15 Minutes: Maizie Albright Star Detective

by Larissa Reinhart

  Eye Lift waved. I made sure to wave back.

  In the lobby, I found the privacy box, which looked like it had once been an actual phone booth. From back in the day, when rich golfers needed hand-carved wooden booths with stained glass windows. Shaking off the feelings one acquired when entering a tiny room with opaque windows and coffin-like walls, I dropped on a plush bench. I left the door open, dialed Nash's number, and announced myself.

  "Where are you?" he barked. "Lamar said something about you doing investigative work. What hell have you unleashed on me now?"

  "No hell," I said quickly. "I'm checking David Waverly's alibis. He had dinner at the Cove on Saturday and spoke with a woman at the bar. Which is tacky, but not damning if he believed Sarah left him. Do you still think David Waverly could have done something to his wife? What does Jolene think? Did you ask her?”

  "I'm not really sure about any of this," he said, deftly skipping over my mention of Jolene. "Sarah could have been picked up without anybody noticing. The media loves the idea of her kidnapped. But why wouldn't the kidnapper carjack the Porsche while they're at it?"

  "A random kidnapping makes no sense. Unless a ransom comes later." My focus turned inward, thinking of possible ransom screw ups. "Maybe they are taking too long cutting out individual letters from newspapers and magazines. Or they mailed the ransom letter and it got lost in the mail. Or they stuck it on the Porsche with tape and it fell off. I think the quality of tape has really gone downhill, don't you? If there's even a little bit of dirt on the tape, it won't stick—”

  "Or Sarah Waverly left willingly with someone but didn't take her purse. Maybe she wanted a clean slate. Without any ID. Or credit cards. Or phone." A thump sounded, like a fist hitting a wall. "Which was found in the lake?"

  "Besides giving interviews and dining out with other women, David Waverly also stuck to his poker schedule last weekend." I explained my findings from Ramón and the debutantes.

  "I'll be."

  "I'll be what?"

  "Nothing. Just good work." He cleared his throat. "I know William Dixon. Bill also works at Black Pine Group. I shouldn't be showing myself over there. Do you want to handle talking to him?"

  "For realsies?” I squealed.

  "Why not? Seems like you're pretty good at worming your way into conversations around here."

  The door to the phone booth slammed shut, making me jump. I took a deep, soothing breath and another.

  "What was that?" said Nash. "And what's with all the heavy breathing?"

  "I'm in a phone booth and the door blew shut. I just get a little claustrophobic." I hopped from the bench and turned the handle. The door wouldn't open. "It seems to be locked."

  "Locked? How does a phone booth lock?"

  "I don't know." I willed my breathing to slow. Would the heavy wood and stained glass allow for air to penetrate? Didn't that happen in elevators? Loss of air? Could you suffocate in a phone booth? Julia Pinkerton did an elevator episode. What had happened? Oh God, I couldn't think. Lack of oxygen was slowing my brain processing.

  "Miss Albright, there wouldn't be an outside lock on a telephone booth." Nash sounded annoyed. "You locked yourself inside."

  “Right. Except there seems to be no lock on this side either."

  No reply from Nash.

  "Are you still there? Is my signal strength gone? I should hang up and call 9-1-1."

  "I wouldn't advise calling the police considering they just threatened us with obstruction if we did any more investigating. Where are you?"

  "At the club," I whispered. “In an upright wooden coffin.”

  "Miss Albright, calm down. You're in a public place. Someone will find you. Call the club office to let you out. That phone booth is an antique. The wood's probably swelled or something..."

  “Mr. Nash? Are you still there? What's the something?"

  "Nothing. I'll call the club and ask somebody to get you out."

  "Okay." I took a shallow breath. "Thank you. I'm fine, really. It's silly. But how does a heavy wooden door blow shut? Right? Someone would've had to sneak up from the side and pushed it shut. That's crazy. Why would someone deliberately trap me in a phone booth? My claustrophobia’s so well known in Hollywood, it's almost a joke. You know that old story about me getting accidentally locked in a closet for six hours because the Kung Fu Kate director and producers got into an argument? Everyone stormed off set and forgot me..." A tear leaked out and I pinched my thumb skin. "It's really a funny story if you think about it."

  "I'll be there in ten minutes. You're not going to run out of air in ten minutes."

  Fifteen minutes later, the final screw fell from the hinge and a handyman lifted the door from its frame. I fell out, trying not to gasp, and thudded against Nash's chest.

  He patted my back, then peeled me off. "You okay?"

  "Totally. I used the time in there to think. You know, maybe it's good to face my fears. Better here than on Celebrity Fear Factor, right?" I faked a laugh. "I know, rule one. And two. Sorry about the hug. I'm ready to go back to work and talk to Mr. Dixon."

  "Are you sure?" Nash's jaw tightened. "Maybe you need some time off."

  "Don't be silly." I forced another chuckle. "It's not like somebody locked me in there."

  Nash's lips drew tight.

  "Somebody locked me in there?"

  He held out his hand.

  "Those are pennies."

  "It's an easy prank to lock somebody in a room. Shove pennies in the door crack above and below the knob."

  "Oh."

  He placed a big hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "Why don't I take you home?"

  I feigned a smile. "Probably one of the Albright crew, trying to be funny. They're staying in the villas."

  Nash's face darkened.

  "I'll handle it. Don't worry. You've wasted enough time here. Go on and get back to whatever you were doing. I'm off to talk to Mr. Dixon."

  Of all people, the Albright crew would never lock me in a telephone booth. My contracts had clauses about my claustrophobia. But I didn't want Nash to pull me off the case because of a cruel prank. This was what I got for ignoring "Members Only" signs. Somebody in Black Pine didn't like me. It wasn't like I’d hidden the reason I visited the club this morning. Maybe someone didn't want me working on the Waverly case.

  I considered myself warned.

  eighteen

  #HotNeandrathals #EauDeDonut

  The great thing about being an actress is that I'm good at pretending. For example, at this moment, I pretended someone hadn't locked me in a phone booth, causing me to take stock of my life. While hyperventilating. But I learned something valuable from my life inventory. I could not back down from this investigation.

  And not because I didn’t have any non-acting job prospects. Or because Vicki scared me more than the threat of imprisonment.

  A woman could be dead. A woman I had lost. Vicki wanted me to think about my responsibilities. To find Sarah Waverly was my responsibility. And I might have made an enemy because I took that responsibility seriously.

  In a weird way, it was nice to know someone took me seriously. Even if they might be my nemesis.

  Speaking of nemeses, the Black Pine Group receptionist looked the opposite of thrilled to see me. Again.

  "Hey there," I said. "Today I'd like to speak to Mr. Dixon."

  "Why?" The why hinted at "are you planning on sleeping with all the men in my office?"

  "Maybe I want to open a thingy. Or take over a thingy."

  "He's our CFO."

  "Perfect." I wasn't quite sure what the CFO did. We only used CEOs in scripts. All the evil businessmen were CEOs. "I'm sure he won't mind speaking to me."

  "I'm sure you'd like to think so," she said but picked up the phone. A few terse words later, she set the phone down. "You're going to have to wait."

  "No problem. I'll hang with you," I said, relishing the annoyance flashing across her face. "You probably knew Sarah Waverly, since she came in here every
day. I'm sorry to hear about her disappearance. What do you think happened?"

  "It's pretty strange she disappeared on the day you showed up in here asking questions, that's what I think."

  "I see."

  "And I think it's extremely inappropriate for you to continue to—” Her mouth snapped shut and her gaze fixed over my shoulder.

  I turned to smile at William Dixon, but instead, Ed Sweeney stood behind me, pursing his lips and shaking his head.

  "Now, now, Elaine," said Ed. "We're very happy Maizie Albright continues to grace us with her gorgeous presence. If you're not a fan, that's your prerogative, but how anyone couldn't love Julia Pinkerton, even without the cheer skirt, I don't know."

  I rolled my eyes and waved a hand to dismiss his flirting, but secretly I gloated. Turning my back on Elaine the Office Defender, I thanked Ed Sweeney and gave him an appreciative smile. The one used in that Japanese pickle commercial.

  Ed placed a hand on the small of my back and ushered me toward his office. "Now my dear, it's lovely to see you again. What can we do for you? I hope you came in to tell me you've decided to leave Nash Security to become the next Mrs. Sweeney."

  Giggling, I gave him an "oh, you" and found myself seated in the sailboat office. "Actually, I'm here to see William Dixon."

  Ed Sweeney dropped in his office chair, crossed an ankle over his knee, and leaned back. "Why do you need Bill? He's busy today. I heard him grumbling about something earlier. Besides, I'm much more charming."

  How do I say, “I'm questioning everyone who knows David Waverly to get their opinion on the odds of David killing his wife,” and not sound tacky?

  "Don't look so glum. Maybe I can help."

  "I wanted to ask Mr. Dixon a few questions about David Waverly. I know they play poker together. I guess you do, too. And Jolene."

  "With Sarah missing, David looks a little suspect now. Is that where your line of inquiry is headed? Nash Security is still on the case, whether David likes it or not?"

  "Not officially," I hedged.

  "Is Nash worried about Chapter Eleven? I heard some of his clients walked after David's interviews. The press sure loves Waverly now. Though I can't tell if they sympathize with David or are circling him like turkey buzzards, hoping to catch him when he goes down. Cold bastards."

  "What do you think happened?"

  "What do I think about David's part in Sarah's disappearance? Do I think David killed her?"

  "I know you're friends. It would be difficult to think that of a friend. But you said you thought he treated her badly."

  "Offing your wife and taking her for granted are very different." Ed ducked his head. "Sorry to be so harsh. I never thought David would hurt Sarah. Physically, anyway. I figured she got tired of David, found out about him spying on her, and took off. Now I'm not sure. I heard her phone was found in the lake."

  "Did David or Sarah have any enemies? Someone else who might have harmed or kidnapped her?"

  "Kidnapping? Wouldn't there be a ransom? Unless David's keeping that secret. Maybe he doesn’t want the police involved. That'd be something."

  The door popped open and I turned in my chair. An older man with the typical Black Pine golf tan walked into the office. He gave me a quick smile but focused on Ed. "If you've got a minute, I need to talk to you about something."

  "Have a seat, Bill." Ed gestured to the chair next to mine. "This is Maizie Albright. Maizie, Bill Dixon. Have y'all met?"

  "I'm sorry, I can't. We've got an emergency, Ed. The numbers are off..." William glanced at me. "Sorry, ma'am. Ed, I really need to speak to you privately."

  "I understand.” I stood. "I'll come back another time. Mr. Dixon, I'd really like to talk to you."

  "Sorry about this,” said Ed.

  I scooted past William Dixon. As I stepped into the hallway, I heard William's anxious voice. "Where's Waverly? I've been trying to get a hold of him."

  The door closed and Elaine appeared, eager to escort me off the premises. No luck on eavesdropping.

  I filed the bit I heard under "I" for "interesting."

  I'd put Elaine under "I" as well. "Irritating," "irrational," and "impolite."

  The popularity for stacked stone, glass and timber buildings continued with Sweeney Realty. I parked Lucky, trying to decide how best to approach Jolene. As Maizie or Julia? Normally, I'd defer to Julia, but at the Cove, Jolene had met me as Maizie.

  I really felt for those Method actors. Wearing a role off-screen can be really confusing.

  Deciding to wing it as best I could, I trotted into the picturesque building. Inside, everything felt homey and modern, all Southern Living meets Architectural Digest, designed to impress Black Pine's top ten percent. Jolene understood branding and all those things that my publicist Sherry appreciated.

  At the receptionist's desk, a skinny girl in an adorable Isaac Mizrahi sheath greeted me. I asked for Jolene and perched my leather butt on a leather couch.

  Then held on to keep from sliding off.

  Jolene breezed in wearing a tortoise print blouse and black pencil skirt with a deep side split. All business but showing enough leg and curves to encourage non-business thoughts. Jolene was one smart cookie.

  "Maizie Albright, how nice to see you again. I wish I'd known you were going to call."

  I returned her apprehensive smile and Gone with the Wind dialogue. "I do declare that's the prettiest blouse I've seen in some time."

  "Come on back to my office." She sashayed forth, expecting me to follow.

  Which I did, of course.

  Her office looked slick and modern, all glass, leather, and stainless steel. Which seemed more suited for men, but that's sexist, so I focused on the very feminine redhead sitting behind the desk and tried not to feel intimidated.

  Women like Jolene scared me. Probably because I was raised by a scary woman. Although my previous therapist (a woman) felt it had more to do with my absent father, therefore creating my need to please men more than women since women don't have penises.

  Yeah, made no sense to me either. I prefer not to think about penises at all if I can help it.

  "Are you looking for your own place?" Jolene tapped a mouse on her desk, summoning a site with luxury house listings on the oversized computer screen. "I've been getting to know your mother real well, Maizie. And while she's been looking at homes, I've learned a lot about you. What an interesting life you've led."

  "Isn't that nice?" I spoke through the smile frozen on my lips. Why was Vicki looking at houses? "Then you probably know I'll be living with my father for a while."

  "Mercy, yes." She trilled a snicker into a laugh. "Judge's orders, right? I suppose at this point, you don't have the assets for a house, anyway. If it's not real estate, what can I help you with?"

  Oh no. She. Didn't. Even.

  Really, Vicki? Reveal my assets and my probation details to Nash’s friggin' EX-WIFE? Why was I surprised? Vicki had warned me things would get worse. But how would she know the extent of this humiliation?

  Mothers.

  Before my thoughts completely derailed, I blurted, "I know you're friends with the Waverlys. You must be upset about the news surrounding Sarah. I wanted to hear your ideas on the subject."

  Jolene's smirk faltered. After a moment’s consideration, she sank back into her desk chair and rocked it with the toe of her Kate Spade pump. "So that's why you're here. Listen, I don't know what you and Wyatt think you're doing, but the police are handling this now. If I were you, I'd find another agency to do your research or whatever it is you're doing."

  "Mostly billing, but occasionally I get out to do surveillance and interviews."

  Her brows drew together and she frowned. “Seriously, Wyatt Nash is bad news. I know you're mad at Vicki, but aren't you a little old for the rebellious teenager role?"

  "Is that what Vicki told you?" I couldn't stop the heat from speeding up my neck and licking my cheeks. "What I do for a career isn't anybody's business."

  "You fo
rget, as half owner of Nash Security Solutions, it is my business." She tipped her chair back and gazed at the vaulted ceiling. "What is it about Wyatt that makes us girls stupid? The man is positively Neanderthal. I was young and yes, Good Lord, he had that bad boy sexy thing going for him. But still, what's your excuse? You're from Beverly Hills where hot men are a dime a dozen. I'm from Black Pine where we fish from a much smaller pond."

  "I don't know what you mean." I could feel my flush intensify. "You play poker with David Waverly. I just wanted to know how you felt about him. In relation to his wife's disappearance."

  "How I feel about David Waverly?" Jolene laughed, lifted her toe, and let the chair drop back in place. "Come on, Maizie. You're not here about David. You want to know about Wyatt. It's all over your face. You think I haven't been keeping tabs on you and him? Wyatt's in deep shit. Any person with half a brain would have taken their paycheck and hightailed it out of there. You're not even on the payroll. So, either you're really dumb or you're thinking with something other than your brain."

  And damn, if she didn't cut her eyes to my leather clad vajayjay. My ears felt hot enough to burn a hole through Lucky's helmet. I straightened in the chair, raised my chin, and gave her a full-on Julia Pinkerton stink eye.

  Because I didn't really know what else to do.

  "Are you covering for David Waverly?" I said in my very best snotty teenage Julia tones. "Or are you jealous of my relationship with Nash?"

  The air temperature dropped about fifteen hundred degrees.

  Oh shizzles, I thought. That was stupid. I might have totally screwed Nash out of his company. I don't even have a relationship with Nash. And she's right, I'm not even on the payroll. Yet. And thanks to me, I might never be.

  Jolene leaned forward to splay her hands against the cool glass on her desk. "Let me offer you some advice. Sign that contract with Albright Productions before your ten days run out. Some folks around here might be smitten with the whole cute celebrity thing, not to mention all the T and A you flash around town, but I know there's a judge in California waiting for you to screw up again. And I also know you can't afford a cushy California prison. Your momma is tired of bailing you out and your daddy's got too much pride."