Malibu Mayhem Trilogy 02: Mystery At Malachite Mansion by Carolyn Keene Page B

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 frominterviews 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