Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery) (13 page)

Wow, Ben was on a cool Hollywood celebrity story, working undercover. How come I couldn’t do something awesome like that?

I definitely need to reassess my life.

I headed back into the hotel, more than a little disappointed that my great Ben-did-it theory hadn’t worked out exactly as I’d hoped. While I wasn’t so sure I believed every aspect of his celebrity-criminal-activity story, it sounded reasonable enough that I could shift him to my mental back burner of murder suspects.

So who did that leave?

As I walked past the room where homicide detectives Pearce and Vance had interviewed me, Luke Warner popped into my head. But instead of that toe-curling feeling I usually got when I thought of him, something totally different flashed in my head.

Luke was an FBI agent who worked undercover.

Had he been working undercover at the magazine—or whatever it was—with Jaslyn?

He’d told me that he was on the island for the wedding, but would he really have taken off time from his job for a college friend?

He’d walked into the interview room, and when I’d asked him about it later he’d claimed he was looking for the cigar room. But the cigar room was nowhere near the interview room. How could he have wandered into the interview room by mistake?

Had he gone into the interview room on purpose to try to get some info on the detectives’ investigation? He’d seen me in that interview room. Had he
supposedly
run into me so often on the island to see if I’d learned anything new about Jaslyn’s death?

Had Luke met her while working undercover? Had he fallen for her? Stalked her? Killed her?

Oh, crap.

I
needed more info on Jaslyn.

No way would my maybe-Luke-did-it theory fly without some evidence, and I knew that Luke, a trained FBI agent, wouldn’t divulge any info, despite my I-saw-this-technique-on-a-Lifetime-channel-movie-and-it-worked- great interrogation method.

There was only one thing I could do: call Jack Bishop.

I got the I’m-a-total-girl triple whammy—curling toes, gooey stomach, pounding heart—at the mere thought of Jack. He was a private detective I’d met last fall when I worked for the Pike Warner law firm in Los Angeles. I’d worked in the accounts payable department and Jack had done security consulting for the firm. We’d become friends when he’d helped me out with that whole administrative-leave-investigating-pending thing I’d gone through at the firm—which was totally not my fault—and I’d helped him out with some of his cases—long story.

Jack was hot—way hot. Tall, rugged build, brown wavy hair, gorgeous blue eyes, just barely on the other side of thirty.

Something definitely could have gone on between us back then, but I’d had my official boyfriend Ty Cameron—and I’m a real stickler about that sort of thing—so Jack had respected my position. Really. Right up to the point where he came pounding on my door one night and—well, let’s just say that, for once, Jack’s timing was way off.

I pulled out my cell phone and called Jack; my palm instantly started to sweat. He answered right away.

“How’s the vacation?” he asked.

Oh my God, how did he know I was on vacation? I hadn’t told him. How had he found out?

Jack knows everything. It’s way hot.

“I got dragged into a wedding,” I said, “and I might actually murder the bride before she can walk down the aisle.”

“That would be the always enchanting Yasmin,” Jack said.

“Yeah,” I said. “How did you know that?”

“Maybe we’ll share secrets sometime,” Jack said.

He used his Barry White voice. I’m totally helpless against the Barry White voice.

Then I recovered enough to remember that Jack worked security for lots of places including, probably, the law firm that Yasmin’s dad owned, the same firm for which Tate-Tate-Tate was making the ultimate sacrifice in the hope of making partner sooner, rather than later. More than likely Jack had heard the office gossip about the wedding or, maybe, he’d been involved with it in some official capacity.

“I need info,” I said, thinking it better to get on with the reason I’d called. “Have you heard about Jaslyn Gordon? She’s the one who—”

“—was murdered at the resort.” The playfulness left Jack’s voice and he shifted into private investigator mode. “What are you doing? Why are you involved in that?”

He sounded a little angry now, which didn’t suit me. Really, I had enough to deal with.

“It’s a long story,” I said.

“I’ve got plenty of time,” Jack told me.

I huffed, just to make sure he knew I wasn’t in the mood for this sort of thing, then said, “I need some info on Jaslyn so I can get out of going to Yasmin’s wedding.”

I got nothing from Jack, but I pictured him with that what-the-heck-is-she-talking-about-now expression on his face.

I’ve seen it a few times.

Okay, more than a few times.

“Look,” I said. “I need info on one of Jaslyn’s former employers. It was a magazine or something in L.A. somewhere. I think a guy she worked with might have been stalking her.”

I wasn’t sure if Jack had connected the dots with the whole wedding thing, but luckily he moved on.

“You think this guy might have killed her?” he asked.

I saw no need to mention that I suspected Jaslyn’s stalker was an undercover FBI agent. Jack might be reluctant to get involved with the Feds—not that I blamed him, of course. But, jeez, I needed the info. I’d tell Jack later, if it was necessary.

“It’s the strongest lead I’ve found,” I said.

“Leave this alone, Haley,” Jack said. “Let the police handle it.”

He sounded stern and more than a little concerned—which was really hot, of course. But no way was I backing off.

“Are you going to help me or not?” I asked.

I heard heavy breathing from Jack—which was really, really hot—then he finally said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Jack,” I said. “I owe you.”

I expected him to respond with his usual I’ll-tell-you-what-I-want-when-I-want-it, but he didn’t.

Instead, Jack said, “Be careful, Haley. There’s a killer on that island.”

He hung up.

The hotel lobby was crowded when Marcie, Sandy, and I came down dressed in our fabulous horseback riding attire, which was great because I had on my Roberto Cavalli jeans and carried my Prada backpack and, really, lots of people should have the opportunity to see me in them.

We’d just exited the hotel heading toward the stables when my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. My senses immediately jumped to high alert, thinking it was Jack calling back, or maybe Detective Shuman, who was checking into Gabe Braxton for me. But when I pulled out my phone and looked at the caller ID, I saw that it was Ada calling.

Ada? Ada was Ty’s grandmother. She was a real hoot, and we’d spent some fabulous hours together shopping, but I hadn’t talked to, or seen her, since Ty and I broke up. Why the heck would she be calling me?

Then it hit me—oh my God, something had happened to Ty.

I froze. My heart raced. My head filled with a couple dozen horrible things that could have happened to him—a plane crash, a heart attack, a zombie apocalypse—and I had a major flashback to a few weeks ago when I’d been at work and the hospital in Palmdale had called and told me Ty had been in an auto accident.

I’d never been so scared in my entire life. I’d rushed to the emergency room and discovered that he was fine, thank goodness, with just a few bumps and bruises.

The whole incident had been kind of odd, really. I’d learned later that Ty had cancelled all his afternoon appointments that day, ditched his totally hot Porsche for a rented car, and changed out of his suit into jeans and a polo shirt at a convenience store before becoming involved in the accident.

We’d broken up before Ty had explained what, exactly, he’d been up to that day.

Now, standing outside the hotel staring at Ada’s name on my cell phone, all I could think was that Ty hadn’t been so lucky this time and something awful had happened to him.

Marcie and Sandy saw the oh-my-God look in my eye and stopped, too. I hit the green button.

“Haley, dear, how are you?”

Ada sounded light and breezy, but maybe that was just her way of easing into bad news.

I hate being eased into bad news.

“What’s wrong?” I might have said that too loud.

“Well, why would you ask that?” Ada said.

“Did something happen to Ty?” I’m sure I said that too loud.

Ada laughed gently. “If something had happened to Ty, you would have heard about it before I did.”

My fear immediately deflated. Thank goodness nothing was wrong.

Then something else hit me—Ada thought Ty would call me in an emergency? Did she not know we’d broken up? Had Ty not told her?

Okay, this was weird.

“I wanted to thank you,” Ada said, “for stepping in to help Yasmin with her wedding.”

Okay, now I was confused.

“I spoke with her grandmother—we’re old friends—and she told me how wonderful you’d been,” Ada went on.

Okay, now I got it.

Yasmin’s family and Ty’s family were wealthy so, of course, they knew each other.

“I’m not going to make it to the wedding,” Ada said. “This darn hip of mine is acting up again.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I said.

“No matter,” Ada said. “I’ll be up for a shopping trip with you again soon. We’ll make a day of it.”

I couldn’t help but smile. I really liked Ty’s grandmother.

“You bet,” I said. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Ada said, and hung up.

“Is everything okay?” Sandy asked as I slid my cell phone into the pocket of my jeans.

“That was Ty’s grandmother,” I said. “She wanted to thank me for helping with Yasmin’s wedding.”

“You looked totally panicked,” Sandy said.

I nodded and said, “I thought maybe she was calling to tell me something had happened to Ty.”

“Ty didn’t tell her you two broke up?” Marcie asked.

“You broke up with somebody?” Sandy asked, looking concerned in a whole different way now.

I wasn’t sure how much Sandy knew about my relationship with Ty. Because he owned the Holt’s Department Store where I worked part-time with Sandy and Bella, we’d tried to keep our relationship quiet—unless it benefited
me
, of course.

“It was several weeks ago,” I said.

“You don’t look like you’re over him yet,” Sandy said. “I guess the breakup was his idea, huh?”

Sandy can be wise, at times.

It’s kind of scary.

I drew in a deep breath and said, “Yeah, it was his idea, but I went along with it. It was for the best, I guess.”

And that was true—or at least, that’s what I’d told myself for the last several weeks. But I’d also asked myself why I hadn’t fought for our relationship. Why had I let it go so easily?

“You must still have feelings for him,” Sandy said.

Okay, her all-seeing probe into my heart and mind was starting to get on my nerves now.

Marcie sensed it—as a BFF would—and said, “Let’s go. We don’t want to miss our horseback ride.”

“Oh my God, do you think Ty is coming to Yasmin’s wedding?” Sandy said. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “What if he does? What if he sees you? What if being surrounded by all that wedded bliss makes him realize he was wrong to break up with you? That he still cares about you? That he
loves
you, even? Oh my God, that would be so cool.”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, Sandy,” Marcie said.

“No, it could happen,” Sandy insisted. “Yasmin said she has that special pendant for her bouquet. The Heart of Amour, remember? She said that the last four girls who caught the bouquet with that pendant attached got married. If Haley catches the bouquet, she could end up marrying Ty.”

“I’m not catching the bouquet,” I told Sandy.

Okay, I admit I’m somewhat competitive—I’ve raced the stranger beside me on the stationary bicycle at the gym, but doesn’t everybody do that?—yet no way had I ever, or would I ever, make the slightest attempt to catch a bouquet at a wedding. In fact, I always run the other way. That’s my policy, and I saw no need to change it.

That’s how I roll.

“Still, it would be really romantic,” Sandy pointed out.

“Right now, we have a date with three horses,” Marcie said. “Let’s go.”

We all started walking toward the stables again.

I was glad Marcie had stepped in—not that I was actually caught up in the mental picture Sandy had conjured up of Ty seeing me at the wedding, realizing he’d made a mistake, and begging me to come back to him. Really.

Well, okay, maybe a little. Maybe I still had feelings for Ty. A little.

Maybe more than a little.

I’m not thinking about that now. I’m on vacation.

We followed the walkway that wound through the hotel gardens, past the bungalows until we reached the edge of the grounds. To our right, the path led to the docks, helipad, and the employee dorms. We turned left, toward the center of the island where the stables were located.

“Oh, look!” Sandy said. She hopped up and down and pointed. “There’s Colby!”

I caught sight of a woman walking away from us, headed in the direction of the hotel. She was too far away for me to get much of a look at her, just an impression that she was short, thin, with dark hair.

“Colby!” Sandy shouted. She waved both hands in the air. “Colby! Hey, Colby!”

She kept walking.

“I guess she didn’t hear me,” Sandy said, her shoulders drooping. “I wanted you to meet her.”

“She looked like she is in a hurry,” Marcie said.

“I’m sure she is,” Sandy said. “She’s very busy taking care of all the art in the resort’s collection. Plus, she creates her own paintings and sells them abroad. She’s recognized internationally as one of the premiere artists. They love her work in Asia.”

“Did you read that in
People
magazine?” Marcie asked.

“Colby told me herself when I was in her art class,” Sandy said. “Wow, I really wish my boyfriend were here. I know the two of them would talk for hours about their art.”

We started walking toward the stables again. I glanced back. Colby had disappeared.

But I couldn’t help wondering what the daughter of multibillionaire Sidney Rowan, an internationally renowned artist and the curator of the resort’s art collection, had been doing at the employees’ dorm.