Inge stood up and walked over to a nearby file cabinet. She pretended to be busy rummaging through the files, but I could feel her radar on us.
Bess and I filled out the first few lines—name, address, telephone number. I had no problem giving that information—until I reached the fourth line.
“They want our bank information?” I whispered.
“No way,” Bess whispered. “Why should we give them that?”
“Is there a problem?” Inge asked.
“Um…we were just wondering why you need our bank info,” I said.
“For the fee,” Inge said as though we should have known. “And for any minor expenses that might come up.”
“What is the fee?” I asked.
Inge waved her hand as if it wasn’t important. “Eight thousand dollars,” she said.
“Eight thousand dollars?” Bess squeaked.
“For a week?” I asked.
“Meals included,” Inge added.
“You know,” I blurted, “I don’t remember my bank account number.” I rolled my eyes as if to say, Duh.
“Neither do I,” Bess said. “Can we give it to you another time maybe?”
“Or can’t we just be billed later?” I asked.
Inge stared at us. “Wait here,” she finally said.
She marched over to another door in her office, rapped on it three times, and slipped inside.
As soon as the door shut, Bess and I jumped from our chairs. We raced to the door, pressed our ears against it, and listened.
“Roland, I have two girls being resistant,” we heard Inge say.
“Roland is in there,” Bess whispered. “Resistant how?” a deeper voice said.
“They won’t cough up their bank information,” Inge said. “Should I tell them to leave?”
Silence. And then…
“No, Inge,” Roland said. “Let’s wait until they finish the entire process. They’ll be so spaced out they won’t even know they’re giving us their bank account numbers—or all their money.”
I turned my head to stare at Bess. So that’s what this retreat was all about. Money! “Thank you, Roland,” Inge said.
Bess and I zipped back to our chairs just before Inge opened the door.
“No bank information needed for now, girls,” she declared. “Just sign at the bottom and you’ll be ready to be renewed, revitalized, and recharged.”
“Cool,” Bess said with a smile.
I smiled too as we signed the forms. I didn’t know whether to be excited or scared. I think I was a little of both—excited to be starting this investigation, scared of what we were about to find out.
“Good!” Inge said. She took the clipboards and held out her hand. “Now if I may have your cell phones, please.”
“Our phones?” Bess gulped.
I thought of George back at the house expecting our calls. “Why do you want our phones?” I asked, trying not to sound panicky.
“So you can become totally immersed in the renewal process,” Inge said, still with her hand out.
My head spun with excuses for needing my phone. Like I had to check in on my elderly dad every day. Inge didn’t have to know he was only in his forties. Or that I couldn’t start my day without my daily horoscope alert.
Luckily, Bess had it already figured out.
“Here’s my phone,” she said, holding out her cell.
“Nancy doesn’t have a phone. Yesterday she dropped it in the La Brea Tar Pits.”
“I see,” Inge said slowly.
That seemed to do it, but I secretly hoped my phone wouldn’t go off in my pocket.
“Let’s go, ladies,” Inge said. “I’ll take you to your room.”
Bess and I followed Inge out of the office and up a flight of stairs to the living quarters.
“Home sweet home,” Inge said, opening a door.
Bess and I stepped into a room with dark brown carpeting and peach-colored walls. Against the wall was a Spanish-style dresser but no mirror. There were two full-size beds with black iron headboards—but no bedding.
“Are we getting any pillows or sheets?” I asked.
Inge shook her head. “There is no time for sleep,” she said. “Reading Roland’s teachings and working on his assignments during the night is recommended.”
No sleep? But I forced a smile and said, “Yes, of course, totally. Thanks, Inge.”
“Why don’t you freshen up and we will see you in the dining room, six o’clock sharp,” Inge said, and then left the room.
Once Inge’s footsteps had faded away, we shut the door and groaned.
“Thank goodness there’s a bathroom,” I said, pointing to a small bathroom off the room. “I was afraid they discouraged toilets, too.”
“You’d think they’d want us to be alert and well rested,” Bess said. “So we’d take in everything this Roland guy has to say.”
“Unless they’d rather we be dazed and vulnerable,” I suggested. “So we believe everything Roland has to say.”
My thoughts were interrupted by my phone vibrating inside my pocket.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hello yourself,” George replied. “Why are you whispering?”
“We’re not allowed to have phones,” I said. “So far this place is totally weird, and we just got here.”
“Well, it’s about to get weirder,” George said.
“Wait!” Bess put her ear to the phone. “This way we can both hear.”
“Go ahead, George,” I urged.
“Dr. Viola called me with the results of the hypodermic needle analysis. It contained a drug called sodium pentothal,” she said.
“What’s that?” Bess asked.
“According to this pharmaceutical site I’m looking at,” George said, “some people call it a ‘truth serum.’ The drug is effective at weakening a person’s resolve and making them suggestible to persuasion. It’s been used in interrogations.”
“So I guess it wasn’t Botox,” Bess said.
“The dose in the needle wasn’t toxic, according to the doctor,” George said. “But it could have made a person listless and loopy.”
I wondered if the other needles we’d found contained sodium pentothal. But mostly I wondered why the retreat would be using the drug. And on whom?
“Thanks, George. We’ll check in later,” I whispered. “I don’t want my battery to run out.”
I clicked off my phone. Bess and I then sat on one of the beds.
“Mia seemed loopy to me,” Bess decided. “I’ll bet she was injected with that drug. Sodium…whatever.”
“Sodium pentothal,” I said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if all the guests here get it. So they can become Roland’s sock puppets.”
“Nancy, we’re guests here now,” Bess said, a tinge of panic in her voice. “How are we going to keep away from the needles?”
CHALLENGES
“I like macaroni and cheese,” I said during dinner. “I like bread, too. But I wish there was some other food to eat, like veggies or salad.”
“I guess Roland doesn’t believe in low-carb diets,” Bess said, grabbing a slice of white bread. “I guess the eight-thousand-dollar fee isn’t going toward food, either.”
“That’s because it’s going into Roland’s pocket,” I said, lowering my voice.
I took a sip of the only beverage on the table—a flat orange soda. Could the retreat be depriving its members of sleep and nutrition?
“The mac and cheese is Roland’s favorite,” a perky voice interrupted my thoughts. “He says you can never have too much comfort food.”
A college-age girl with curly blond hair was smiling at us from the other end of the table.
“Does he?” I asked.
“I’m Daisy Matthews,” the girl said. She nodded at a raven-haired guy sitting next to her, probably the same age. “This is my friend Terrence Olivez.”
Terrence’s mouth was full, so he smiled with his eyes.
“Nancy Drew
,” I introduced myself.
“Bess Marvin,” Bess said with a little wave. “So…you two come here often?”
“No.” Daisy smiled. “Terrence and I are total newbies. I actually took a leave from college to come here.”
“You left school just to come here?” Bess asked, surprised.
“I decided I’d rather study Roland’s philosophy than any other subject,” Daisy explained.
“And you, Terrence?” I asked. “Did you also take a leave of absence?”
“Nope,” Terrence said a bit shyly. “I start college next fall.”
Daisy leaned forward and whispered as if Terrence wasn’t even there. “Terrence was always bullied in high school. He’s afraid the same thing will happen in college unless he boosts his self-esteem.”
“You think Roland can help you with that?” I asked Terrence directly.
“I bet Roland can do anything!” Daisy answered for her friend. “I read his book You Are That three times.”
“Cool,” I said. But was really thinking, Give me a break.
Daisy and Terrence went back to eating. I was about to take another forkful of macaroni when I spotted two familiar faces at the next table.
“Bess, don’t look now,” I whispered. “But look who’s sitting at the next table.”
“Nancy,” Bess complained. “How can I not look and look at the same time—”
“It’s Brad and Danielle,” I told her. “From the ER at Malachite General.”
We watched as Brad nibbled on a roll. Danielle seemed to have an appetite for her meal.
“Brad doesn’t look so pale anymore,” I whispered. “Danielle is less nervous too—probably because Inge’s not around.”
Our view was suddenly blocked as a middle-aged couple sat with us. They smiled at Bess and me as they placed their trays on the table.
“Are these seats taken?” the man asked with a friendly gleam in his eye.
“Yes, by you,” Bess said, smiling.
The couple introduced themselves as Ralph and Linda Meyers. They were married, retired, and huge fans of Roland.
“We may be in our late sixties,” Ralph said, “but it’s never too late to be renewed.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Linda laughed, raising her glass of cola.
Bess and I excused ourselves from the table to get some coffee.
“No wonder everyone here walks around like zombies,” Bess said after taking a sip of the watered-down coffee. “They’re caffeine deprived.”
“Or nutrition deprived,” I said. “Unless keeping us weak and light-headed is part of Roland’s plan.”
We were about to carry our cups to our table when I felt someone tap my shoulder. Turning, I saw Mia, her mouth a thin, grim line.
“Hi, Mia,” I said with a smile.
“I know why you two are here,” Mia whispered. “You want me to leave and return to Villa Fabuloso.”
“You’re not a kid, Mia,” I said. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“What makes you think Nancy and I don’t want to be renewed too?” Bess asked. “After you raved about Roland, we want to see what the buzz is all about.”
Mia glared at us, then turned and huffed away.
“Something tells me she doesn’t trust us,” Bess said with a touch of sarcasm.
“Let’s just hope Mia doesn’t speak to Roland,” I said. “Or Inge.”
Then, as if my mind was being read, Inge’s voice crackled over the PA system. She was telling guests that Roland would be speaking at ten p.m. sharp in the sanctuary.
“The meeting will include an orientation for all new guests,” Inge said, “plus an evening meditation.”
When Inge’s broadcast was over, I said to Bess, “Roland is starting his lecture at ten? They really don’t want us to sleep.”
“Have another cup of swamp-water coffee,” she said, sighing. “It’s going to be a long night.”
The sanctuary turned out to be the huge room at the top of the spiral staircase—the one with all the pillows strewn on the floor facing Roland’s throne.
“Look, Ralph, there he is!” Linda squealed as we filed into the room.
“It’s Roland, all right,” Ralph said with a grin.
I could see the towheaded, tanned man from the portrait taking his place on the throne. Although everyone in the room was staring at him, he made no eye contact in return.
Bess and I lowered ourselves onto cushy pillows. I could smell the fresh flowers and scented candles flanking Roland’s chair.
Daisy leaned over behind us and whispered, “Isn’t he the picture of serenity and tranquility?”
And arrogance, I thought. But I smiled back at Daisy and whispered, “Totally.”
Bess and I took our cues from the others, sitting cross-legged on our pillows. Mia was on a satiny pillow closest to the stage, her face turned up and smiling.
“Silence, everyone,” Inge told the guests. “Silence, please.”
When the room was quiet, Inge nodded at Roland to begin. I expected him to start speaking right away. Instead he turned his head slowly, making eye contact with everyone in the room, one by one. A shiver ran up my back as Roland gazed at me with pale blue eyes. Could he see right through me? Could he tell the reason I was here?
Stop it, Nancy, I told myself. This guy has no special powers. He just wants us to think he does.
After Roland had stared down the last guest, he spoke. “Welcome, welcome. I would particularly like to greet all our new guests. Will they please raise their hands?”
Bess and I reluctantly raised our hands along with the other newbies.
“Friends, renewal is a miraculous process,” Roland stated. “What could be more fulfilling than discarding old habits and ways, embracing a new persona as if we were newly born?”
I could hear some guests murmur in agreement.
“But we cannot renew unless we know what we are renewing,” Roland said. “So I would like for you all to meditate on what you would like to change in your lives.”
Some guests shut their eyes in meditation almost immediately.
“And remember, I am not here to judge,” Roland added. “Instead think of me as your trusty Sherpa, guiding you up the craggy but rewarding mountain of rebirth.”
“What is he talking about?” Bess whispered.
“Just pretend to meditate,” I whispered. “Close your eyes and think of Rodeo Drive.”
“Gladly,” she said dreamily.
I closed my own eyes but didn’t imagine Rodeo Drive. I thought about what George was up to. Was she at her computer researching Roland and his retreat?
“Open your eyes slowly,” Roland said softly. “Now, who would like to share their thoughts?”
Mia’s hand shot up in the air. “I will,” she said.
Roland grinned. “Tell us what you’d like to change in your life, Mia,” he said.
Mia stood up and faced the others. “What I really hate is being stepped on like I was some doormat,” she said angrily. “I’m sick of my sisters telling me that I’m plain and overweight and nothing but a drag!”
Wow, Mia was furious. She was about to continue when Bess shouted, “Your sisters don’t mean it. Mandy and Mallory love you. They really do.”
The room became dead silent. All eyes, including mine, were on Bess.
“Keep your thoughts to yourself,” Brad snapped at Bess. “Unless Roland asks you to share them.”
“Brad,” Roland scolded. “Remember, no judgment. Especially among our new converts—I mean, guests.”
Roland smiled at Bess and said, “Let’s hear from our new friends. Would you like to go next?”
Bess smiled back, but from the corner of her mouth whispered, “Nancy, what do I do?”
“Make something up,” I whispered back.
Bess stood up and cleared her throat.
“What I’d really like to change in my life is”—she paused—“my wardrobe! I know you’re all think
ing my clothes are pretty fashion-forward. Okay, thanks for that, but I’ve had some of these outfits for two years. Two years—can you imagine? That’s practically vintage!”
Everyone stared at Bess in disbelief. I held back a giggle as she turned to Roland and said, “So, what do you think?”
“Well.” Roland was staring at Bess too. “If that’s what you envision…the universe will provide.”
I flashed Bess a thumbs-up as she sat down on her pillow. We both listened quietly as more guests stood up to share their hopes, fears, and insecurities. All the while I was wishing and hoping that Roland would not ask me. Fortunately, I was spared.
“Now that we all understand the renewal process—come! Come fire walk with me!” Roland said, jumping to his feet.
A few guests leaped to their feet and cheered. I turned to Bess and said, “Did he just say fire walk?”
“What is that?” Bess asked.
There was only one way to find out. We followed the others down the stairs, out to the beach. The first thing I saw was attendants lighting up a path of hot coals.
“Uh-oh,” I murmured to Bess. “Is this what I think it is?”
While guests began lining up behind the glowing path, Inge made another announcement.
“For those who have never done this, listen carefully,” she practically shouted. “As you take off your shoes and socks, you must prepare yourself mentally to walk over the coals.”
“What?” Bess cried. “We have to walk barefoot?”
Roland stood at the end of the path. “If you commit to the challenges here at the retreat, you commit to the renewal process too,” he said.
I could see Daisy quickly slipping out of her sandals. But Terrence pulled off his sneakers and socks reluctantly.
“Fire walking is an ancient ritual,” Bess said. “I think the Native Americans practiced it.”
“I’m sure the Native Americans knew what they were doing,” I hissed. “I’m sure Roland does not!”
“Start taking off your shoes, girls,” Inge told us. “You must be ready when your turn comes.”
I could smell the smoke, hear the sizzle, and see red-hot embers shoot into the air. This was insane!
“Don’t even think of doing this, Nancy,” Bess whispered. “We can get seriously hurt.”
California Schemin': Book One in the Malibu Mayhem Trilogy Page 7
