California Schemin': Book One in the Malibu Mayhem Trilogy

by Carolyn Keene

  Bess shaded her eyes with her hand. “It is Ty and Devon,” she said excitedly.

  “They’re on our beach again,” George said, annoyed. “Did they come back to dump more trash?”

  “Hey,” Ty said. “Mind if we say hi?”

  “You just did,” I replied.

  Devon lifted his shades to gaze beyond us toward the shed. “Whoa. My little eye spies three excellent surfboards over there.”

  “They belong to Stacey,” George said. “You know, the person who also owns this beach?”

  “She left them for us,” Bess explained.

  “Excellent!” Ty exclaimed. “Then why don’t you each grab a board and rock the breakers with us?”

  “Rock the breakers?” I repeated.

  “Surf the waves,” Bess translated. She turned back to Ty and Devon. “Sorry, but George was the one who really wanted to surf, and she can’t get her foot wet. She stepped on—”

  “Trash,” George finished. “You know, the kind you dumped last night?”

  Ty and Devon looked sincerely confused.

  “We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ty said. “But if you can’t surf, I hear you.”

  “Just thought we’d ask,” Devon added, shrugging.

  I watched as the boys picked up their boards and turned toward the ocean.

  “As if they didn’t know about the trash,” George said. “Give me a break.”

  I just couldn’t help myself. “But if they did, we’ll never find out,” I said. “They’re leaving before we can ask them anything.”

  “Not necessarily.” Bess smiled slyly. She stood up and walked toward the guys. “Hey, guys? Where are you going?”

  The boys turned around and smiled.

  “So…what’s up?” Ty asked Bess.

  “Maybe George can’t go in the water,” Bess said cheerily. “That doesn’t mean Nancy and I can’t be schooled in surfing.”

  “Cool beans!” Ty said.

  “Grab your boards and let’s rock,” Devon said.

  “Okay,” Bess agreed.

  “Do you think Mandy and Mallory will want to surf with us?” I asked. Not that I wanted the Casabian sisters to join us. Mandy had already denied dumping the trash.

  “Nah,” Ty flapped his hand. “Mandy and Mallory are taping that show like they do all the time.”

  Bess and I passed George on our way to the shed. She glanced up and said, “Good luck.”

  Although I already knew how to surf a little, the Pacific was way bigger than anything I had ever seen. So we took it slow. We paddled our boards out in the water, where we tried several times to “pop up”—or jump up from a reclining position.

  Bess and I did more wiping out than popping up. But eventually she managed to stand on her board and ride a wave for about thirty seconds. A big deal, according to Ty and Devon.

  As for me, I was able to stand briefly, but kept wiping out and falling into the water. I had a blast, and almost forgot the real reason Bess and I had wanted to surf with Devon and Ty in the first place.

  After the guys showed off some moves such as top turns and aerials, Bess and I got down to business. So much for promises.

  “So how do you guys have such massive energy?” I asked while we paddled peacefully on our surfboards. “I mean, you were all on the beach so incredibly late last night.”

  “Us?” Ty asked. He shook his head. “We left before Mandy and Mallory did.”

  “The producer, Bev, wanted shots of just the girls,” Devon explained. “No reason for Ty and me to hang out.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling the waves roll gently beneath my board. “So you all went clubbing after they finished shooting.”

  “Clubbing?” Ty repeated as his hand splashed in the water. “We didn’t do any clubbing last night.”

  “Hey!” Devon said, practically sitting up on his board. “Did Mandy and Mallory go without us?”

  Uh-oh. Opening a can of worms was not what I had in mind.

  “No, no,” I lied quickly. “I mean, I don’t know if they went clubbing or not….”

  “We just thought all A-list celebs went out every night in Hollywood,” Bess said. “I mean, don’t they?”

  The guys smiled at Bess. They then offered to teach us more new moves.

  “We really have to get back to George,” Bess said.

  “Thanks anyway,” I added.

  “How about tomorrow morning?” Devon asked. “Ten o’clock?”

  Bess and I exchanged shrugs. We had gotten all the information we needed out of the guys. But not all the surfing lessons.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “See ya,” Bess called back as we paddled to shore.

  Once on the beach, Bess and I placed our boards next to George.

  “So how did it go?” she asked.

  “I carved my first wave!” Bess said happily.

  “Not the surfing, the questioning,” George said. “Did they admit it?”

  “On the contrary,” I said as Bess and I sat on our towels. “They left the beach before the sisters did. They were clueless about the trash.”

  “So the sisters could have wrecked the beach on their own,” Bess added.

  “Let’s just hope it doesn’t happen again,” I said.

  The three of us spent another half hour on the beach before we collected our stuff and surfboards and headed back to the house.

  Once inside, we saw the message light blinking on Stacey’s phone.

  “Looks like Stacey got a call,” George said.

  “How do we know it’s not for us?” asked Bess.

  “Did you give her number to anyone? Everyone at home knows we have our cells,” George replied.

  “We’d better answer it,” I said, grabbing a pad and pen. “It could be an important message for Stacey.”

  I walked over to the phone and pressed the play button. After a few seconds of dead air, a mechanical-sounding voice began to speak:

  “If you know what’s good for you, girls, you’ll never, EVER, mess with us again.”

  Click.

  MYSTERY CRUISE

  “That was for us,” I said slowly. “Unfortunately,” Bess added. “I’m calling Stacey,” George said. “Or the police. This is getting dangerous.”

  “Wait,” I said.

  I played the message once, twice, listening for any sign as to who’d left it. But the robotic-sounding voice offered no clues.

  “Why does the voice sound so mechanical?” Bess asked.

  “Some phones have electronic voice changers on them,” George explained. “You press a button and” the voice is disguised to sound just like that one.”

  Again I played the message, writing down every word. “The caller said not to mess with ‘us,’” I pointed out.

  “Us as in more than one,” George said, narrowing her eyes. “The sisters.”

  “But why would Mandy and Mallory threaten us?” Bess wanted to know. “We’re the ones who should be mad that they messed up our beach.”

  “Those spoiled brats are probably not used to being told off,” George said.

  “Do you still want to call Stacey, George?” Bess asked. “Or the police?”

  George stared at the phone, then shook her head. “If it is those ditzy sisters, we can handle them,” she said. “I don’t want to disturb Stacey unless it’s totally necessary.”

  “I’m pretty sure the message was left by Mandy and Mallory too,” I agreed. “But until we have more proof, we can’t be absolutely sure.”

  “Just like the needle, huh?” George said, glancing down at her wrapped ankle.

  “What if Mandy and Mallory are out to get us?” Bess asked slowly. “I mean, what if their show is going in a whole new sinister direction?”

  “Sinister direction?” I asked.

  “You know.” Bess shrugged. “From Chillin’ with the Casabians to Killin’ with the Casabians?”

  “Come on, Bess, that’s ridiculous,” I said, but didn’t dele
te the message, in case we did decide to go to the police.

  “So, where should we go tonight? My foot is feeling much better,” George asked.

  As Bess opened her mouth to speak, George added, “Other than Rodeo Drive.”

  “For your information, I was going to suggest Santa Monica Pier,” Bess answered. “We can grab dinner and go to that amusement park on the pier. I think it’s called Pacific Park.”

  “Sounds neat,” I said.

  “Yeah,” George said. “There are some wild rides there.”

  I smiled at the thought of wild rides. So far Malachite Beach had been one wild ride for us—and it was only our second day.

  We found the perfect place to eat, with an incredible view of the ocean. We stuffed ourselves with crispy coconut shrimp, root beer, and hush puppies and then strolled through the amusement park.

  Colorful lights from the rides glowed brightly against the purple-gray sky. Carnival-style music filled the warm, salty air. So did the smell of cotton candy and roasted peanuts.

  “I did a search on Pacific Park before we left the house,” George said, pointing to an illuminated Ferris wheel in the distance. “That ride over there is solar powered.”

  “Even the rides in L.A. are green,” I said. “How cool is that?”

  Bess turned away from the rides. She nodded at the coin-operated telescopes along the long part of the pier. “Let’s try out one of those before the rides,” she suggested.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked. “Exotic California seabirds?”

  “Exotic California celebrities.” Bess smiled as she slipped a quarter into the telescope. “From here you can see a long stretch of Malachite Beach. Maybe I’ll see private beaches and celebrity mansions all lit up.”

  “Spy,” George accused.

  “I prefer the word voyeur, thank you,” Bess said as she adjusted the telescope and peered through.

  A gull landed on the rail a few inches away from me. After checking us out, it flapped its wings and took off.

  “What do you see?” I asked Bess.

  “Oh, wow,” she said, her eyes pressed against the telescope. “There’s our beach and Villa Fabuloso. And I can see the beach behind Roland’s Renewal Retreat and Spa. The one right next to ours.”

  “We came all the way to Santa Monica to look at our own beach?” George complained. “Let’s just go on the rides.”

  “No, really!” Bess said. She tilted the telescope to the left ever so slightly. “There are three small rowboats heading in the direction of the yacht. The big one we saw the other day.”

  “You mean the yacht anchored off the retreat?” I said. “Maybe the guests are going on some moonlight meditation cruise.”

  “Or moonlight confrontation cruise,” George said.

  I frowned as I remembered the screaming and yelling behind the closed door, and Brad in the emergency room. Could he be in one of the boats?

  “Hasn’t your quarter run out yet, Bess?” George asked.

  Bess was leaning forward, peering through the telescope. “Now people are stepping out of the small boats onto the yacht. Omigod! One of them looks like Mia!”

  “Mia Casabian?” I asked. I tried to see the yacht and the people, but without a telescope, all the boats were just specks. “Let me look, Bess.”

  Bess stepped aside. “Mia has shoulder-length dark hair. She’s wearing jeans and a red-and-white-striped T-shirt,” she said.

  I found her immediately.

  “I wonder if Mia signed up for that weeklong intensive,” I said. “The one the manicurists were telling us about.”

  “According to Mandy and Mallory, she’s been there longer than a week,” George said.

  “Why doesn’t she want to go home?” I said, still watching Mia as she stepped aboard the yacht. “Maybe that reality show got to her. Or maybe she was sick of being the ‘plain’ sister.”

  “Or maybe she was just sick of her sisters!” George said. “My turn to look through that thing.”

  I stepped aside. But the moment George peered through—

  “The quarter ran out!” she groaned.

  “I didn’t see anyone famous except for Mia,” Bess complained. She held out her hand. “Anyone have another quarter?”

  I was wondering about Mia, but not enough to spend our first night out spying through a telescope.

  “Enough stargazing,” I said. “Let’s check out that Ferris wheel.”

  “It’s eighty-five feet high,” George said once we were seated inside our dangling car.

  “TMI!” Bess groaned.

  Once on the Ferris wheel, it was a slow but breathtaking ride to the top. Even Bess agreed the view was awesome.

  “Who needs a telescope?” she exclaimed. “You can see all of L.A. from up here.”

  As I glanced in the direction of the yacht, my thoughts drifted back to Mia.

  What’s going on in that retreat? I wondered. And why won’t Mia Casabian come home?

  “Watch out, Pacific,” George exclaimed. “Here I come!”

  It was the next morning, and the three of us were carrying surfboards to the beach. Instead of the gauzy white bandage from yesterday, George was wearing a lighter adhesive one.

  “Dr. Viola said it would be okay to go swimming today,” she said. “I just hope Ty and Devon don’t mind another surfer.”

  “At least there was no garbage on the beach when we woke up,” I said.

  “Just an innocent casualty,” Bess said.

  “Huh?” George asked.

  We looked to see where Bess was pointing. There, lying stiffly on the sand, was a seagull. An undoubtedly dead seagull.

  “I bet it got something stuck in its throat,” Bess said.

  “Great.” I sighed. “We must have missed some trash when we were cleaning up yesterday.”

  “There is something you missed,” George said. She pointed to the back of my surfboard.

  I flipped my board around and froze. Bright orange letters were scrawled across it:

  GO BACK TO RIVER HIGHTS BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!

  SISTERLY SUSPECTS

  “Whoever wrote it,” I said, “spelled River Heights wrong.”

  “What do you mean, whoever wrote it?” George exclaimed. “Who else? The Casabians.”

  We checked the other two boards for more messages. Nothing—but that threat was enough to creep me out.

  “It had to be Mandy and Mallory,” Bess said, tilting her head to study the message. “They used lipstick. Tangy Tangerine, Mallory’s favorite shade.”

  I could see George taking deep breaths to keep from losing it. But she wasn’t the only one who was angry about what had happened.

  “We’re going to their house right now,” George ordered. “We’re not leaving until Mandy and Mallory own up to what they’ve done.”

  I nodded. “They can’t get away with trashing beaches and threatening people.”

  “What about our surfing lesson?” Bess asked. She pointed to Ty and Devon riding the waves. “The guys are probably waiting for us.”

  I shook my head as I watched Ty and Devon carve the same wave. “Are those two really that clueless about what’s happening on our beach?” I asked.

  “Woo-hoo,” Ty cheered to Devon. “The waves today are, like, totally sick!”

  “X-treme, dude, x-treme!” Devon shouted back.

  George rolled her eyes. “They’re clueless. Now let’s pay their girlfriends a visit.”

  We returned our surfboards to the shed and walked to the villa. This time the door was opened, not by the housekeeper, but by Bev, the producer.

  “Okay, here’s the scene,” Bev babbled to us. “You all come through the door and demand to see Mandy and Mallory.”

  “We were just going to do that,” I said.

  “Good,” Bev snapped. She then turned and yelled over her shoulder. “We’re taping here!”

  Before I could say another word, we were blinded by the lights.

  “I don
’t care if we’re on TV or not,” George said as she pushed her way inside. “It’s time the world saw what those sisters are really about.”

  Bess and I followed George into the house. Unfortunately, the cameraman and soundman followed us. So did Mandy’s dog Peanut Butter, yapping at our heels.

  With Bev’s help, we found Mandy and Mallory lounging on a snowy white sofa that swept halfway around the living room.

  “I suppose you got our messages,” Mandy said coolly.

  “Your messages, huh?” George demanded. “So that voice mail and those lipsticky warnings were yours.”

  “By the way,” Bess told the sisters, “River Heights is spelled with an e.”

  The camera was rolling, but I no longer cared. I stepped right up to them and said, “I know you two are famous, but what gives you the right to do what you did?”

  Mandy jutted her chin out and said, “What gives you the right to steal our boyfriends?”

  The three of us stared at the Casabians.

  “Huh?” George asked.

  Mallory began to sob. “We saw you surfing with Ty and Devon. And flirting with them too.”

  “Especially that redhead over there,” Mandy said, pointing at me. “Falling off her surfboard so Ty could help her.”

  “We were not flirting with them!” I insisted. “Okay, maybe Bess was—but it was only to get information.”

  “What information?” Mallory sniffed.

  “On the mess that was made of our beach,” I explained. “We thought the guys might know something about it.”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see the director motioning the camera and boom mike closer to me.

  “You still think we did it?” Mandy demanded. “Seriously, do these look like hands that would have anything to do with garbage?”

  To prove their point, Mandy and Mallory held out perfectly manicured hands.

  “What about the messages?” I demanded.

  “You had to have been trespassing to write on Nancy’s surfboard,” George said.

  Peanut yipped as he jumped on Mallory’s lap. Stroking the dog’s silky fur, she said, “We called in the first message. That was easy.”

  “The other message was harder,” Mandy said. “We had to wait until you left the house last night. That’s when we snuck onto your beach and wrote the message on the board.”