Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery) (23 page)

I looked around but didn’t see anyone on the paths nearby.

“Damn,” I muttered. I must have missed her.

I knocked on the door once more—harder this time—and it swung open. I stepped inside.

The place looked like a cottage straight out of fairyland, with a miniature living room filled with pastel floral prints, pie-crust tables, and tufted footstools. White eyelet curtains covered the windows.

The tiny kitchenette had a can’t-get-enough-of-the-seventies poppy orange refrigerator and stove, and earth-toned Corelle ware in glass-front cupboards. The avocado green countertops were cluttered with a museum-worthy coffeepot and toaster, and a wire utensil caddy held a few mismatched items.

I checked out the bedroom and found it’s-so-old-it-must-be-antique furniture, and a twin-size canopy bed you’d imagine one of Cinderella’s stepsisters slept in.

I peered into the closet and opened the drawers in the it-could-disintegrate-into-dust-at-any-moment bureau. They were empty.

The adjoining bathroom had those tiny octagonal tiles from the twenties, in a yellow and green checkerboard pattern, and a huge claw-footed tub. I saw no personal belongings.

Not exactly my taste in home décor, but I guess Colby liked it. Maybe she felt like Sidney Rowan’s little princess in here. I was sure all the other bungalows had been upgraded for guests’ use.

Everything in here was old and the place smelled kind of musty, but I didn’t see signs of a struggle or any indication that a crime had been committed here. Still, I couldn’t get Tabitha out of my head.

A second bedroom was off the kitchen. I walked inside and saw that it was Colby’s art studio. It was crowded with easels, one of those pottery wheels, a workbench, stacks of bare canvases, tubes of paint and boxes of brushes, and a jumble of every other imaginable art supply covering every flat space in the room. It smelled like paint and turpentine.

Colby sure as heck wouldn’t go off and leave all this stuff behind. Maybe I hadn’t missed her, after all.

Or maybe I had, I realized, since with the Rowan billions Colby could easily replace everything here.

Jaslyn popped into my head, and I pictured her coming to Colby’s cottage after her shift, sitting in the living room, or maybe coming into the studio to discuss the world of art. She must have been thrilled thinking Colby would introduce her to gallery people and famous artists.

I didn’t know if Colby had already left the island, but I had to find out. Maybe I could catch her at the helipad and ask what—if anything—she knew about Tabitha’s disappearance.

I headed out of the room, and a flash of familiar colors caught my eye. On the workbench partially hidden under a drop cloth, I spotted the bright blue, orange, yellow, and greens of a Sea Vixen tote.

My heart jumped.

I
knew
she owned one. She’d lied about it—and this proved it.

I lifted the drop cloth and—hang on a second. This wasn’t a Sea Vixen beach tote. It was a vase.

It was painted the same colors as the Sea Vixen and had handles on both sides, just like the one I’d seen pictured in the resort’s art catalog and displayed on the top shelf in the library. But on this vase, both of the handles were cracked.

I threw back the drop cloth and—oh my God—three more vases. One was missing a handle, and the other two were chipped.

What the heck was going on? It looked as if Colby was attempting to re-create a priceless work of art in the Rowan collection. But why?

For a second it flashed in my head that these had been made by students in one of her art classes, but I remembered Sandy had told me that Colby only gave painting lessons, not ceramics, even though she owned a kiln.

Colby was an artist with an international reputation, supposedly. Why would she spend her time and talent making fake vases? They had no value, served no purpose. They were completely useless. What the heck could she possibly do with them? Nobody would want a copy of a—

Then it hit me.

Oh my God, could Colby have been making duplicates so she could sell off the original pieces?

But why would she involve herself with that kind of scheme when she was heiress to the Rowan billions?

I didn’t know the answer—but it was the only thing that made sense.

The vases I’d seen in the library had looked a little sloppy compared to the ones pictured in the art catalog because they were phony, I realized. Colby, after numerous attempts, obviously, had created similar vases, switched them with the originals, and sold the genuine art.

Oh my God. She must have been handing them off to the guy I’d seen at the boat—her accomplice aboard the
Unexpected Opportunity
—when I’d spotted her carrying the Sea Vixen tote. That’s why she’d denied the whole thing when I’d asked her about it.

Then something else hit me. Could this have been a one-time deal? Was it possible that other works of art from the Rowan collection had been copied by Colby and sold?

I knew how I could find out.

I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and called Luke.

“You’re saving a dance for me, aren’t you?” he asked.

I heard music playing in the background and knew he was at the reception.

“I need some info, right away,” I said.

Luke must have picked up on the urgency in my voice because, after a few seconds, I heard the music fade and knew he’d left the reception.

“What’s up, Haley?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“The FBI has an art crime division, doesn’t it?” I asked, and went on before he could respond. “I need you to find out if pieces of the Rowan art collection have turned up for sale anywhere in the world.”

“Haley, what’s this all about?” Luke asked. “Where are you?”

“Just make the call,” I said, and hung up.

I stood there for a few seconds and something else hit me—something awful. I phoned Shuman.

“You need to stop Colby from leaving the island,” I said, before he could say anything.

“What?” he asked. “Say again.”

We didn’t have a great connection. It sounded as if Shuman was at the beach and the wind was muffling our words.

“Go to the helipad,” I said, louder this time. “Don’t let Colby leave.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“She murdered Jaslyn Gordon,” I said.

“What?”

“Colby murdered—”

A totally creepy feeling swept over me. I turned and saw Colby standing in the doorway.

“W
ell, aren’t you the clever one,” Colby said.

I didn’t feel so clever at the moment, only a little scared.

Colby stood in the doorway, blocking my escape. Both hands were behind her back. I couldn’t see what she was holding, but I had a feeling it wasn’t something that would benefit
me.

“So, it’s true?” I asked. “You murdered Jaslyn?”

“It was a shame, really. She was such a bright girl.” Colby’s expression darkened. “Too bright for her own good.”

“Jaslyn was assigned to clean the library. She realized the artworks on display were fakes,” I said.

Tabitha had told me that Jaslyn was upset about something she’d seen in the library and intended to speak to upper management about it. She’d questioned Avery about the provenance of the pieces in the collection and had been told, pretty much, to mind her own business because Colby was the resort collection’s curator, the expert, and she was handling things.

“Jaslyn reported the fake vases to you,” I said. “But you already knew about them, didn’t you?”

If Jaslyn had told Avery exactly what she suspected, I’m sure Avery would have handled it differently. Instead, Avery had unknowingly sent Jaslyn to her death.

“The poor girl. So upset. So sure she’d stumbled upon the greatest art theft since Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner heist.” A sly smile crept over Colby’s face. “And she was right.”

I gestured to the damaged vases on the worktable.

“So these weren’t the only pieces you made here in your studio, then substituted for the genuine ones,” I said.

“Oh, heavens, no,” Colby said. She smiled, pleased with herself. “This little project of mine has been rolling along quite nicely for some time now.”

“The man I saw you with at the boat dock is your accomplice,” I said. “You pass the genuine pieces to him, and he sells them. You must really trust him.”

“He’s an old friend,” Colby said. “Very well connected in the international art market.”

I figured he was the guy who’d been on the lam since Colby and the rest of her robbery gang had been captured, the one Shuman had come to the island to look for.

“Did you have other help here on the island?” I asked.

Colby dismissed the thought with a toss of her head. “Why on earth would I need help from anyone at this dreadful place?”

So much for my idea that Gabe Braxton was involved.

“Did Jaslyn suspect what you were doing?” I asked.

“Good gracious, no,” Colby said, and rolled her eyes.

I figured that meant Jaslyn’s brother hadn’t been involved, either.

“Jaslyn had no idea I was behind it,” Colby said. “I acted quite surprised when she told me, of course. Really, I gave a memorable performance.”

Something told me she was really good at that sort of performance; she’d probably been pulling them off all her life.

“Her brilliant plan was for the two of us to report the whole thing to Walt Pemberton,” Colby said. Her eyes lit up. “Another inspired performance on my part was necessary. It came to me in a snap. I convinced Jaslyn that, as chief of security, Walt was in on the thefts.”

“And she believed you?” I asked.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Colby said. “I told her to spend the night here in my bungalow, and the following day we would secretly take the supply boat to the mainland and call the authorities.”

That explained why the search teams hadn’t been able to find Jaslyn when they’d initially combed the island. She’d been in Colby’s bungalow.

“Jaslyn went along with that?” I asked.

“Poor little thing was frightened,” Colby said. “She didn’t know who else to trust.”

“So she trusted you,” I said.

A really ugly image filled my head: Colby leading Jaslyn to the docks via the island’s most remote beach—her trumped-up excuse to avoid being seen by resort security, no doubt—then smashing Jaslyn over the head with a rock.

I didn’t like that picture. I pushed it out.

“You took Jaslyn’s driver’s license and cell phone up to the cliffs to try to make her disappearance look like a suicide,” I realized.

“It was worth a try,” Colby said with a shrug.

“How many pieces of the collection have you sold?” I asked.

I didn’t really care, but I wanted to keep her talking.

“Almost all of them,” she said. Her expression soured. “And I would have gotten every one of them if it hadn’t been for that other girl.”

Tabitha flashed in my head. Oh my God, had she suffered the same fate as Jaslyn at Colby’s hand?

“What about Tabitha?” I asked.

“Suddenly disappearing the way she did created a problem.” Colby huffed irritably. “More media attention, more security personnel on the island, more people asking questions.”

“You had to change your plans,” I said.

“I did,” Colby said.

I really hoped that meant Tabitha was alive and well. But where? Did this fairyland cottage have a dungeon beneath it where she was imprisoned?

“What happened to Tabitha?” I asked.

Colby lapsed into thought, as if she was considering making yet another change in her plan, taking care of one last problem before leaving.

I had a sick feeling that it was me.

No way would Colby have been so forthcoming if she intended to let me live to share the info with law enforcement.

Colby snapped back to reality and said, “Now you know everything, which means I can’t let you leave.”

I remembered that Shuman had told me two innocent people had been killed during the holdups in L.A. and that Colby had been implicated.

Not a great feeling.

She drew her arm from behind her back, and I saw a big knife clinched in her hand, probably one from the utensil caddie I’d seen on the kitchen counter.

Oh, crap.

The studio was cluttered with art supplies, leaving only a narrow path to the door, which Colby was blocking. Not much room to maneuver. The only window was fronted by the workbench. No way could I scramble out quickly.

This seemed like a really good moment to stall for time.

“I don’t know everything,” I insisted. “I don’t know why you did this. You’re Sidney Rowan’s daughter. You have billions of dollars. You live in a luxury resort—”

“Where I’m a prisoner!” Colby shrieked. “I’m held captive by my own father!”

She transformed before my eyes. No way did she look like a princess living in a fairyland cottage, or an heiress to one of the world’s largest fortunes. Now she looked like a hardened criminal who’d done prison time, murdered an innocent college student—maybe two—and would think nothing of murdering again.

Colby’s eyes narrowed. She took a step toward me.

I backed up a step.

“Look where he makes me live!” she screamed, gesturing wildly with the knife.

I’d sent Shuman to the island helipad.

“Here! In this tiny, wretched shack,” Colby said.

I hadn’t told Luke where I was.

“Where I’m forced to kowtow to pampered, egotistical nobodies so they can play at creating art,” Colby said.

I hadn’t told anyone where I was going.

Colby took another step toward me. I backed up again and bumped into the workbench.

If Shuman got to the helipad and saw Colby wasn’t there, would he come to her bungalow?

Jeez, I really hope he comes to her bungalow.

“Where I’m watched by security forces every minute of every day.” Colby’s breath quickened. “That supposed loving father of mine doesn’t think I know—but I know. That sneaky little Sebastian Lane isn’t the first person he’s sent to spy on me.”

So that was the confidential job Sebastian had gotten here at the resort? Working for Sidney Rowan himself? To keep tabs on his daughter?

“The great Sidney wants everyone to believe how loving he is,” Colby said. “But it’s a lie. It’s all a show he puts on for the world. He never cared about me! Never cared about what happened to me! He could have used his influence to keep me out of prison—but he didn’t! He insisted it would teach me a lesson!”

Her face was flushed, and her eyes were wide. Each word she spoke sounded more and more hysterical.

“But you showed him,” I said, hoping it would calm her down. “You sold most of his art collection.”

“I had to,” Colby declared, coming closer. “He cut me off completely after I was released. Forced me to live as a prisoner on this island. I needed money, and selling off his collection was the only way I could get it—the only way I could escape before he forgot I existed and left me marooned here forever.”

Okay, now she sounded as if she’d lost her mind completely. I took a step to the side, thinking maybe I could push past her and dash out of the room.

“Why would your dad do that?” I asked, hoping to cover for my shift toward the door.

“He’s getting married—for the seventh time,” Colby said. “It’s supposed to be a huge secret. But I found out about it. It’s been in the works for months.”

“The ceremony will be here at the resort,” I said, and realized this must be the special event coming up in a few weeks that Joy was planning for, and the reason Sebastian’s job would end at the same time.

Sidney Rowan had probably put Sebastian in place to keep an eye on Colby and report on any of her plans to disrupt the ceremony—not that I blamed him, of course. Sebastian probably wasn’t the only undercover security personnel given the task.

Yet Colby had managed to outsmart them all. On the surface, she seemed like a totally reformed, artistic, gentle soul, so it was no wonder security personnel hadn’t been watching her all that closely when she’d been selling off the art collection under the guise of shipping her own creations to buyers and galleries.

“Another wife to shower with attention,” Colby said. “Another wife who’ll be just the excuse he needs to ignore his children—to ignore
me
.”

If I’d been in a more generous mood, I might have felt sorry for her that she’d been ignored and hurt by her father all her life. But I couldn’t bring myself to muster any sympathy, not after what she’d done—and what, I felt sure, she still intended to do.

Colby lunged at me with the knife. I jumped sideways.

Where the heck was my hot FBI agent?

She swiped at me, the blade barely missing my shoulder.

Why hadn’t LAPD’s finest figured out what was going on?

Colby swung the knife upward. I jerked back and fell against the worktable.

Why was Jack Bishop guarding Yasmin’s stupid necklace when I was about to get knifed to death?

At least Ben might get a Pulitzer Prize–winning story out of it.

I picked up a canvas and swung it at Colby, striking her on the arm. The knife flew out of her hand and clattered to the floor between us. She made a move for it but grabbed a drop cloth instead and heaved it at me. I threw out both hands and batted it away just as Colby bolted from the studio.

I raced after her, hot on her heels as she ran through the living room and out the front door. I knew she was headed for the helipad. No way was I letting her get there.

Colby disappeared around the corner of the bungalow. I followed, then jerked to a stop as two men appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Colby.

Oh my God, it was Luke and Shuman.

Another man stepped forward. It took me a second to realize it was Walt Pemberton.

Colby screamed and fought as they wrestled her to the ground and Walt snapped handcuffs on her.

Colby was still blabbing her confession—people on the mainland, no doubt, heard it—when several hot-looking guys from the resort security team showed up to take her away.

“Make her tell you what she did with Tabitha,” I insisted.

Walt Pemberton gave me triple-stink-eye, ignored what I’d said, and kept talking to his security team.

I was in no mood.

“It’s okay, Haley,” Shuman said, and moved to stand next to me.

Something about the way he said it made me believe everything really was okay.

Luke eased up beside me.

“We got word just a few minutes ago. Tabitha’s fine. She’s at her mom’s place,” he said. “She was frightened about everything that had gone on here, so she left without telling anyone.”

“I was afraid something awful had happened to her,” I said.

Shuman touched my shoulder. Nice. Some of the tension went out of me.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Do you need anything?” Luke asked.

It was really great standing between the two of them—I almost wished something was wrong with me.

“I’m okay. Just a little shaken up,” I said. “So how did the two of you end up at Colby’s bungalow?”

“I went to the helipad, but she wasn’t there,” Shuman said. “I called Pemberton, told him what was going down, and headed here.”

“I ran into the two of them,” Luke said. “You were right, Haley. Pieces from the Rowan art collection are suspected of being sold to private bidders in Europe and Asia. The Art Crime Theft division will be all over it now.”

“I saw Colby’s accomplice,” I remembered. “He came to the island aboard the
Unexpected Opportunity.
I saw the two of them exchange a package at the dock.”

“Awesome,” Shuman said, and gave me a wink.

Pemberton ambled over. Colby and the security team had disappeared.

“Miss Randolph, I’d like you to come with me,” he said. “There’re a few loose ends I need to tie up.”

“Are you up to it, Haley?” Luke asked.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Shuman said.

How cool to have two totally fabulous men fussing over me. Still, I was really okay, plus I was anxious to tie up whatever loose ends he was talking about and be finished with this whole thing.

“You need to call LAPD with the new lead,” I said to Shuman. I turned to Luke. “And you should get back to the reception.”

Neither of them looked as if they wanted to leave—which was way hot, of course.

“I’ll meet you both at the banquet hall,” I promised.

“After you,” Pemberton said, and gestured me ahead of him.

He was quiet as we walked back to the hotel, but I saw a little smile on his lips, like he knew something I didn’t—and could barely contain his joy.