Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery) (12 page)

“I don’t know,” Tabitha said, shaking her head. “She didn’t say, but I heard that Avery—she’s our team leader—was mad at her.”

Before I could ask anything else, Tabitha gasped softly, seeming to realize how long she’d been in my room, and said, “I’ve got to go.”

She whirled around and opened my door slowly, glanced up and down the hallway, then disappeared.

I grabbed my robe, went into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. The water pulsed and steam rose quickly, but I didn’t get in. Tabitha’s words kept rattling around in my brain.

Jaslyn had worked at a magazine or something, she’d said. Both she and Gabe told me there’d been a problem with a guy who worked there. Apparently, Jaslyn wasn’t interested, he didn’t like it, and he had cyber-stalked her.

Had he followed her here to the Rowan Resort? Was that possible?

No way, I decided, unless he was wealthy and could afford this place. The only other way to get here was to secure a job, because absolutely nobody else could get onto the island without—

Wait a minute.

Oh my God.

Ben Oliver bloomed in my mind.

He’d refused to tell me the reason he was here. He’d claimed that he—a newspaper reporter—wasn’t interested in Jaslyn’s murder.

Tabitha had said that Jaslyn’s previous job had been at a magazine or something. Maybe that
something
was a newspaper.

I got a weird feeling.

Had Jaslyn actually worked at the newspaper where Ben worked?

My weird feeling got weirder.

Had Ben been the guy who was crazy about Jaslyn? The guy who’d stalked her?

My weird feeling got crazy-weird.

Had Ben trumped up an idea for a story and convinced his editor at the newspaper to send him here so he could see Jaslyn?

Had Ben murdered her?

Oh, crap.

I
had to talk to Ben. I’d showered and dressed in way-cute yellow shorts and an even way-cuter sleeveless print blouse—which would have looked fabulous with a Sea Vixen—just as Marcie had returned to our room from the beach. I’d told her I’d meet her, Bella, and Sandy in the lobby and had taken off to find Ben. I’d made a sweep of the hotel grounds and had even tried his cell phone but hadn’t located him. Finally, there was nothing left to do but eat.

“How about horseback riding this afternoon?” Sandy said as we all sat at a table on yet another of the Rowan Resort’s outdoor dining patios, finishing lunch.

“I’m out,” Bella said. “I’m going up to my room and take a nap. That’s what vacay is all about.”

She did look worn out, yet she’d managed to style her hair into the shape of a sail after returning from the beach. Definitely a high point in Bella’s regatta of tropical hair designs.

“Riding sounds like fun,” Marcie agreed.

“We’re bound to see some celebrities on the riding trails,” Sandy said. She gasped. “Maybe we’ll see Channing Tatum. He’s so hot. I’d love to see him.”

Who wouldn’t?

Since finding Ben was my most pressing matter and I hadn’t been able to do that, I figured an hour or so of horseback riding wouldn’t create a devastating delay in my murder investigation. This was an island, after all; Ben had to be here somewhere.

“Let’s do it,” I said, and we all rose from our chairs.

“I’ll call Avery and ask her to make the arrangements,” Marcie said, and pulled out her cell phone as we left the dining area.

“Don’t fall off,” Bella called as she headed toward the hotel.

I was just about to suggest that Sandy and I grab some snacks to take along on our ride when I spotted Joy and Yasmin headed our way. Yikes! No way was I ruining my afternoon because of those two.

“Let’s go,” I said in my get-moving-for-our-own-good voice.

Sandy, apparently, had no understanding of the get-moving urgency in my voice because she didn’t get-moving. Instead, she said in a really loud voice, “Oh, look. There’s Yasmin.”

Sandy, apparently, also had no comprehension of my what-the-heck-are-you-doing eyebrow bob, because she waved both hands and called, “Yasmin! Hey, Yasmin!”

Yasmin’s attention turned to us like one of those heat-seeking missiles homing in for the kill. She sped toward us, Joy hurrying along beside.

“Hi, Yasmin,” Sandy said, smiling. “How are the plans for your wedding coming—”

“Haley, what is going on with my bachelorette party?” Yasmin demanded. “Joy said you haven’t done one single thing.”

I drew in a big breath, determined not to let her upset me.

“You’re trying to ruin my special day, aren’t you,” Yasmin said. “You’re jealous—you’ve always been jealous of me—and now you’re doing everything possible to make my wedding miserable!”

“I really don’t have time to get into this with you now,” I said in the same tone my mom used when some hapless salesclerk offered to show her an off-the-rack gown. “I’m going horseback riding.”

“Horseback riding?” Yasmin demanded. “Haley, how can you be so selfish? How can you even think about something like that when my wedding is coming up?”

I felt like I’d just walked into a screening of
Psycho Bride Part Two: Back With a Vengeance.

“You hate me, don’t you?” Yasmin wailed, then burst out crying.

I was about to assure Yasmin that I did, in fact, hate her when Sandy took Yasmin’s arm and urged her toward a nearby bench, whispering comforting words.

Joy and I watched as Yasmin plopped down, then threw herself onto Sandy’s shoulder, sobbing. Finally, Joy said, “We need to finalize the plans for the bachelorette party.”

We?
How did I get in the middle of this?

Joy seemed to read my mind—or maybe it was my I’m-screaming-on-the-inside expression—because she said, “Yasmin’s maid of honor isn’t coming, remember? The bachelorette party is your responsibility now. We talked about it yesterday.”

I remembered talking about it, but I thought sure I’d dodged that bullet. Joy probably knew that but, obviously, she wasn’t going to crash-and-burn on Yasmin’s wedding prep alone, and wanted to drag me in so she’d have someone else to blame.

That’s what I would have done.

Since there seemed to be only one way out of this, I shifted into event-planner mode.

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” I said.

Joy whipped open her iPad and started pecking at the keys.

“Male strippers. Lots of booze. Hot waiters with no shirts,” I said.

Joy stopped pecking and shook her head. “That’s not what Yasmin wants. It’s supposed to be a garden party theme.”

“A garden party?” I might have said that kind of loud.

“It’s the latest trend,” Joy explained.

“For a bachelorette party?” I’m sure I shouted that.

“
Brides
magazine covered it in their last issue,” Joy said.

Damn. Here was my chance to see some hot guys, drink a little too much for a really good reason, and party down, and now it was ruined—all because of Yasmin.

I hate her.

Still, no way could I argue with
Brides
magazine.

“We’ll stage it outside at one of the dining areas,” I said, the whole event blooming—in pink—in my head. “White wicker furniture, pink table settings. Set up an arched arbor for guests to walk through when they arrive, and put white carpet beneath it. I want pink flowers everywhere.”

“What about food?” Joy asked, typing frantically into her iPad.

“Petite samplers,” I said. “Four kinds of meat, salads, and whatever vegetables the chef thinks are freshest.”

Joy nodded. “Dessert will be a fabulous cake, pink icing, of course.”

“Make it one small cake for each guest,” I said. “Get a signature drink, something pink. And a hot-looking bartender with no shirt on.”

Joy smiled, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t write that down.

“I’ve got the music handled,” she said. “Entertainment?”

What seemed entertaining to me would be watching Tate-Tate-Tate walk into the party and tell Yasmin exactly what he thought of her—which, surely, would be the same as I thought of her—and dumping her on the spot.

But, really, I was probably the only person who would find that entertaining.

“Grab Yasmin’s cell phone and download all her pictures,” I said, confident that all of the photos would be of her. “Get one of the resort’s tech guys to set up a slideshow and we’ll put them on a flat screen during the party. Have Yasmin show you all of the clothes she bought for her honeymoon, then duplicate each look, hire models, and put on a fashion show.”

Joy paused. I was pretty sure I saw a this-will-cost-a-fortune frown wrinkle her forehead. I ignored it, of course. I figured that Yasmin’s mom and dad would want Yasmin to love her wedding so they wouldn’t have to listen to her whine, moan, and complain about it for years to come, and if Tate was paying for the wedding, well, better that he knew what the rest of his life would be like, married to Yasmin. So, really, I was doing all of them a favor.

“Can you put all of that together by tomorrow afternoon?” I asked.

“I’m juggling three weddings this week and this is the simplest by far,” Joy said. “And it’s nothing compared to the event coming up in a few weeks.”

I figured it was for a major Hollywood star but didn’t ask. I was sure Joy wouldn’t tell me, anyway.

Even though I’d talked only to Joy about Yasmin’s wedding plans, I knew she had a huge staff to help with every facet of each event, so I wasn’t worried—and, thankfully, this would be the end of my involvement, except to show up at the wedding ceremony.

Joy consulted her iPad. “The florist is flying in with the flowers, and the Heart of Amour will arrive on schedule with the security team.”

Okay, that was cool. I was definitely getting an expensive jeweled pendant for my bouquet so I could have a security team when I got married.

“If any problems arise, I’ll let you know,” Joy said.

“Please don’t,” I said.

Joy laughed as if that were the funniest thing she’d ever heard—I don’t think she believed me—and whispered something to Yasmin. I couldn’t hear what she said—nor did I care—but Yasmin immediately stopped crying, got up, and walked toward the hotel with Joy.

“Avery scheduled us for horseback riding,” Marcie said, joining me. “Do you still want to go?”

I figured Marcie had been hiding out, waiting for Hurricane Yasmin to blow through and, honestly, I didn’t blame her.

“Sure,” I said, and my spirits lifted.

Riding would give me an opportunity to wear the fabulous Roberto Cavalli jeans I’d bought for this trip, along with the totally awesome Prada backpack I’d gotten.

We headed into the hotel to change, and just as I passed the snack bar I spotted Ben Oliver standing in front of a display of chips and cookies.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” I said, freezing in my tracks, my gaze glued to Ben.

Sandy and Marcie stopped, too.

“Hey, it’s that guy,” Sandy said. “I saw him in the store one time.”

Wow, Sandy had a great memory.

“Who is he?” she asked.

No way was I going to give it away that Ben was a reporter—at least, not until I found out the info I needed from him.

“Just a friend,” I said. “I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes.”

Marcie gave me a you’ll-have-to-give-me-details-later look, then left with Sandy.

I walked to the entrance of the snack bar and watched as Ben studied the shelves of goodies. His back was to me, but I recognized the same khaki pants and blue polo shirt he’d had on yesterday.

Jeez, I really wish he’d let me put together a glam squad for him.

My next thought was to jump in front of him and accuse him of murdering Jaslyn—I’m all about the shock factor, at times—but I didn’t want anyone to overhear and call security. I had to try a different tact.

For a few seconds I attempted the Vulcan mind meld, but all I got was the image of chocolate, which was way cool, of course. I considered for a moment that my mind meld was successful, then realized those chocolate-coated thoughts were probably mine, not Ben’s.

Damn. I hate it when that happens.

Ben gave up on the snacks and headed out into the courtyard. I made my move. I followed, ready to dart around him and force him to stop.

Ben suddenly swung around and glared at me. “Stop following me.”

He’d known I was behind him all along?

I was definitely going to have to work on my Jedi skills.

“I figured out why you’re here,” I told him. “You knew Jaslyn Gordon, didn’t you.”

Ben gave me a not-this-again eye roll.

I pushed on, undaunted—that’s what all we great interrogators do.

“You two worked together at the newspaper,” I said. “You were in love with her.”

“You’re wrong,” Ben said. “As usual.”

“You stalked her,” I said.

“No.”

“You followed her here to the island, but she wanted nothing to do with you,” I said. “So you killed her.”

Ben drew back a little.

I realized I was starting to sound like those homicide detectives who’d interviewed me and accused me of things I hadn’t done.

Not a good feeling.

Still, I wasn’t going to let Ben off the hook so easily. Not until I found out what was really going on with him.

Ben glared at me for another few seconds, then heaved a giant I-surrender sigh.

“Okay, look,” he said. “I’ll tell you why I’m here, but you can’t tell anyone—
anyone
. Okay?”

This was so cool. Not only was Ben about to come clean about why he was at the resort but, apparently, I’d get to know a huge secret, too.

“Okay?” Ben demanded.

“Okay,” I told him.

Ben glared at me for a few seconds, like he was trying to read my mind or something—which, thank goodness, he couldn’t do—then glanced around and moved closer.

Just to show that I could be as stealthy as he was, I glanced around, too, and leaned in.

“I got tipped by someone on the security team of a Hollywood celebrity,” Ben said quietly.

I didn’t see how this could possibly be connected to Jaslyn’s death, but it was obviously major stuff. I leaned closer.

“Which one?” I asked.

“I can’t give up that info,” Ben said, and glanced around again. “But it concerns criminal activity involving high-profile stars, and it’s been linked to this resort.”

Oh my God. This was good stuff.

Visions of stalkers, financial scams, and theft of intellectual property rights flashed in my head.

“What kind of criminal activity?” I asked.

Ben shook his head. “I can’t get into specifics.”

No, no, he couldn’t stop. Not now. This was like finally locating the last fabulous Chanel bag in a department store only to realize it was promised to someone else.

“You have to give me
something
,” I insisted.

“No way. Absolutely no way,” Ben told me. “You’re not going to blow this story for me.”

I appreciated that he hadn’t added, “Like all those other times.”

Still, I wasn’t giving up.

“And this story of yours that you’re investigating here has nothing to do with Jaslyn Gordon’s murder?” I asked.

“Absolutely not,” he said, then went on before I could ask anything else. “And I didn’t know that girl. I never worked with her. I didn’t stalk her, and I didn’t murder her.”

I switched on my truth-inducing triple-stink-eye.

Ben didn’t flinch.

“If I was going to stalk and kill anyone, it would be you,” he said.

I couldn’t argue with that.

“You can’t tell anybody about this,” Ben said, then gave me triple-stink-eye right back.

“I won’t,” I said.

“Swear,” he told me. “Swear you won’t tell.”

“I swear,” I said.

Ben kept glaring.

“I swear,” I said. “Okay? I swear.”

Yeah, I’d just sworn—twice—that I wouldn’t tell, but come on, this was major gossip. It would be really hard not to tell someone.

I guess Ben didn’t pick up on my I’d-love-to-tell vibe, because he walked away. I watched as he disappeared behind some shrubs and leafy palms, feeling a little jealous.