Free California Schemin': Book One in the Malibu Mayhem Trilogy by Carolyn Keene Page A

figured out.
    “Here’s my phone,” she said, holding out her cell.
    “Nancy doesn’t have a phone. Yesterday she dropped it in the La Brea Tar Pits.”
    “I see,” Inge said slowly.
    That seemed to do it, but I secretly hoped my phone wouldn’t go off in my pocket.
    “Let’s go, ladies,” Inge said. “I’ll take you to your room.”
    Bess and I followed Inge out of the office and up a flight of stairs to the living quarters.
    “Home sweet home,” Inge said, opening a door.
    Bess and I stepped into a room with dark brown carpeting and peach-colored walls. Against the wall was a Spanish-style dresser but no mirror. There were two full-size beds with black iron headboards—but no bedding.
    “Are we getting any pillows or sheets?” I asked.
    Inge shook her head. “There is no time for sleep,” she said. “Reading Roland’s teachings and working on his assignments during the night is recommended.”
    No sleep? But I forced a smile and said, “Yes, of course, totally. Thanks, Inge.”
    “Why don’t you freshen up and we will see you in the dining room, six o’clock sharp,” Inge said, and then left the room.
    Once Inge’s footsteps had faded away, we shut the door and groaned.
    “Thank goodness there’s a bathroom,” I said,pointing to a small bathroom off the room. “I was afraid they discouraged toilets, too.”
    “You’d think they’d want us to be alert and well rested,” Bess said. “So we’d take in everything this Roland guy has to say.”
    “Unless they’d rather we be dazed and vulnerable,” I suggested. “So we believe everything Roland has to say.”
    My thoughts were interrupted by my phone vibrating inside my pocket.
    “Hello?” I answered.
    “Hello yourself,” George replied. “Why are you whispering?”
    “We’re not allowed to have phones,” I said. “So far this place is totally weird, and we just got here.”
    “Well, it’s about to get weirder,” George said.
    “Wait!” Bess put her ear to the phone. “This way we can both hear.”
    “Go ahead, George,” I urged.
    “Dr. Viola called me with the results of the hypodermic needle analysis. It contained a drug called sodium pentothal,” she said.
    “What’s that?” Bess asked.
    “According to this pharmaceutical site I’m looking at,” George said, “some people call it a ‘truth serum.’ The drug is effective at weakening a person’s resolve and making them suggestible to persuasion. It’s been used in interrogations.”
    “So I guess it wasn’t Botox,” Bess said.
    “The dose in the needle wasn’t toxic, according to the doctor,” George said. “But it could have made a person listless and loopy.”
    I wondered if the other needles we’d found contained sodium pentothal. But mostly I wondered why the retreat would be using the drug. And on whom?
    “Thanks, George. We’ll check in later,” I whispered. “I don’t want my battery to run out.”
    I clicked off my phone. Bess and I then sat on one of the beds.
    “Mia seemed loopy to me,” Bess decided. “I’ll bet she was injected with that drug. Sodium…whatever.”
    “Sodium pentothal,” I said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if all the guests here get it. So they can become Roland’s sock puppets.”
    “Nancy, we’re guests here now,” Bess said, a tinge of panic in her voice. “How are we going to keep away from the needles?”

 

CHALLENGES
     
    “ I like macaroni and cheese,” I said during dinner. “I like bread, too. But I wish there was some other food to eat, like veggies or salad.”
    “I guess Roland doesn’t believe in low-carb diets,” Bess said, grabbing a slice of white bread. “I guess the eight-thousand-dollar fee isn’t going toward food, either.”
    “That’s because it’s going into Roland’s pocket,” I said, lowering my voice.
    I took a sip of the only beverage on the table—a flat orange soda. Could the retreat be depriving its members of sleep and nutrition?
    “The mac and cheese is