Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery) (19 page)

“W
hat are you wearing this afternoon?” Sandy asked as we left the barbeque pavilion, stuffed with massive quantities of vacation calories.

“Something with an elastic waistband,” Bella moaned.

“This afternoon?” Marcie asked. Then she gasped and said, “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten. Yasmin’s bachelorette party.”

For a couple of seconds, I feared I might see my lunch again, in reverse.

“Don’t even think about it,” Marcie told me. “You’re going to that party. It’s the right thing to do.”

I hate it when I have to do the right thing.

“Okay,” I grumbled.

“I told Sebastian I’d meet him in the sun room after lunch, but I think I should go look at my clothes. I don’t know what to wear,” Sandy said, and reached for her cell phone.

Despite the calorie-carb mega feast I’d just consumed, a brilliant idea flashed in my head—I’m pretty sure the calorie-carb mega desserts I’d had helped.

Since I’d had no luck finding Sebastian’s hidden door in the library—I’d searched the shelves after Luke left but hadn’t found anything—I figured I could do the next best thing—ask him.

“I’ll stop by the sun room and let him know,” I said, using my let-me-make-this-easy-for-you voice.

“I was hoping you’d help me decide what to wear,” Sandy said. “I’ve never been to a bachelorette party in a garden before.”

“Nobody has,” I said.

But I suppose every bride-to-be would be doing it soon, thanks to the article in
Brides
magazine.

“I’ll help you,” Marcie said.

“I’ll be up in a bit,” I told her.

“I’m taking a nap,” Bella said, stifling a yawn.

We all headed across the grounds, through the gardens, and into the rear entrance of the hotel. I turned down the corridor-of-no-return and everyone else went upstairs.

I followed the signs for the sun room—taking a moment to mad-dog the entrance of the shop where my Sea Vixen beach tote had been switched-at-point-of-sale—and finally found it, a large, glass-enclosed room with wicker furniture and enough plants to stock every Home Depot garden department on the West Coast.

I didn’t see anyone in the room—really, why would somebody be in here when they could be in the actual sun—until I spotted Sebastian stretched out on a bench, fiddling with his cell phone. Even though he had on his official burgundy Rowan Resort polo shirt, I doubted he was working.

Lying around, playing with a phone while on company time. I mean, really, who would do such a thing?

All the questions I’d had about him flashed in my head. No way was I letting him get away without answering them.

I shifted into kind-of-private-detective interrogation mode.

Sebastian glanced up from his phone as I approached. “Hi, Haley. How’s it going?”

I didn’t respond.

He rose from the bench and looked past me.

“Where’s Sandy?” he asked. “Is something wrong? She didn’t get hurt or sick, did she?”

I ignored the concern in his voice.

“Yeah, something’s wrong,” I told him. “But not with Sandy. With you.”

I got the expected who-me eyebrow bob. It’s a sure sign that someone is lying—I know because I’ve used it many times myself.

Sebastian shrugged and gave me an I’m-completely-lost half grin. “Nothing’s wrong with me,” he said.

“You’re a liar,” I said.

I got the what-do-you-mean double eye blink—and, yes, I’ve used that one, also.

It’s a personal favorite of mine.

He uttered a weak laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Haley. In fact—”

“You don’t own your own consulting firm,” I said.

Now I got the maybe-I-can-still-wiggle-my-way-out-of-this shoulder roll—I’m way better at this than Sebastian.

“I really can’t discuss my job here at the resort,” he said. “Honestly, I can’t.”

“Then maybe you can discuss how you walked out of a secret door in the library,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, and managed to look totally confused. “I don’t know anything about a secret door.”

I had to hand it to him. He was clinging to his bogus story determined, apparently, to ride it straight into the ground.

“I saw you,” I told him.

Sebastian opened his mouth but didn’t say anything.

“I also know you disappeared in the lounge,” I said.

He gave it another few seconds, then accepted the inevitable.

“Damn.” He sank onto the bench again.

“What the heck is going on?” I demanded.

“Nothing,” he said, and seemed a little panicked now. “Nothing’s going on. Just forget it, okay. Forget you saw me.”

“No way,” I told him. “Look, you’re hanging out with my friend. I’m not going to let you lead her on with these wild stories about you being some sort of consultant when none of it’s true.”

“It is true,” Sebastian said, jumping off of the bench. “I got hired to work here on a very special project. It’s strictly confidential. I can’t tell anybody—anybody—about it.”

“And this special, strictly confidential project you’re assigned to includes going through secret doors and creeping around in hidden passageways behind the walls?” I asked.

He looked away. “No. I found out about those by accident.”

“How?” I asked.

“I was up in the tower room—”

“Avery said those rooms were for family only,” I remembered. “Are you related to Sidney Rowan?”

“No. No way,” Sebastian said, and shook his head. “I’m a college student. I need to work to pay my tuition and expenses. I was offered a job here, so I took it.”

“Doing what?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

I turned my confess-all-now X-ray vision on him.

“I can’t tell you. I can’t. I really can’t,” Sebastian said again. “If word got out, all hell would break loose. I’d get fired—and that would be just the beginning of my problems.”

He sounded desperate—and truthful.

“But the other stuff,” Sebastian said, shaking his head. “Well, it just kind of ... happened.”

My brain jumped to high alert. Was
the other stuff
code for
I murdered Jaslyn
?

“What stuff?” I asked.

Okay, not my most clever interrogation tactic, but I was investigating on the fly here.

Sebastian stalled for a minute or two. I could see he was mentally debating whether to confess, which didn’t suit me, of course. Finally he seemed to give up the struggle.

“Okay, you got me. You saw me using the hidden passages,” he said, and shook his head. “I can’t lie about it—not to you, anyway.”

Sebastian collapsed onto the bench. I sat down beside him.

“Look,” he said. “If you tell anybody about this, a lot of people are going to be hurt.”

Oh my God. Had I just uncovered a massive conspiracy here at the ultra exclusive Rowan Resort?

Wow, that would be so cool.

“I was working in the office I’d been assigned to up in the tower,” Sebastian said. “Everything is old up there. It wasn’t refurbished when the mansion was converted into a hotel, I guess. I was trying to get the drawer open on a built-in storage cabinet and, somehow, I bumped something by mistake and a hidden door swung open.”

“Just like that?” I asked.

Sebastian shrugged as if he didn’t really understand it, either.

“So I thought, what the hell,” he said.

I’d have done the same—depending on the cobweb situation, of course.

“I went inside. You won’t believe what I discovered,” Sebastian said.

I felt like I’d walked into a Nancy Drew novel—or maybe how Americans felt when they found out who shot J.R.

“The old part of the hotel that used to be the Rowan home is honeycombed with staircases and hidden entrances into the rooms,” Sebastian said.

I remembered what Luke had told me about wealthy families building safe rooms into their homes, back in the day. The architect who’d done the original design of the Sidney Rowan mansion must have intended the secret passageways for use in the same manner.

“There are secret entrances to all the rooms?” I asked.

“Most of them,” he said.

“That’s really creepy,” I said.

“And dangerous,” he said. “It’s pretty dark in there. Some of the steps and banisters are rotted.”

“Bugs?” I asked.

He nodded.

“And spiders?”

“Yep,” Sebastian said.

“Oh, crap.”

“It’s worth it, though,” Sebastian said. “The site has made a ton of money.”

I got a weird feeling

“What site?” I asked.

“I named it Celebrity Panty Raid,” he said.

Oh my God.

“That’s the site that auctions off the underwear of A-list stars,” I said. “You came up with that?”

“Yes, it was my idea,” he said, with a modest shrug.

“You’re taking things that don’t belong to you. You’re stealing,” I told him, “then selling those things for profit.”

“It’s no big deal,” Sebastian insisted.

I gave him my are-you-listening-to-yourself look.

“These celebrities have millions and millions of dollars. They have closets full of things on multiple continents,” Sebastian said. “One article of clothing means nothing to them. What do they care about a missing pair of panties? I’m not hurting anyone.”

“You use secret passageways and hidden doors to sneak into the rooms of unsuspecting guests—guests who think they’re safe here—steal their underwear, sell it for hundreds or thousands of dollars, and you think nothing is wrong with that?” I asked.

Sebastian shook his head. “Look, I’m not a bad guy. I just need money for college.”

It flashed in my head that Sebastian probably wasn’t the only person involved with this thing. And from what Ben had told me about the site, thousands of dollars were at stake. It made me wonder whether this had somehow led to Jaslyn’s death.

“Do other employees know about this?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No.”

Okay, so I was wrong about that.

But the tip Ben had received was right. The it’s-really-icky Celebrity Panty Raid site was connected to the Rowan Resort. Obviously, Ben hadn’t yet learned that Sebastian was behind it.

“You’re not going to blow this for me, are you?” Sebastian asked.

I thought about it. I wasn’t exactly seeing the whole thing as harmless, as Sebastian had insisted. But I wasn’t convinced that ratting him out was the best option, either.

If I told Ben that Sebastian—an employee of Rowan Resort—had come up with the idea and ran the site, it would really pump up his story.

But if Sebastian thought I intended to tell, he’d probably shut down the site to save his own skin—he’d have no other choice, really—and Ben’s story would disappear into virtual reality, taking what was left of his journalism career along with it.

No way was I doing that to Ben.

“Look, it’s just for a little while longer,” Sebastian said. “I’ve got a huge item coming up for auction. I’ve been teasing it for a while now and if the bids go the way I think they will, I’ll have enough money to cover my college expenses and then some.”

“Do you really expect me to believe you’d give up this lucrative Web site that easily?” I asked.

“My job here is ending in a few weeks,” Sebastian said. “I’ll leave the island. I won’t have access to the hotel rooms.”

Okay, that made me feel a little better. But I couldn’t control what Sebastian did—not now, anyway. Not with Ben’s I’ll-be-famous story on the line.

“And about Sandy,” Sebastian said. “Yes, I did lie to her about my job here, but I couldn’t help it. It’s confidential. I signed an agreement.”

I couldn’t really argue with that.

“I like Sandy. I really do,” he said. “I want to keep seeing her, if I can. Please don’t ruin things between us.”

Jeez, how did I get in the middle of so many important decisions involving other people? I’m on vacation.

“You’d better not hurt her,” I told him.

“I won’t,” he said. “I swear. I won’t.”

I fumed for a minute, then said, “Okay, I won’t tell anybody—as long as nothing bad happens.”

“Nothing bad is going to happen,” Sebastian said. “How could it?”

Good question.

M
arcie, Bella, Sandy, and I chose to wear sundresses in a variety of colors—except pink, of course—and, really, we all looked great when we showed up for Yasmin’s bachelorette garden party.

Guests were greeted at what the resort brochure had termed the summer house, which wasn’t really a house but an outdoor covered area with a white roof held up with white pillars, and a flagstone floor, all surrounded by green plants and shrubs.

“Everything is handled,” Joy said quietly as I walked past. “You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Good to know—even though I wasn’t worried about the event in the first place.

We walked through the vine-covered arbor, and I was pleased to see that my vision of the event had turned out well. Pink, white, and a touch of mint green abounded. The linens were crisp, and the china and crystal sparkled. A bartender and two waitresses, all dressed in Rowan Resort burgundy uniforms, were busy serving drinks.

Really, it’s never too early to start drinking at a function such as this.

The stage and runway were set up for the fashion show, and a flat screen played a DVD of Yasmin’s photos. About a dozen or so young women were clustered in a small group watching the DVD, squealing and giggling each time they saw themselves flash on the screen. I recognized most of them; others must have been Yasmin and Tate-Tate-Tate’s family members

Nearby stood Yasmin’s mother, Deandra, and her aunt Elnora, both dressed in pastel Gucci dresses, four-inch pumps, with full-on jewelry and makeup. From the looks on their faces, I doubted neither would have squealed or giggled if they’d see themselves on TV.

“Looks like there might be hope for this party after all,” Bella murmured as she nodded toward the rear of the area.

Two dark-haired men dressed in gray suits, brilliant white shirts, conservative neckties, and sunglasses stood at each end of a small table. Wow, they looked great.

“I knew he had a brother,” Bella whispered.

Then it hit me—one of the men was Jack Bishop. I didn’t know the other guy.

I realized then that on the table between them, the Heart of Amour pendant rested on a pedestal.

“I’ll get us a table—right by him,” Bella said. She headed toward Jack and his fellow security guard, Marcie and Sandy close behind.

“Hey, where are all the young studs?” asked a woman beside me.

“With no shirts on,” I added.

We looked at each other and, immediately, I knew we’d connected—though to see us you’d never think we had anything in common. She was a tiny woman—probably no more than ninety pounds on a rainy day—with silver hair, in a yellow dress trimmed with leopard print. I figured her for seventy-plus, easily.

She squinted up at me. “You’re Haley.”

I don’t usually like to admit to anything, especially where strangers are concerned, but I had a good feeling about her.

“I’m Francine. Yasmin’s grandmother,” she said, before I could answer. “Ada showed me pictures of you two shopping in London not long ago.”

“You’re Ada’s friend,” I realized, and couldn’t help smiling.

“And you’re dating Ada’s grandson,” she said, and threw arms around me. “I am so glad to meet you. Thanks so much for jumping in and helping with the wedding.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, but couldn’t quite bring myself to add the expected glad-I-could-do-it.

“So this is what passes for a bachelorette party these days, huh?” Francine said, gazing around the summer house. She shook her head. “Looks like a real yawner to me.”

“It’s the latest thing,” I said. “Yasmin wanted it.”

Francine uttered a disgusted grunt. “Figures.”

I was liking her more and more every minute.

“When’s Ty getting here?” she asked.

Hearing Ty’s name spoke aloud gave me a little jolt.

I ignored it.

When I’d spoken with Ada the other day I’d wondered if Ty had told her we’d broken up. Apparently, he hadn’t—or if he had, the news hadn’t traveled far enough to reach Francine.

I could have kept my mouth shut and let Francine think Ty and I were still a couple, but I didn’t see any sense in it.

“Actually, Ty and I broke up,” I said.

“His idea or yours?” Francine asked.

Okay, I wasn’t all that excited about rehashing our breakup, but Francine didn’t sound judgmental, so I rolled with it.

“It was his idea,” I said. “But I went along with it.”

“He’ll come back,” she said.

She sounded sure of herself, as if she knew Ty well—and maybe she did, since she and Ada had been friends for so long.

“I doubt it,” I told her.

Francine shook her head. “Those Cameron men. What a bunch of workaholic worrywarts. Always looking for perfection.”

“Ty sure as heck never found perfection with me,” I told her.

“Has he called you?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “I heard he’s busy with some big acquisition.”

“Figures. Distracting himself with work,” Francine said. “The Cameron men expect perfection in themselves. If something goes wrong, if they think they’ve made a mistake, they lock up. Ty will figure out what he’s done. He’ll get over it. He’ll call you.”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure I want to get back together with Ty.”

“Ada told me all about you two,” Francine said. “Ty can’t be very attentive, and you don’t want to be smothered. You’re perfect for each other.”

I just stared at her. I’d never thought of our relationship in quite that way. Was it really that simple?

Luckily, a commotion among the guests took our attention; I didn’t want to think about Ty and me anymore.

“Oh, my word,” Francine muttered, shaking her head.

Yasmin was making her grand entrance into the party through the arbor. She had on a pink floral print dress, pink shoes, pink accessories, and a wide-brimmed pink hat trimmed with huge flower blossoms.

She looked like she was going to the Kentucky Derby.

I figured this was a good time to find my friends. I spotted them seated at a table near the Heart of Amour and its security team.

Honestly, I was more than a little irked by the whole my-wedding-is-so-special-my-bouquet-pendant-needs-its-own-guards thing. I mean, really, how pretentious can you get? This was a lot—even for Yasmin.

I walked over and sidled up next to Jack. He was in private detective mode. His jaw was set, his shoulders squared, his expression unreadable behind the sunglasses.

It was a really hot look on him.

“Are you supposed to thwart a robbery attempt?” I asked.

“Grab it and take off,” Jack said, then switched to his Barry White voice. “You’ll be glad you did.”

Oh my God.

I plopped down in a chair at the table with my friends.

“Damn, it’s hot today,” I said.

Bella glanced up at Jack. “You’re telling me.”

Another dozen guests arrived and the festivities got under way. The food was delicious and the signature drink—something pink—helped considerably, when Yasmin got up to address the gathering. I listened for about three seconds, then it all turned into blah, blah, blah.

I didn’t know how I would get through the wedding ceremony and the reception. I had to get out of it somehow.

Just as I was considering whether I could actually get away with my Uncle-Bob-died excuse, or if the tried and true touch-of-the-stomach-flu might work better, I spotted a Sea Vixen beach tote on the arm of a woman crossing the hotel grounds. Immediately, my senses jumped to high alert. I leaned back in my chair to get a better look at her. I couldn’t see her all that well from this distance—just the vague impression of a small, dark-haired woman—but she looked familiar. Still, I knew she was definitely not one of the two women who’d gotten the totes from the hotel shop’s last shipment. That could only mean—

Oh my God.
Oh my God
.

Had the shop gotten in another shipment of Sea Vixen totes and not told me? Had they given my bag away to some other woman—
again?

No way was I sitting still for another of their “hold list” screw-ups.

“I have to go,” I said to Marcie, and managed not to scream the words.

At least, I don’t think I screamed.

I bolted out of my chair, skirted the edge of the gathering, and rushed out of the summer house through the arbor. I followed the path through the hotel grounds, bobbing and weaving my way around fountains, benches, shrubs, and planters of flowers, keeping the woman in sight.

My first instinct, of course, was to grab the Sea Vixen off of her arm while screaming mine-mine-mine—anyone in my position would do the same—but I decided to take it slow. I didn’t want to cause a huge scene and have resort security get involved. Somehow, I didn’t think Walt Pemberton would be all that sympathetic to my situation.

I hung back, following the woman. I figured that when she stopped I would rush forward—without looking like I was rushing, of course—and oh-so casually ask her where and when she got her tote. It was possible, of course, that she’d had it for a while and the hotel shop had not, in fact, failed to notify me that my tote had arrived. I decided to play it cool.

I hate playing it cool.

I picked up my pace and was closing in on her when she left the path and headed down the narrow road that led to the employee dorm.

Okay, that was weird. Why would a hotel guest be headed there?

I slowed down, putting a little more distance between us, and watched as she kept going. But instead of veering left to the dorms, she turned right and walked up to the dock. A boat was tied off, swaying with the swell of the ocean waves. I didn’t know much about watercraft, but I knew this wasn’t the supply boat. It was small, with
Unexpected Opportunity
painted on its white hull. A man jumped off, spoke with the woman, then took a package she pulled out of her Sea Vixen tote.

What the heck was going on?

I scrambled behind a hedge and crouched down, peeking through the bushes as the woman headed back in my direction. She drew closer, and I realized why she’d looked slightly familiar when I’d first spotted her. It was Colby Rowan. Sandy had pointed her out on this very stretch of road.

Then it hit me that nothing illegal or immoral was going on—which was kind of disappointing—but, rather, something dull and boring.

Sandy had told me that Colby created works of art at her studio here on the island and sold them internationally. Colby was simply shipping something to a buyer, or a gallery, or whoever handled those kinds of transactions, and she was using a private courier service—she couldn’t very well send something that valuable via the postal service.

I hung out behind the hedge until Colby walked past—I figured I might startle her if I suddenly jumped out in front of her—and followed her to the hotel grounds, through the gardens, to one of the bungalows. She went inside and closed the door.

I stood near several small palms, deciding what to do. I really wanted to ask Colby where and when she’d gotten her Sea Vixen, but I didn’t want her to think I was stalking her, or anything, since she was, after all, a kind-of sort-of celebrity.

Besides, it was an excellent excuse not to go back to Yasmin’s so-called bachelorette party.

My spirits lifted as I knocked on the door of Colby’s bungalow, and I imagined her opening up, inviting me inside, and the two of us bonding over our love for the Sea Vixen tote. We could become lifelong friends. Really.

The door opened and Colby stared out at me. I’d heard somewhere that she was in her thirties, but she looked older and kind of hard—apparently, serious facial moisturizers aren’t allowed in prison.

“I don’t give lessons without an appointment,” she said, and pushed the door closed in my face.

I caught it with my hand.

“I’m not here for a lesson,” I said. “I saw you just now carrying a Sea Vixen beach tote, and I wanted to ask you where you got it.”

“You’re mistaken,” Colby said.

Okay, now I was seriously confused.

“The polka dot tote,” I said. “It’s an awesome bag. I’m dying to get one.”

“I don’t own a polka dot tote,” Colby said.

“But I saw you—”

“Good day,” she said, and pushed the door shut.

I stood there staring at the door for a couple of minutes, then stepped back.

What the heck was going on? I knew—
knew
—I hadn’t lost sight of Colby since I spotted her earlier. I knew I’d seen her with a Sea Vixen, and I knew I’d seen her go into her bungalow.

Why would she deny the whole thing? Why would she lie?

I had no idea.