Malibu Mayhem Trilogy 02: Mystery At Malachite Mansion

  With that thought, I fell into a deep sleep….

  “Nancy, wake up!”

  “Huh?” Bess was shaking my shoulder. As I peered through the darkness, I saw her face staring down at me.

  “Did you hear that?” Bess hissed.

  “Hear what?” I groaned.

  “Listen,” she whispered. “It sounds like someone’s downstairs.”

  I groggily sat up in bed but heard nothing. I was about to tell Bess to go back to sleep when I heard a noise.

  “What was that?” I said.

  “It sounds like somebody is creeping around the house,” Bess whispered. “I told you we shouldn’t have stayed here overnight.”

  “Calm down,” I said. “It’s probably George sneaking leftover sandwiches from the kitchen. She always gets hungry in the middle of the night.”

  I turned on the bedside lamp and climbed out of bed.

  “Where are you going?” Bess asked.

  “Downstairs,” I said, heading toward the door. “I’m kind of hungry myself. I’ll keep her company.”

  But when I opened our bedroom door, I ran into George coming out of her room.

  “Uh-oh,” Bess said.

  “You heard it too?” George asked.

  “We were hoping it was you,” I said, but then had a thought. “It could be Stacey. Maybe she couldn’t sleep, so she came back here to take care of stuff.”

  “That sounds like Stacey,” George said as we made our way down the stairs.

  The clattering stopped when we approached the staircase, but as we headed downstairs, the air suddenly became thick.

  Omigod—smoke!

  “You guys,” I said, my heart beginning to pound, “the mansion’s on fire!”

  PLAYING WITH FIRE

  We thundered down the stairs to see the front door wide open. Through the smoke-filled entrance hall I saw a fire burning on the hardwood floor near the door. It looked small, but the winds coming from outside were causing it to grow by the second.

  I felt the blood drain from my face as I frantically weighed our options: run out and call the fire department or try putting the fire out ourselves. Since we didn’t have our phones, I went for plan number two.

  “Shut the door!” I shouted.

  I darted past the flames to a window in the entrance hall. “Help me with this!” I yelled, trying to pull the heavy curtain down.

  George yanked the curtain, sending it—and the rod—crashing to the floor. Gathering the material in my arms, I ran toward the fire and threw the thick curtain over it, covering it completely. Bess and George followed my lead, patting at the material to smother the flames.

  The smoke began to die down, and carefully I lifted the curtain to make sure the fire was out. All that was left were the remains of a charred rag—a rag I was sure had been first soaked with some kind of flammable liquid.

  “Somebody set this fire,” George said. “If we hadn’t come down in time, we would have been killed.”

  “The most important thing is that we did,” I said. “The second most important—who threw the flaming rag into the house?”

  “The Blue Greenies are into burning mansions,” George said angrily. “That rag could have been their calling card.”

  I opened the door and checked the lock.

  “There’s no sign of breaking in,” I said. “Whoever opened the door must have used a key—and the Blue Greenies definitely have no key.”

  “We’re the only ones with keys to the mansion,” George said. “Us and Stacey.”

  “And Roland … and Inge,” Bess murmured.

  George snapped, “Bess, what part of ‘Roland is dead and Inge is in jail’ don’t you get?”

  “If you say so,” Bess said. “Shouldn’t we let the police know what happened?”

  I gave it serious thought. The citizen in me said to call the police. The detective in me said to hold off.

  “I’m not ready to call the police,” I said. “If someone is determined to keep this event from happening, I’m just as determined to find out who it is.”

  We checked the room for burning embers, put the ruined curtain outside near the trash, and headed back upstairs.

  “We’ll tell Stacey about the fire in the morning,” I said. “In the meantime, let’s try to get some sleep.”

  “In this crazy place?” Bess said with a shudder. “Good luck!”

  As I slipped back into bed, I wondered about the noises we’d heard earlier. They sounded like more than just a front door being opened—they sounded as if someone was inside and rummaging around the house.

  The thought was troubling but not troubling enough to keep me awake.

  The next morning I woke up, not to Bess’s panicky voice, but to the awesome aroma of breakfast wafting up from downstairs, along with lively conversation and laughter.

  Wow, I thought, remembering the crazy night before. What a difference a day makes.

  I shook Bess awake and called George’s cell to wake her up too. Ten minutes later we headed downstairs to the dining room.

  “And I thought I liked to sleep in,” Mandy’s voice said.

  I turned to see all three Casabian sisters sitting at the dining room table eating breakfast—but nothing like scrambled eggs or toast. The sisters were feasting on what looked like fried shrimp, tilapia fillets, and fresh grilled tuna steaks.

  Circling them like buzzards was the crew of the sisters’ reality show, Chillin’ with the Casabians.

  “Mia,” the producer Bev barked, “make some kind of comment about how you thought tuna only came in cans.”

  “I will not pretend to be dumb, Bev,” Mia said, rolling her eyes. “Now can you please leave us alone and let us eat our breakfast?”

  “You call that breakfast?” George asked.

  Stacey flitted into the room, staring at her phone. “There you are,” she said. “You know, I didn’t think you girls were smokers.”

  “Smokers?” I said.

  “We don’t smoke!” Bess insisted.

  “Then what was that smell when I came into the house this morning?” Stacey asked.

  “Last night, somebody broke into the house,” I said. “They—”

  But Stacey cut me off. “We’re trying out Chef André Walters’s dishes for the party.” She smiled past my shoulder. “In fact, here he is now.”

  Chef Walters swept into the dining room, wearing a white jacket and a traditional chef toque. I recognized him from the pictures on his special seafood sauce labels.

  “André asked Mandy, Mallory, and Mia to taste the food he’s planning to prepare,” Stacey said.

  The jovial chef turned to us and smiled. “Ah!” he said, rubbing his hands together. “More guinea pigs to experiment on.”

  “He means grab a seat and eat!” Stacey said. She gestured to the table with her phone. “I hope you girls like seafood, because that’s what’s on the menu.”

  I did like seafood, but the thought of such heavy dishes first thing in the morning made my stomach churn. So did the camera that pointed directly at Bess, George, and me.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Maybe we’ll have some leftovers later.”

  “That is,” Chef Walters said with a wink at the camera, “if there are any leftovers!”

  Bess took me aside and whispered, “Aren’t we going to tell Stacey about the fire last night?”

  “You saw,” I whispered back. “I tried to tell her, but she cut me off. I’ll try again later when there aren’t so many people around.”

  “’Scuse me,” a gruff voice said.

  We turned to see Olga behind us, a platter of boiled lobster in her hands. As I watched her place the platter on the table, I noticed something odd: Her nose looked crooked.

  My thoughts were interrupted, as usual, by Stacey. She came over and said, “No word yet from Miss Zaza or her manager, girls. Looks like we might have to settle for that young kid after all.”

  “You mean me?” Austin asked as he entered the room.


  “Austin, there you are,” Stacey said. “Try some of Chef Walters’s dishes and tell me what you think. I’d like a boy’s opinion.”

  “No problem,” Austin said with a shrug.

  Before he could head toward the table, George whispered, “Nancy, Bess, we have got to ask Austin about Miss Zaza.”

  “George!” Bess objected.

  “She’s right, Bess,” I said. “Austin may be kind to animals and sick kids, but he’s still a suspect.”

  Austin looked surprised as we stepped in front of him. “Hey. What’s up?” he asked.

  “We didn’t see you at Miss Zaza’s rehearsal last night,” I said in a low voice.

  “I know,” Austin said coolly. “How did it go?”

  “Other than Miss Zaza almost getting electrocuted?” George said, glaring at him.

  “Electrocuted?” Austin said. “What happened?”

  “Someone poured water into Miss Zaza’s shoes,” I said. “Zaza was wearing her electric costume when she almost stepped into them.”

  “Who do you think did it?” Austin asked. When we didn’t answer, he looked straight at me and said, “Oh, come on. You don’t think I did it—do you?”

  “We found a half-empty water bottle near the shoes,” George said. “You were carrying a bottle of water in your pocket.”

  “You mean this?” Austin said, pulling a bottle out of his jacket pocket. “It’s the same one I had yesterday.”

  I noticed something about the bottle Austin was holding. The brand was Crystal Springs. The bottle we’d found last night had a Bubbling Brooks label.

  “Why didn’t we see you at Miss Zaza’s rehearsal?” George asked.

  “Because I took some pictures, then split,” Austin replied. He glanced past us at Stacey. “I didn’t want to hang around and be Zaza’s gofer.”

  The pictures! Maybe they’d give us another clue.

  “Can I see those pictures you took yesterday?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Austin said. He pulled out his phone and showed us six different pictures he’d taken of the costume next to a man in a navy-blue suit and hat.

  “Austin, who is that?” I asked.

  “Oh, that’s Zaza’s limo driver. He brought one last suitcase of hers upstairs, and we decided it would be fun to take a few photos with the outrageous costume—some with me and some with him. We left together right after that.”

  I smiled as I shook my head. I had seen enough. Enough for me to rule out Austin.

  It seemed as though Bess was happiest of all. “Why didn’t you say so, Austin? That limo driver is your alibi!”

  “You know, I would never hurt anybody or anything,” Austin said as he pocketed his phone. “I don’t even like to swat mosquitoes or step on ants.”

  “My little sister Maggie says you’re a real cool guy,” Bess told Austin. “She’s your biggest fan.”

  “Seriously?” Austin asked, smiling. “Um … I hope her big sister is a fan too.”

  This time Bess blushed. “Well—,” she began to say, when Stacey shouted, “Austin, are you coming to breakfast or not?”

  “Coming!” Austin called back. He shot Bess one last grin before hurrying to the table.

  “Those pictures prove he’s clean,” I said as he left the dining room. “Though I still don’t get why he’s here every day.”

  “Because he’s in love,” George said matter-of-factly.

  “Huh? What—with me?” Bess cried. “George, he might have a little crush on me, that’s all.”

  “Austin’s had a ‘little crush’ on you since the day of the Malachite meeting,” George said.

  “That’s it!” I said. “Austin Gruber didn’t volunteer to sabotage the party—he volunteered so he could be around Bess!”

  “For your information,” Bess said, jutting out her chin, “Austin is cute, but I don’t have a crush on him. He’s two years younger than me.”

  Then she rubbed her hands together. “Wait until I tell Maggie,” she said. “She’ll be totally psyched.”

  “Or totally jealous,” George said.

  I was relieved we had ruled out Austin, but that still left plenty of questions unanswered and the case unsolved.

  “Let’s go out to the beach,” I said. “The Blue Greenies are our only suspects at this point—maybe we’ll find something outside.”

  But as we stepped out onto the beach, we found something better than clues—we found the Blue Greenies themselves on their bright blue sailboat, bobbing on the ocean waves.

  “Good. I’m going to see what they say about the fire,” I said.

  The boat was just a few feet from shore when we reached the ocean. I could see Cassie and Nathan holding a banner made from a white sheet. Painted in blue was: BEACH PARTY MUST DIE!

  “What’s your problem with the beach party?” George called out to them. “It’s to save the beach. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not the whole party we’re against,” Cassie called back. “It’s Miss Zaza.”

  Miss Zaza? The shoes! Hmm … the Blue Greenies?

  “What do you have against Miss Zaza?” I asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Nathan shouted. “The incredible Miss Z wore a gown made of cooked lobsters to the Grammy Awards.”

  “It was an insult to all helpless crustaceans,” Cassie yelled. “Now that Stacey woman wants her to perform at a party to help the beach and save its wildlife.”

  “If that isn’t bad enough,” Nathan called out, “the guy cooking for the party is Chef André Walters.”

  “So?” Bess asked.

  Cassie swayed back and forth as the boat bounced on a big wave. “Chef Walters specializes in seafood,” she shouted. “How could Stacey be so heartless?”

  “Is that why you set fire to the mansion last night?” I shouted out. “So the party would be called off?”

  “Fire?” Nathan yelled back.

  I was about to ask again when a voice behind us screamed, “Out of the way! Out of the way!”

  Two more Blue Greenies were charging down the beach. One knocked into my shoulder as they raced past us into the water.

  “Mission accomplished!” cheered one of the runners, a guy wearing wraparound sunglasses, as he and his companion jumped into the boat. “Booyah!”

  The motor roared as the boat sped off.

  “Mission accomplished?” I asked as we watched the boat bounce away. “What did they mean by that?”

  “Nancy, who cares?” George said. “It’s pretty obvious the Blue Greenies are sabotaging this event, right?”

  Not necessarily.

  Ever since I was in third grade solving mysteries, my dad had told me to explore all options before declaring someone guilty, and that meant—

  “We need more evidence,” I blurted.

  “Evidence?” George said.

  “They hate Miss Zaza, Chef Walters—and McMansions,” Bess asked. “How much more evidence do we need?”

  Bess and George were right in a way. The evidence against the Blue Greenies was overwhelming—but something told me to keep this case open, even though I couldn’t quite put my finger on what that something was.

  “How would the Blue Greenies have gotten into the house to sabotage the shoes and set the fire?” I asked. “There’s no way they could have a key. And there was no sign of breaking in.”

  For once, George didn’t have a quick comeback. She finally said, “Okay, okay, we’ll look for more clues.”

  Back inside the mansion we found not clues—but chaos!

  “Ooh!” Austin groaned as he clutched his stomach. “I think I’m going to hurl.”

  Mandy’s hand was clapped over her mouth. “I’ll never eat seafood again,” she said through her fingers. “Not even gummy fish.”

  All three Casabian sisters and Austin were doubled over. What had happened?

  “I don’t get it,” Chef Walters cried. “I used only the freshest ingredients like I always do.”

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; “As if!” Mia cried. “What are you trying to do, André—poison us?”

  “Poison?” Bess gasped. “Is that what happened?”

  Austin gagged. He stood up and ran out of the dining room to find a bathroom.

  “Quick, Wayne,” Bev shouted to the cameraman. “Get a close shot of the chef’s face.”

  I stared at the platters of half-eaten seafood. The Blue Greenies had just admitted they despised Chef André Walters. Had that been their mission? To poison the party?

  POISED FOR POISON

  Stacey was livid. “André,” she fumed, “did you experiment with some new recipes?”

  “Excuse me,” Chef Walters said, narrowing his eyes. “Are you saying the bad food was my doing?”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth, André,” Stacey said. “I only suggested that maybe—”

  “Maybe you should get yourself a new chef for your party,” André snapped. “Or order takeout.”

  The chef headed for the door.

  “André, you can’t quit days before the party,” Stacey cried.

  “Watch me!” he screamed.

  Stacey’s shoulders drooped as the chef marched out of the dining room. When she realized she was being filmed, she glared at Bev and shouted, “Okay, show’s over. Get that camera out of our faces—now!”

  I was happy to see the camera crew dart out of the dining room, but the feeling didn’t last. We had a serious situation on our hands.

  “My party—and my career—are imploding before my eyes,” Stacey moaned. “When word gets out what’s happening to this event, I’ll never eat lunch in this town again.”

  “Do you have to mention eat?” Mallory groaned.

  “Olgaaaaa!” Stacey shouted.

  But Olga had been standing in the dining room all that time. She startled Stacey as she appeared right behind her.

  “Olga, make the Casabian sisters some herbal tea,” Stacey ordered. “I’ll call my doctor and ask him what we should do.”

  “Sure,” Olga murmured.

  The housekeeper walked past, tossing her hair away from her face. How weird: This time her crooked nose looked straight again.