Malibu Mayhem Trilogy 02: Mystery At Malachite Mansion (9 page)

“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.”

“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?

S
tacey 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.

Quit it, Nancy
, I thought.
There are more important things to focus on than Olga’s nose
.

Like the tainted food.

“I hope the food wasn’t poisoned,” I whispered to Bess and George. “If it was, I have a pretty good idea who pulled it off.”

“Blue Greenies,” George answered. “Now do you believe those nuts are guilty as charged?”

“I suppose,” I said. “Though I can’t figure out how they could have gotten to the chef’s food to poison it. One of his assistants in the kitchen would have seen them, for sure.”

“They must have found some way,” George said. “Guys, I really think it’s time we talked to Stacey about everything we know.”

The event planner was frantically texting as we walked over.

“Stacey, we think we know who tampered with the seafood,” George said.

“You should also know what happened here in the middle of the night,” Bess said. “Somebody—”

“Talk to me later,” Stacey said. “I’m in crisis mode. I’ve got to find another performer
and
a chef.” She hurried out of the dining room.

“We’ll just have to try again later, when she’s calmer,” Bess said.

“Don’t you mean
if
she’s ever calmer?” I joked.

For the next hour or so the three of us sat with
Mandy, Mallory, and Mia as they sipped their tea. Austin’s mom had already come to pick him up and take him to the doctor.

“I think I feel better now,” Mallory said.

“Me too,” Mia said. “That doctor Stacey called was right. It was probably a case of food poisoning.”

“Literally,” George added.

We suddenly heard Stacey’s voice calling us from outside.

“Now what?” I said as we left the dining room.

When I looked outside, I gasped. Towering over Stacey in the driveway was a ginormous red creature—an inflated crab with huge claws and a sign around its neck that read
LOVE ME, DON’T EAT ME!

“We’re not even serving crab,” Stacey cried. “Is the world going bonkers or what?”

We stared at the sign, written in bright blue letters. Hadn’t we just seen another sign written in the same blue?

“The world’s not going bonkers, Stacey,” George said. “Just the Blue Greenies. We’ve been trying to tell you about this group.”

“Who are they?” Stacey snapped. But before anyone could explain, she waved her hand and said, “I don’t care. Just get rid of that thing before I slash it with my nail file.”

Stacey had had just about enough. She walked through the gate and headed down the road to her beach house.

“Time to deflate Crabzilla,” I said. Bess walked over to the balloon and unscrewed the cap on its claw. The three of us watched silently as the crustaceous balloon deflated.

“Nancy, who else
but
the Blue Greenies could be behind this massive sabotaging of the party? All signs point to them,” Bess said.

“I know, I know,” I said slowly. “But before we go to the police, I want to be
absolutely
sure.”

“Then let’s check out their blog,” George suggested.

“The Blue Greenies have a blog?” I asked.

“Doesn’t everybody?” George said. “The Blue Greenies use theirs to brag about their so-called successful missions. There’s a computer in Inge’s old office. Let’s check it out.”

Bess hesitated. “Can’t we just use our phones to go online?”

“Relax, Bess. It’ll be easier on a big screen, okay?” George said.

But once we filed into Inge’s old office, we froze. Hanging on the wall behind her desk was Roland’s portrait.

“George,” I asked slowly, “didn’t you take that thing down?”

“Definitely,” she said, staring up at the portrait.

“So what’s it doing back up there? Let’s take it down and this time, out of the house,” Bess said, reaching up to remove the painting.

“What
isn’t
weird in this place?” George said. She went behind Inge’s desk and sat down. Bess and I peered over her shoulders as she browsed the web for the Blue Greenies’ blog.

The blog came up on the screen. The background was blue and had avatars of what looked like Cassie and Nathan carrying a smiling whale over their heads.

Underneath the avatars was a much more serious photo. It was of the oil-slicked bird that had been on our doorstep.

“Not only do they boast about their victories, they take pictures of them,” I said.

George scrolled down to uncover another colorful shot. It was of the giant inflated crab outside the mansion. Underneath the picture was a caption that read: “We can’t get inside the mansion, so poor Crabby has to stand outside.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, pointing to the monitor. “The Blue Greenies are admitting that they couldn’t get inside the mansion.”