“If Stacey planned to blow up the yacht,” Bess said, “she would have to have known about those flammable oil drums.”
“It doesn’t add up, you guys,” George said, shaking her head. “Why would Stacey want to ruin her own beach? You heard what she said—the oil spill drove her property value down.”
“The only person who can answer that question is Stacey,” I said, hanging the suit on the hook. “Let’s go next door and find her.”
We left the shed and walked to Roland’s mansion. The black truck was gone. The house seemed eerily quiet.
“Stacey?” I called as we walked through the house.
No answer.
“You think she knows we’re onto something?” Bess asked.
“How would she?” George said. She turned toward the west wing. “Let’s just split up and look for her. She could be anywhere in this place. Just holler—or text—if you see anything.”
On the way to the west wing, we passed a door leading to the newly refurbished indoor pool. We still hadn’t seen the pool, but I could smell chlorine through the half-opened door.
“I’ll check to see if Stacey’s down there and catch up with you guys,” I called to Bess and George.
I opened the door. The smell of chlorine became stronger as I reached the bottom of the stairs and the pool area.
“Nice,” I told myself as I gazed around.
Brand-new lounge chairs and white ceramic tiles surrounded an oval-shaped swimming pool. From where I stood, I saw no one swimming. The pool and the pool area were empty.
I was about to turn toward the door when a flash of silver on one of the lounge chairs caught my eye: Stacey’s phone.
Stacey’s going to miss this, I thought, picking it up. She enters every second of her schedule in here.
That’s when I had a thought. If Stacey entered every detail in her phone, what had she written the day of the yacht explosion?
I scrolled down Stacey’s jam-packed calendar until I reached the day of the explosion. The first thing I read was, DRIVE VEGAS 2 LA.
“Drive from Vegas to L.A.,” I interpreted.
Something didn’t click. According to this schedule, Stacey had driven home to L.A. the day of the explosion, not the morning after like she’d told us.
I looked to see what else Stacey had planned that day: 1:30 LUNCH W/DENISE; 3:00 LEAVE MSG WITH GRLS.
“Leave message with girls,” I repeated softly. That was probably the message Stacey left saying she would be coming into L.A. the next day … when she was already in town.
I read on: 3:30 COFFEE & VITAMINS; 4:00 DRIVE 2 BCH HOUSE; 4:30 DIVING SUIT & SWIM 2 SITE; 5:00 BUY; 7:00 DIN W/BARB @ THE BLUE PALM.
Stacey had put on the wet suit that day. She’d also swum underwater to the “site,” which was probably the yacht, but what did BUY mean?
Had Stacey bought something? Unless … BUY was an abbreviation or code for something, but what?
BUY … BUY … what? Flowers for the party? A new dress? It didn’t make sense. B is for boy, blue, blow? I tried to guess.
“Y … is for yoga, yellow, yardstick, yacht—”
Yacht!
“BUY—Boy Yacht? Blue Yacht? Blow Yacht?”
Then I gasped. Blow Up Yacht.
My heart pounded inside my chest. There it was in Stacey’s own words. She had blown up Roland’s yacht, then had dinner with a friend at a well-known restaurant as if it was no big deal!
I had to show Stacey’s phone to Bess and George right away, but as I turned toward the door—
“I was just looking for that,” Stacey said.
Clutching the phone, I spun around. Stacey was entering the pool area, her mouth a grim line.
“Come on,” she said, holding out her hand. “Pony it up.”
I gripped the phone tighter as I took a step back. No way would I give up the only evidence I had on the yacht explosion.
“Oh, puh-leeze,” Stacey groaned. “Aren’t you a little old to be playing finders-keepers?”
“I’m not the one playing games, Stacey,” I said, nodding at her arm. “That burn isn’t from a catering accident, and you know it. It’s from blowing up Roland’s yacht.
“Why’d you do it?” I continued. “You must have known about the flammable oil drums on the yacht. Why would you want to ruin your own beach?”
“Give me a break!” she said. “Would I be planning this whole ‘save the beach’ shindig if I wanted to pollute it?”
Stacey lunged for her phone. I stepped back until I was caught between two lounge chairs, my back to the pool. She came toward me, and I had nowhere to go but up on the diving board.
“Give me my phone,” Stacey snapped, hopping up on the diving board. She stood at the other end, her feet planted firmly on the board.
I didn’t look down at the water for fear of becoming dizzy. I wasn’t worried about falling into the pool, since I was a good swimmer, but I was worried about what Stacey would do to me.
“Mrs. Fayne told me you girls were detectives,” Stacey said as she finally stopped inching forward. “Or maybe you’re just playing detective to feel grown-up.”
“Why don’t you grow up, Stacey, and come clean?” I said. “It can all end right now.”
“For me or for you?” Stacey smiled slyly. She then nodded at the water. “Why don’t you say hello to my little friend?”
Friend? I gazed deep down into the pool and froze. Swimming at the bottom were two of the sea creatures Stacey had promised for the party. Not turtles or tropical fish, but sharks!
DIVA OF DECEPTION
My knees buckled with fear. So that’s what the black truck was delivering. How did Stacey ever pull that off?
The sharks weren’t big, but I was sure their teeth were—and with Stacey perched at the other end of the diving board, I had nowhere to go but down.
“You can keep my phone or your life,” Stacey said rather coolly. “All it would take is one tiny little push.”
I looked her straight in the eye.
“You can try to get rid of me, Stacey,” I said. “But I’m not the only one who knows your secret.”
Stacey heaved a big sigh as she threw her arms in the air. “I don’t know why you keep insisting I would blow up a perfectly elegant yacht,” she said. “What an unfortunate waste that would be.”
One shark splashed in the water, and I cringed.
“Step back and get out of my way, Stacey,” I said, holding her phone over the water. But then I had a brilliant idea: I’d dial 911!
“I’m calling the police!”
“Don’t you dare. You can’t prove a thing.” Stacey’s voice was calmer now. She made her way up the diving board toward me, her face filled with quiet rage.
If I took my eyes off her to look at the phone, she could rush at me. What should I do? Knock Stacey off the diving board first? Wrestle her? Or hit her where she was most vulnerable: her ego?
“You’re right,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “You’d have no good reason to blow up Roland’s yacht. My guess is that it was really Inge Svenson.”
Stacey snorted at the sound of Inge’s name. “Inge?” she said. “What about Inge?”
“Inge is telling everyone she blew up Roland’s yacht and polluted the beach,” I said. “The press is having a field day—everyone wants an interview with Roland’s number one partner in crime.”
“The media?” Stacey gasped.
“Can you imagine the money she’ll make from interviews alone?” I went on. “Then there’ll be book deals … movie rights …”
“Movie rights?” Stacey said under her breath. She narrowed her eyes. “Give me a break. That ridiculous woman couldn’t blow up a balloon, let alone a yacht.”
“You’re right,” I said, trying to remain calm. “You’d have to be a total genius to commit a crime like that and get away with it. I can’t imagine who it could be.”
“You’re looking at her,” Stacey blurted.
“Excuse
me?” I said, inwardly excited. Was Stacey about to confess?
“Of course it wasn’t my idea alone,” Stacey said as she backed up on the diving board. “Roland and I hatched the plan after Leonard Stamp announced he’d be tearing down Roland’s Renewal Retreat and Spa.”
“Leonard Stamp, the real-estate tycoon?” I asked.
Stacey nodded and went on, “Since the mansion was a rental, Roland had no claim to it. There was no way he’d be able to make money. Leonard also had his snarky eye on my beach house. The two of us had to do something to save our homes.”
I stepped forward ever so slightly.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“What else could we do?” Stacey said. “If we were going to stop Leonard, we had to bring our property values down. A messy oil spill would be perfect. After all, Malachite is all about its beaches.”
Stacey lingered casually at the other end of the diving board, no longer guarding it like a pit bull.
“It wasn’t easy,” she continued. “But we managed to load those drums of flammable oil on his yacht without anyone knowing.”
“Not even Inge?” I asked, inching forward.
“Especially not Inge,” Stacey snapped. “I made sure of that.”
“Go on,” I said, trying to keep her calm. “How did you pull it off?”
“Roland and I were going to set off the explosion together,” she explained. “My phone was programmed to blow up the yacht when the time was right.”
“Your phone?” I gulped, glancing down at the phone in my hand.
“Oh, don’t worry, it never worked,” Stacey scoffed. “That’s why I had to swim over to the yacht in that wet suit and set off the timer manually.”
She glanced down at her burnt arm and said, “Unfortunately, I didn’t swim far enough away from the burning yacht.”
“Didn’t you know Roland was on the run?” I asked. “Why would you want to do it alone?”
“Of course I knew Roland was on the run. I was the only person he told,” Stacey said. “But I still wasn’t going to let Leonard tear down my beach house, so I took matters into my own hands.”
From the corner of my eye I could see the sharks darting back and forth under the water. The movement made me sway from side to side, but quickly I recovered my balance.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “If you wanted to destroy the beach, why are you planning this event to save it?”
“The money, honey!” Stacey declared. “I may be a Roland devotee, but I’m still one of Hollywood’s most successful event planners. This event promises to make me even bigger—so who cares if Leonard Stamp tears down my house to build a McMansion? I’ll just buy it!”
Stacey Manning was definitely a sick puppy, but if I was going to get off that diving board, I would have to keep talking.
“I guess I was wrong,” I said, almost at the end of the diving board. “You really did have the brains to pull it off.”
“Thanks, but my job isn’t finished yet,” Stacey said. I gasped as she hopped back onto the diving board. “There’s just one little annoying matter I have to take care of first.”
She moved slowly forward. I glanced down and saw the sharks circling underneath the diving board. There was only one way out. I’d have to knock Stacey off the board before she got to me.
I gritted my teeth and thrust out my arms, but before I could lunge at her—
“Don’t move!” a deep voice shouted.
Stacey stopped in her tracks. Looking past her, I saw two Malachite Beach police officers, along with Bess and George, filing through the door.
“We saw you on the monitors in Roland’s old office,” George said. “We called the police immediately.”
“Officers Kent and Rizzo came right away,” Bess said with a smile.
“Whoa!” Officer Kent said, glancing into the water. “She sure did need help. There are sharks in this pool!”
Stacey looked almost bored as she hopped off the diving board onto the floor. I climbed off too, hurrying over to Bess and George.
“Is there a problem, officers?” Stacey asked coolly.
“Don’t act coy,” Officer Rizzo said. “And don’t tell me you didn’t know it was illegal to harbor live sharks in your swimming pool.”
“Sharks?” Stacey said, pretending to gasp. “Well, once these girls started snooping, I changed my order from a harmless bottle-nosed dolphin to something, shall I say, a little more threatening.”
While Officer Rizzo read Stacey her rights and snapped the cuffs on, I handed Officer Kent her phone.
“You might want to check this out, Officer,” I said. “Stacey admitted to the yacht explosion and polluting the—”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Stacey interrupted. “I’ll be happy to tell you everything, officers. And if there are cameras outside …”
While Officer Rizzo radioed the Malachite Beach stationhouse, Officer Kent led Stacey up the stairs. I was happy to see her go but had one last question….
“Wait, Stacey,” I called out. “If Roland wasn’t on the yacht and he never killed himself, where is he?”
Stacey smiled broadly over her shoulder. “Roland never told me where he was going. I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Knowing Roland—or Marty—he’ll resurface somewhere, someday. You can be sure of that.”
“All right, let’s go,” Officer Kent said.
I hugged my friends for coming to the rescue.
“Thanks, you guys,” I said. “Swimming with sharks was definitely not on my vacation itinerary.”
“Hey, what are friends for?” Bess said with a grin.
“I guess Stacey did blow up Roland’s yacht,” George said, shaking her head. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” I said. “Not only did she blow up the yacht, she’s proud of it.”
“To think she was raising money for a disaster she caused herself.” Bess sighed. “Well, there goes that great party.”
I planted my hands on my hips. “Hey, wait a minute, you guys,” I said. “Why can’t we still have a party to save Malachite Beach?”
“Nancy,” George said. “Without an event planner—even a maniacal one—how would we pull a party of this size off? There’s the food, the entertainment, transportation, RSVPs—”
“We can’t take care of all that on our own,” Bess cut in.
“Who says we have to? I happen to know a super event planner in River Heights who probably would love a trip to sunny Malachite Beach,” I said.
George’s eyes lit up. “You mean my mom? Cool.”
“And,” I continued, “we know a twelve-year-old live wire named Alice Bothwell who I’m sure would love to help out.”
“And a cute singer who’d love to perform at the party,” Bess added.
“Austin Gruber!” George and I chorused.
The three of us exchanged our famous high five.
“Then after the party it’s back to River Heights,” Bess said with another sigh. “Even if it does mean cutting our vacation a few days short.”
“Fine with me,” George said. “After what we’ve been through, it’ll be great to get back to normal.”
Normal?
I knew I’d be ready to go home after the party too, but something inside me said things wouldn’t be quite that normal—at least not right away.
“You heard what Stacey told us,” I said. “Marty Malone—or Roland—is out there somewhere, and as long as he is, this mystery is far from over.”
Carolyn Keene, Malibu Mayhem Trilogy 02: Mystery At Malachite Mansion
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