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

day.”
    “You mean the yacht anchored off the retreat?” I said. “Maybe the guests are going on some moonlight meditation cruise.”
    “Or moonlight confrontation cruise,” George said.
    I frowned as I remembered the screaming and yelling behind the closed door, and Brad in the emergency room. Could he be in one of the boats?
    “Hasn’t your quarter run out yet, Bess?” George asked.
    Bess was leaning forward, peering through the telescope. “Now people are stepping out of the small boats onto the yacht. Omigod! One of them looks like Mia!”
    “Mia Casabian?” I asked. I tried to see the yacht and the people, but without a telescope, all the boats were just specks. “Let me look, Bess.”
    Bess stepped aside. “Mia has shoulder-length dark hair. She’s wearing jeans and a red-and-white-striped T-shirt,” she said.
    I found her immediately.
    “I wonder if Mia signed up for that weeklong intensive,” I said. “The one the manicurists were telling us about.”
    “According to Mandy and Mallory, she’s been there longer than a week,” George said.
    “Why doesn’t she want to go home?” I said, still watching Mia as she stepped aboard the yacht. “Maybe that reality show got to her. Or maybe she was sick of being the ‘plain’ sister.”
    “Or maybe she was just sick of her sisters!” George said. “My turn to look through that thing.”
    I stepped aside. But the moment George peered through—
    “The quarter ran out!” she groaned.
    “I didn’t see anyone famous except for Mia,” Bess complained. She held out her hand. “Anyone have another quarter?”
    I was wondering about Mia, but not enough to spend our first night out spying through a telescope.
    “Enough stargazing,” I said. “Let’s check out that Ferris wheel.”
    “It’s eighty-five feet high,” George said once we were seated inside our dangling car.
    “TMI!” Bess groaned.
    Once on the Ferris wheel, it was a slow but breathtaking ride to the top. Even Bess agreed the view was awesome.
    “Who needs a telescope?” she exclaimed. “You can see all of L.A. from up here.”
    As I glanced in the direction of the yacht, my thoughts drifted back to Mia.
    What’s going on in that retreat? I wondered. And why won’t Mia Casabian come home?
    “Watch out, Pacific,” George exclaimed. “Here I come!”
    It was the next morning, and the three of us were carrying surfboards to the beach. Instead of the gauzy white bandage from yesterday, George was wearing a lighter adhesive one.
    “Dr. Viola said it would be okay to go swimming today,” she said. “I just hope Ty and Devon don’t mind another surfer.”
    “At least there was no garbage on the beach when we woke up,” I said.
    “Just an innocent casualty,” Bess said.
    “Huh?” George asked.
    We looked to see where Bess was pointing. There, lying stiffly on the sand, was a seagull. An undoubtedly dead seagull.
    “I bet it got something stuck in its throat,” Bess said.
    “Great.” I sighed. “We must have missed some trash when we were cleaning up yesterday.”
    “There is something you missed,” George said. She pointed to the back of my surfboard.
    I flipped my board around and froze. Bright orange letters were scrawled across it:
    GO BACK TO RIVER HIGHTS BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!

 

SISTERLY SUSPECTS
     
    “ W hoever wrote it,” I said, “spelled River Heights wrong.”
    “What do you mean, whoever wrote it?” George exclaimed. “Who else? The Casabians.”
    We checked the other two boards for more messages. Nothing—but that threat was enough to creep me out.
    “It had to be Mandy and Mallory,” Bess said, tilting her head to study the message. “They used lipstick. Tangy Tangerine, Mallory’s favorite shade.”
    I could see George taking deep breaths to keep from losing it. But she wasn’t the only one who was angry about what had happened.
    “We’re going to their house right now,” George ordered. “We’re not leaving until Mandy and