “I’m not giving up. I want to help you. And I really need to know what happened to Sarah Waverly."

  We eyed each other, neither backing off.

  In the shadows, the hollows of his chiseled jaw and cheekbones deepened, making Nash look swarthy and dangerous.

  My heart pounded and my throat felt dry. A similar feeling to when I confront Vicki about ramrodding my career. Or taking the majority of my salary. Or scripting my love life. In those circumstances, I usually gave up. But this time, desperation kept me from ducking my head and bowing out of our standoff. I lifted my chin and added my best J.P. smirk.

  Nash's scar flexed with the tightening of his jaw.

  I felt a sudden urge to tinkle.

  A night breeze blew a tendril of hair across my face and with it the scent of the surrounding pines and Nash's spicy aftershave. I closed my eyes to inhale a calming breath and when I opened them, my body had shifted closer to Nash. Or his had inclined toward me. I jerked and we nearly bumped chins. We were within kissing distance.

  And he did not b
ack off an inch.

  Holy Frigalicious.

  I let my gaze travel from his scar to the crystal blue residing beneath his lowered brows. His nostrils quivered, but his eyes locked on mine. Almost like eye sex. But scarier. And hotter.

  I bit my lip and tasted NARS Super Orgasm. Which smacked of inappropriateness.

  Or hopefulness.

  In the motion-sensor floodlights’ harsh glare, Nash’s features softened. The substantial shoulders relaxed and the scarred scowl faded.

  I hiked in another deep breath and caught his eyes dropping to my chest then flitting back to my face.

  My pulse quickened. The loose lock skipped across my cheek, tickling my nose. I blew it away and sensed Nash's body tense. The wisp blew across my face again and my nose wriggled. I reached to brush the hair aside just as Nash's hand lifted to my cheek.

  I dropped my hand and held my breath, pretty sure that otherwise, my heart would explode.

  Sweeping the tendril off my cheek, he tucked it behind my ear. Then glared at the tendril as if it had forced his hand to move it. "You're a real pain in the ass, Miss Albright."

  My stomach did a flip worthy of Kung Fu Kate. That powerful finger had danced across my skin with the tenderness of fairy wings. I kept my thoughts from straying toward fantasies about Nash using those fingers to dance across other parts of my body. Never mind the whole "pain in the ass" thing. In LA, PITA clauses were a daily life mantra. Everybody and everything were some sort of pain in the keister.

  "I am sorry you feel that way, Mr. Nash. Does that mean I can continue with the investigation?"

  "Christ Almighty, I feel powerless to do anything to stop you anyway. You always get your own way, don't you?"

  I still reeled from the whole delicious hair tucking when his "get my own way" slapped me in the face. I stepped back and felt the Silverado's bumper dig into the back of my thighs. The NARS lip gloss left a bitter taste in my mouth. "I guess you'd like to think that wouldn't you? Most do."

  He jerked his chin toward the Lincoln Log Mansion. "If you're not born into the lifestyles of the rich and famous, you've got to shove your way through the door somehow."

  Summoning my Maizie Albright brave face, the one used in the constant reign of catastrophes that was my life, I said, "I suppose that's true. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

  I sidled out from under his arm and forced my legs to walk when they really wanted to run. Once inside the cabin, I snuck to a window to watch the Silverado tear out of the drive, almost hitting Lucky in his effort to get away.

  A Jack Russell darted into the room and leapt against my legs to greet me.

  "At least I haven't lost my job yet.” I knelt to pet the little dog intent on battering my thighs with his paws. "My therapist, Renata, always said I've got to make my own happiness, not expect others to give it to me. Find one thing out of my day that made me happy and focus on it."

  I glanced at the headshot I had promised to give to Vicki. Which meant I had to see Vicki. Which equaled being chased up a tree and almost eaten by a dog. Or withstanding a surprise burlesque performance by a 55-year-old woman.

  Although, not quite as bad as losing a client's wife and helping my new boss to possibly lose his company.

  "I'm having trouble finding my happy." I gulped and pinched my thumb skin. Unfortunately, the best moment I'd felt in a long time had occurred right before Wyatt Nash told me he thought I was a spoiled brat.

  Right about the time when he wanted to kiss me.

  There was my happy.

  And now it was gone.

  fourteen

  #CheeseGrits&LALooks #BillingsBust

  When my life hits the skids, I find comfort in two things: Ben & Jerry's Chubby Hubby and the salon. Vicki always said, "You've got to look great to do great things." That was one axiom that proved its worth in Hollywood. I was betting on it for Black Pine, where women still wore hats to church and lipstick to the Piggly Wiggly.

  I woke before the sun—a habit born from my days on set which started hours before any filming—hurried through my morning routine, and ate a quick breakfast of Carol Lynn's cheddar cheese grits casserole with a side of bacon.

  All the Spayberrys were dressed in DeerNose this morning, ready for their early fishing expedition. The scent of deer pee almost put me off the cheese grits casserole. But not quite.

  "Good luck, girl," said Boomer. "We Spayberrys know the early bird gets the worm. Guess you get that from me."

  So happy for Daddy's approval, I didn't mention my pre-dawn habit had been formed on the West Coast. "Actually, I'm going to hit the salon first. Look what Lucky is doing to my nails." I wiggled my fingers at Carol Lynn, who acknowledged my misfortune by dropping another spoonful of grits on my plate.

  Daddy sighed and looked to his youngest for support. From beneath the brim of her pink and green camo hat, Remi gave him a gap-tooth grin while hiding a spoonful of grits for the Jack Russells to lick. He turned to Carol Lynn. "Sugar, have you seen the paper?"

  She shook her head.

  "That's two days now the paperboy's missed our stop. I'm going to have to call the delivery service."

  "I'll do it, Daddy." I grabbed my empty breakfast plate and hopped to my feet. I wasn't about to tell him I had hidden the papers to prevent him from viewing the "Maizie Does Black Pine" chronicles.

  Although if he got a lucky cast, he might catch the Saturday edition in the lake.

  I met Rhonda at the door as she flipped the sign from "Y'all Come Back" to "Y'all Come In." A beaming smile dimpled her plump cheeks and she quickly unlocked the door.

  "Hey there, Miss Maizie." Rhonda grabbed me for another hug of goodness, white musk, and light.

  I felt one thousand percent better.

  With the overhead fluorescents highlighting her blue ends, Tiffany stood with her back to the door, stocking the polish shelves. At my hello, she dropped the China Glaze bottle she held. "What are you doing here?"

  "My dirt bike's ruining my nails." I glanced at the mirror behind the counter. "And my hair."

  "At least your nose looks better," said Rhonda. "And the ice must have worked because the bruises under your eyes almost don't show."

  "Thanks. I needed to hear that." I threw myself at Rhonda, eager for another hug. "Yesterday was a long day. Totally rank."

  "Are you still working for that detective?" Rhonda released me from our hugfest to grab a drink from their tiny fridge. "What'd you find out about that Sarah Waverly?"

  "She kind of disappeared. While I was watching her."

  "Oh my stars," said Rhonda. "That is not good."

  "It pretty much sucks. Especially since Mr. Nash didn't know his partner had hired David Waverly's firm to buy out his business. So, I screwed that pooch. And I'm really worried about Sarah. Her husband disturbs me."

  "You disturb me," said Tiffany. "Cut out this job like a bad weave. Sounds like you're going to lose it either way. From cable star to unemployed. I will never understand you. Put me on that stupid reality show. I'd put up with Vicki's shit for that kind of life."

  "Me, too," said Rhonda. "I can sit around and talk about nothing for days. And look fabulous. If they're going to film in Black Pine, you think you can get us an audition?"

  "Believe me, you don't want to work on All is Albright." I accepted the Diet Coke Rhonda handed me, then held out my hand for a straw. "You're much better off."

  "Like hell," said Tiffany. "You just think you want to live like 'real people.' Nobody in your family lives like real people, not even your dad. Just wait. Two weeks of working for Nash Security and you'll be begging Vicki to let you back on that show."

  My throat tightened and Diet Coke fizzed up my nose.

  “Anyway,” I said after Rhonda pounded on my back and gave me a tissue, “I don't have a choice. I'm supposed to keep consistent employment."

  "What do you mean you have to keep consistent employment?"

  "It's probably part of her probation," said Rhonda.

 
; "That means you've got a parole officer in Black Pine," said Tiffany. "Which one? You don't want the one I had. She's a psychopath. What'd you do?"

  Now I had a new anxiety for my non-therapist. Psychopathic probation officers.

  "The charge was aiding and abetting." I chewed my lip. "My boyfriend."

  "Oh my Lord." Rhonda’s hands rose in the air and she danced in a circle. "I know all about it. Her boyfriend was this club owner. And he got Maizie to hold her AA meetings at the club. Where he sold Oxy to the alcoholics. He also had a senior citizen prostitution ring going."

  "Oliver owned a non-profit community center, not a club," I said. "He didn't know about the seniors hiring prostitutes. He thought the girl doing massage was legit."

  "What about selling Oxy at the AA meetings?" asked Tiffany.

  "True." I winced. "Oliver seemed like a nice guy. He was very committed to providing community services."

  "Like hookers for grandpas." Rhonda's body quaked with laughter.

  "Holy hell, Maizie," said Tiffany. "How do you expect to become a detective if you can't even figure out your boyfriend is a dealer?"

  I raised my chin. "Things are a bit obscured in Hollyweird. Oliver was well respected. He's from a prominent Beverly Hills family. It was a surprise to everyone."

  "Sure, baby." Rhonda gave me a small push. "Go on, get your nails done."

  With my cheeks burning, I grabbed a bottle of RGB “Toast,” to match my mood, and followed Tiffany to her station. Dropping into the chair, I laid my hands on the folded towel on her table. "I can't believe how bad my nails look. Vicki would be appalled. I've done weekly manis since I was four."

  "At least she taught you something." Tiffany kept her eyes on my fingers splayed over the towel. "Don't take this the wrong way, but did you bring cash?"

  I stalked back to the reception area to dig in my backpack to find my Coach wallet and returned to Tiffany. I swallowed hard, knowing further humiliation headed my way. "How much is a manicure?"

  Tiffany stared at me. "How much do you think a manicure costs?"