"I was—”
"I broke rule one, Miss Albright, and I apologize. Go check that dock."
"There's another thing," I hesitated. "Sarah Waverly left her purse in the Cayenne. A Prada. Actually, a papaya Prada."
"She didn't need it at the club, so she left it in the car."
"A woman does not leave her purse in the car when she's going to change into golf togs. Or yachting. She would leave it in her locker at the club or take it on the boat. Especially a Prada."
After a semi-long bout of silence, he said, "You have a point."
"Thanks." I brightened. "So are you coming?"
"Check the Playbuoy first. Then call me back."
"There's a slight problem."
A second sigh. Deeper than the first. "What is the slight problem?"
"I don't have a phone. I'm at a gas station. Could you possibly come to the club, just in case Mrs. Waverly isn't on the Playbuoy? And if she is, maybe you could point out some good surveillance techniques? As a certified trainer?"
"Miss Albright, if you lost your phone while partying at the Cove, get another one. I'm not rearranging my schedule to follow you around on the off chance you might want to speak to me."
"I didn't lose my phone. I don't own one anymore." I wanted to avoid Vicki in all ways possible, but I couldn't tell Nash I was afraid of my mother. As it was, she could still track me down. Not having a phone only hindered the inevitability.
An avalanche tumbled from my lips in my effort to explain. "I've been at everyone's beck and call for years. At first, it was a way for my manager and agent to keep track of me. Then directors and producers needed to keep tabs. I had one of the earliest smartphones, and they made me responsible for answering fan mail. As a teenager, I spent more time answering emails than on schoolwork. And social media. It was my job to Tweet and Instagram and Facebook and Vine and Snapchat and, like, Googlechat and whatever else my manager wanted me to do. Especially for spin control—”
"Rule one, Miss Albright." The expulsion of breath resonated in my ear. "Private investigators have phones. Most Americans have phones."
My face heated. "It got—”
"If you work for me, you will have a phone. If you really want to be a private investigator, the smarter the better."
"But—”
"Sarah Waverly is likely sunning herself on the boat. But I'll meet you at the club. Just in case."
Back at the club, I re-parked, re-checked the Cayenne, and re-entered the clubhouse. After a quick perusal, I shot out the back and onto a rubbery cart path leading away from the links and toward the Cove. A series of docks lined the lake and at letter B, I skipped up the stairs and down the boardwalk, counting off slips until I reached number four.
No Playbuoy.
I ground my teeth, then stopped myself because I couldn't afford new caps. Nash had been correct and I had wasted his trip. I wished I could take back the phone call, but I wouldn't have known to investigate the docks.
Sighing, I squinted at the water, trying to catch sight of the Stingray, but most yachters headed away from the resort area and around the mountain to the far side of Black Pine Lake. Turning back, I eyed the Cove's patio and thought about asking if anyone had seen Sarah and the Playbuoy.
For my first surveillance, I had really screwed up. My therapist, Renata, would accuse me of transference, losing Sarah Waverly as the equivalent of losing track of my life. Particularly because I had allowed Vicki to divert me from achieving my goal.
Renata loved analogies.
The golf cart path continued toward the resort's villas and hotel rooms, but I stopped at the stone steps leading up to the restaurant. Perhaps someone had spotted Sarah with a man who was not David Waverly.
Maybe this would be the break in the surveillance case Nash had been doing for a month. David Waverly would be pleased that I had found his wife cheating. Maybe not pleased with his wife, but not so angry with Nash. That's a sort of win-win, right?
My Luluemon yoga pants and t-shirt felt too casual for Black Pine's premier dining experience, but I fluffed my hair and applied some lipstick, ready to bring Julia Pinkerton to the Cove. I swaggered up the steps and found myself on the patio.
Faces sunglassed in Ray-Ban and Westward Leaning dotted the tables along the patio wall. Most had silver coffee servers and dainty plates of fruit and yogurt. They looked a bit haggard and all too familiar. A few raised their coffee cups to me. Most seemed too tired to bother with a greeting.
The All is Albright crew. Holy shizzlations. These poor souls had been dragged through three time zones and tossed in what they would consider backcountry hell. Even with the fair-trade coffee, organic fruit, and natural Greek yogurt.
A camera shutter caught my open-mouthed astonishment. Al, the official Albright photographer, waved from a table. I waved back and he snapped another shot. I made a quick scan for Sarah Waverly, who was not breakfasting on the patio. However, my eyes locked on a particular Cove breakfaster, languidly sipping his espresso.
Double shizz.
Giulio Belloni. In Balenciaga. From the new summer collection. One of the few men I knew who could pull off skinny jeans and not look like an ass. He looked gorgeous. Like a dark-eyed, sensual Latin soap star. Which was his former gig.
Our eyes met. Mine had probably widened enough to swallow my face. His narrowed in heavy lidded triumph.
“Oh my God.” I wished I’d entered the Cove from the front door. Or not entered at all. Or worn something other than a t-shirt that hinted at a muffin top.
Before I could escape, Giulio had paced the patio in long, quick strides. "Baby," he cried, loud enough for the Albright crew to hear. And probably pick up on their phones for a quick Instagram upload. "You left me in Beverly Hills. How could you?"
He captured my hands in his and drew me in for a soft, double cheek kiss that finished with a harder kiss on my lips. I always lost my lipstick around Giulio. I used to enjoy that until I realized Giulio only loved Giulio.
"I told you I was moving," I whispered. "I'm sorry about All is Albright, but the season was finished. You know I didn't renew my contract."
“Darling.” Giulio ran his hands up my arms and grasped my shoulders, turning me slightly. "The season was finished, but what about us? We could never be finished."
Frigalicious, I thought, Giulio was probably Vicki’s surprise luxury item. Giulio would never come to Georgia on his own. He also took direction well.
I glanced around the patio. Giulio had positioned us parallel to the camera crew. Al hopped up with a light meter to take a quick reading. Catching my eye, he smiled and gave me a thumbs up.
"What is going on?" I whispered.
"Darling." Giulio gave me a 90-watt smile and an Italian shrug. "Can I help it if the camera follows me around? You want to go back to my villa so we can talk privately?"
"No." I backed up, pulling Giulio with me. "I don't know what Vicki told you, but I'm done. I'm going to become a private investigator."
"That is cool, baby. I like it. Very sexy." Giulio gave my Adidas top a quick once over. "Listen, why don't you come back to my room anyway. I promise no cameras, no show. Just me and you and we'll have sex. I am so bored here."
"It's barely eleven in the morning. I've got to go. I'm working."
"But it's only eight in LA. I have the jet lag. Even in the studio jet, we do the red-eye. I am exhausted."
"Then get some sleep," I hissed. "I'm not having sex with you. We're not together. I have a new life here. You know what my therapist and the judge said. I can't be around anyone from my old life."
"I have no idea what you say, baby, but I'm sorry. I miss you. I miss..." Giulio thought hard. "I miss how we looked together."
He meant on camera. Giulio had been hired by the show's producers to create a romantic diversion after my breakup with Oliver.
Without telling me.
"An adult Maizie Albright is more interesting when the world thinks she's in love," Vicki had said a
fter I accused her of manipulating my love life. "Whether you are or not."
By in love, she meant getting laid. Vicki still had enough Black Pine in her to use euphemisms for certain things better left unsaid. She also had enough LA in her to be pragmatic about certain things better left unsaid. Which is very confusing for an actress/daughter.
"Did Vicki bring you here to seduce me? She wants me to sign on for another season." I found it easier to be forthright with Giulio. His English wasn't good enough for euphemisms.
"No, darling. But she invites everyone from Albright to visit your hometown. I flew in with some camera guys and the hair and makeup." He stepped closer, skimming my arms to take my hands. "I am seducing you because I miss you. When we are together, I feel happy."
"Happy to be with me or happy to be in the show?"
"I don't know what you mean. I miss you so much." Giulio slipped his hands from mine to pin me against his chest. Lowering his head, he sequestered my lips for a long kiss.
I forgot to not enjoy myself for a few seconds, then pushed away. Glancing out at the patio, I got another thumbs up from Al.
Good thing I didn't do social media anymore, because that picture was likely to be Instagramed into oblivion.
"I have to go."
I pushed past Giulio and fled into the restaurant, hoping I'd find news of Sarah Waverly in the bathroom because that's where I headed. To not cry.
#
The restroom attendant had no Sarah Waverly news. The hostess, servers, and sous chef had not seen Sarah Waverly either. I left from the kitchen entrance, hugging the restaurant walls to avoid detection by the Albright crew. From the parking lot, I walked past the tennis courts and pool to get back to the club, where I would find Nash and deliver the news that Sarah Waverly had likely taken the boat out.
I slunk through the parking lot. Vicki Albright had invaded Black Pine and poised herself to reassume management of my life. For that, my father might kick me out for disobeying Judge Ellis's decree to avoid my old lifestyle. And I was about to confirm Nash's belief that I was an idiot for demanding he help me look for a woman who had taken a joy ride on her own boat. My emotional meter shot toward impending doom.
I stopped in front of a yellow Corvette and those thoughts disappeared.
David Waverly drove a yellow Stingray. I hadn't seen him in the Cove, and I'm sure he would have spotted me with all the fuss Giulio had made. Had he taken out the Playbuoy and not Sarah? Or had they taken it together?
I sprinted toward the club. At the entrance, I found Nash checking his watch and glaring at my approaching form.
"Someone took the Playbuoy," I said after apologizing. "But I don't know if it's Sarah or David or both. His car is at the Cove, but he's not in the restaurant."
Nash rubbed the bridge of his broken nose and trained his gaze on the Cayenne at the far end of the parking lot.
"Maybe your evidence made an impression on Mr. Waverly and he stopped believing his wife was cheating. Maybe he went home, made up to her, and they decided to spend a romantic day together on their boat. Maybe they'll decide to renew their vows and start over."
"You have imagination, I'll give you that."
"Thank you. What should I do now?"
"Do you have any equipment with you?" He held up his hand. "I don't want to rehash the phone conversation. You need a camera. With a good zoom and the ability to switch from video to stills. More than one, actually. Extra batteries and memory cards. And a telescoping monopod."
"Like a selfie stick?"
"An extension to keep your camera steady. You don't want to be embarrassed by your shaky video evidence in a courtroom,” said Nash. “Didn't they teach you that in college?"
I felt my neck heat. "This is why we're supposed to have training. I have a GoPro somewhere. I got it in a gift bag from an awards show. Teen Choice Awards, I think. Or maybe it was the—” He raised a brow, and I stopped.
"Tell me exactly how you lost her."
I gave him the facts of my morning surveillance. Minus the Vicki part. “I don't think a two-timer brings lunches. I guess you thought the same. But Mr. Waverly is. Two-timing. I had my suspicions and they were confirmed by his receptionist when she saw me."
"What?"
"The receptionist was not surprised to see me. She thought I was the other woman. And her non-surprise at seeing me for the first time means the other woman is changed out regularly."
"God Almighty."
"I know, right?" I crossed my arms.
His eyes cut to my arms crossed over my t-shirt then traveled over the yoga pants to my Golden Goose sneakers before centering back on my face. "Your nose looks better."
"Thanks." Before I could explain my anti-nose-swelling technique, Nash held up a hand.
"Let me think for a minute."
I quieted.
"I've always felt this case was hinky." He picked up a backpack and slung it over one shoulder. "We'll go to the lake and wait for the Playbuoy to dock."
"We? You're going with me? Like, to give me instruction? You're really going to train me?" I threw myself at him, squeezing him hard. "You won't be sorry."
He peeled me off his body. "No hugging either. That's rule two."
"Sorry."
"Try not to be so excited."
I couldn't help it. Finally, I was becoming the Julia Pinkerton I always wanted to be. Without the cheer skirt. And Clearasil contracts.
eight
#MaximAttack #RepoMyDream
Following the cart path back to the lake, we found a bench across from Dock B and settled on it to wait on the Playbuoy’s arrival.
I tried not to smile or bounce. Or talk too much. Which was hard not to do when you're trying to impress your new boss. The more Nash didn't talk, the more I filled the void.
My therapist Renata said I'm uncomfortable with silence because I have deep-seated issues with social acceptance and belonging. I think it's because I spent so much time on noisy sets and shoots. All the action and off-camera chatting had given me an auditory attention issue. Also, I'm a curious person. Which is another reason I wanted to become a detective.
"When did you become a P.I.?" I kept the stream of questions moving, pausing only long enough for Nash to offer an answer.
Which he didn’t.
"Did you always want to be one? Were you a cop before? Or in the military? How long have you had your office? I guess I should have asked you this yesterday during our interview, but I got sidetracked by Jolene and your meeting with David Waverly."
"It wasn't an interview," muttered Nash.
"And who is Jolene Sweeney? Why is she co-owner of a private investigation office when she's in real estate? Is she my boss, too? As in, can she fire me? Vicki will most likely talk her into firing me. I guess you'll have to make up your own mind about that, but I hope you judge me on performance. Except for this first assignment. Because I didn’t know how to do proper surveillance.”
Nash set down his binoculars to glare at me. "Jolene Sweeney is not your boss and don't let her try to convince you otherwise. Just simmer down."
I shut up for a good ten minutes.
An enticing aroma of grilled something floated from the Cove, setting off a din of hunger rattles from my stomach. I started another stream of chatter to cover the noise. "Does David Waverly often take the boat out during the week?"
"He doesn't, although sometimes he does business on the links. Sarah uses it more. Maybe my lack of finding any dirt on his wife led to a reconciliation. But..." His words drifted. Nash lifted the binoculars to squint through them again.
"To take the boat out during the day, even if he reconciled with his wife, doesn't fit his character, does it?"
Nash shook his head. "No, it does not."
Which confirmed the real reason Nash accompanied me to the dock. He was suspicious of David Waverly. "Why don't you like Waverly? Aside from the obvious philandering and animosity toward his wife, I mean."
"Didn't say I d
idn't like him."
I thought for a minute. "Didn't Jolene say Black Pine Group wanted to buy your business? Waverly didn't share that with you when he hired you to watch his wife. Is that what's bugging you?"
Nash kept the binoculars trained on the lake. "Yes. Among other things."
I smiled, pleased that we were having a sort-of-actual conversation. "Do you think he'd deliberately try to mess with your investigation? To encourage you to sell?"
Nash yanked off the binoculars to stare at me. The blue eyes appeared a bit dazed and confused. Or surprised at my utterance.
"Just an idea," I raised a shoulder. "That happened in Julia Pinkerton, Season 2, Episode 4. 'The Case of the Conglomerate Cover Up.' A corporation wanted the property where a popular teen club was located, so they tried to make the owner look bad by sending in kids to deal drugs."
Nash replaced the binoculars. "That's TV. And it's not the property location they're interested in. I rent from Lamar."
"Maybe they're actually after Lamar's donut recipes."
A smile snuck over Nash's lips.
I sucked in my breath. Thank God Nash didn't smile often or I'd be a gooey mess. I hopped to my feet to shake off my libido. "Why don't I get us lunch or something?"
"Hang on.” Nash's hand landed on my elbow and he drew me back to the bench. "There's a cabin cruiser coming in now. Get the camera ready. If it's the Playbuoy, we'll slip over to the next dock and take some photos."
A moment later, he pulled off the binoculars. "It's the Playbuoy. It's slowing to idle in. Let's go."
We rushed to Dock A and huddled behind a big Chaparral speed boat. Truly a Julia Pinkerton moment.
Nash glanced around and pulled a ball cap from his backpack. "Put this on. You're going to pose like I'm taking your picture. Try to stand so you're not blocking the view of the Playbuoy but so it still looks like I'm taking your picture."
"I'll make it happen." I cocked a finger and shot him.
"What was that?"
Maizie Albright Star Detective 01 15 Minutes Page 7
