Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery) (6 page)

We all just stared at her.

“Stole them right out of my room,” Bella said.

“Somebody stole your panties?” Marcie asked.

“My
lucky
panties,” Bella declared. “What kind of place is this, anyway?”

“Maybe you just forgot to pack them,” Marcie said.

“I’d never forget my lucky panties on vacation,” she told us.

“The hotel staff unpacked for us,” Sandy said. “Maybe whoever put your things away put them in the wrong drawer or something.”

“I looked everywhere,” Bella said, still fuming. “I already talked to that woman—what’s her name, Avery?—and told her all about it. She said she was sure they hadn’t been stolen. But if they’re not in my room—and I’m sure as heck not wearing them—what else could have happened to them? Nothing, that’s what. Somebody stole my lucky panties.”

“Haley!”

A gut-wrenching scream caused us all to jump. I turned and saw Yasmin, still dressed in her bride-to-be pink beach ensemble, rushing toward our little group. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her fists were clinched, and her mouth hung open as she sobbed.

It wasn’t a good look for her.

“Haley, you have to help me,” she said as she pushed her way between Bella and Sandy. “You all have to help me. You have to!”

Nobody said anything.

“My guests have cancelled! Almost all of them!” Yasmin leaned her head back and cried harder.

Around us, other people in the lobby stared.

Yasmin shook her fists in the air. “All because that stupid girl got herself murdered!”

I didn’t need the Hubble to see where this was going.

I backed away, but Yasmin lunged and grabbed my arm.

“You all have to come to my wedding!” she screamed.
“You have to!”

Oh, crap.

“N
o way,” I said. “Forget it. I’m not going to that wedding.”

“But if guests aren’t there, her wedding will be ruined,” Marcie said.

“No,” I told her.

“Where’s your compassion?” Marcie asked. “Just look at her.”

Yasmin had collapsed into a chair. Her arms hung at her sides, her head was thrown back, and she was bawling so loud that the other lobby guests had gotten up and moved.

“I’m not doing it,” I told Marcie. “Look, when I said earlier that I hated her, I meant it.”

“Oh my God,” Yasmin wailed. “My wedding! My wedding! What’s going to happen to my
wedding!
”

Sandy looked at me. “She’s really upset.”

“What is Tate going to think?” Yasmin screamed.

“She can’t have a wedding with just family and a couple of guests,” Sandy said.

“Yes, she can,” I insisted. “She’ll still be married, no matter how many people are there.”

“And, oh my God, what will happen if there’s no one to catch my bouquet? What if I’m the one who breaks the Heart of Amour chain of weddings?” Yasmin panted for a few seconds, then let out another sob. “Tate’s family will talk about me
forever!”

Sandy shrugged. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go to the wedding.”

Bella rolled her eyes at Yasmin and said to me, “I’m with you.”

“It’s no big deal, really,” Sandy said. “All we have to do is show up for the ceremony, which won’t take long. Then we can go to the reception. It might be fun.”

“And it isn’t for a few more days,” Marcie said. “There’s a good chance the police will solve the murder by then, and if that happens, her guests will come after all.”

Yasmin’s caterwauling was giving me a headache, and I was annoyed beyond belief.

This wasn’t supposed to happen—I’m on vacation.

“Okay, fine,” I told them. “We’ll go—if she’ll just shut up.”

“Yasmin,” Marcie said.

She kept crying.

“Yasmin!” Marcie shook her arm. “We’ll go to your wedding.”

She sniffed and blinked up at Marcie, then looked at all of us. “You will? You’ll all go?”

“Sure,” Marcie said, and gave her an everything-will-be-fine smile.

Yasmin burst out crying again.

Good grief.

“I’m out of here,” I said.

I guess everyone’s good intentions had played out.

Marcie headed for the stairs, pulling Sandy along with her, and said, “We’ll change and meet you and Bella back here for dinner.”

“I’m going to find that head security guy and see what he’s doing to find my lucky panties,” Bella said, and walked away.

I headed across the lobby, then heard sniffing and panting behind me. Yasmin jumped in front of me. She drew in a really long breath and swiped at her face with her palms.

“You’re saving my wedding, Haley,” she whispered, then gulped a few times. “And to thank you, to
really
thank you, I’m going to throw my bouquet directly at you.”

Oh, crap.

She sniffed. “Tate will be so proud of me.”

I hate my life—but I’m not supposed to. I’m on vacation.

Yasmin headed up the lobby staircase and I shot eye-daggers at her—which she didn’t see, but still.

No way was I going to that wedding. No way was I waiting around for the cops to solve Jaslyn’s murder so the guests would show up and get me off the hook. I would find the killer myself.

Right after I found the Sea Vixen.

Everybody has their priorities.

I headed down the long corridor at the rear of the hotel, searching for the shop where Geraldine had bought her she-doesn’t-deserve-it-but-I-do tote. I followed the signs, turned down a corridor, then another.

Jeez, how big was this place?

Finally, I came upon a row of shops, their windows displaying high-end clothing and accessories for men, women, and children. My senses perked up. The Sea Vixen was here, only steps away. I could feel it.

I have a sixth sense about handbags. It’s a gift, really.

Immediately, I was drawn into one of the shops. There, at the entrance, stood a shelving unit filled with all sorts of bags: satchels, clutches, shoulder bags, cross-bodies, and—oh my God, totes—all in buttery leather, fabulous textiles, patterns, solids, a rainbow of colors.

This was where Geraldine had found her Sea Vixen—it had to be. My heart began to beat faster. The Sea Vixen was here.
Here
. I was mere seconds away from claiming one for myself.

“Can I help you?” someone asked.

I spotted a salesclerk in a Rowan Resort burgundy uniform standing nearby. I noted she hadn’t come too close. Apparently, I was giving off an I’m-a-crazed-shopper vibe.

I forced myself to calm down and channeled my pageant queen mom’s I’m-better-than-you attitude.

“I’m looking for a Sea Vixen tote bag,” I said.

“Oh, dear,” the clerk said and frowned. “I just sold the last one.”

“What?” I’m pretty sure I said that too loud.

She didn’t back off, as I expected her to. This place catered to celebrities, so I guessed she was used to dealing with lunatics.

“Yes, I sold it just a few minutes ago,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

Sorry? She was sorry? I was within minutes of buying the most fabulous tote of the season and she was
sorry?

She glanced at the telephone behind the counter. Oh my God, was she thinking about calling security?

I drew in a breath, and steadied myself. “No problem. I’ll check with the other shops.”

I got her oh-dear frown again. “All the shops have sold out. It’s such a popular bag.”

Like that was supposed to be a comfort? Of course it was popular. Would anyone vacationing
here
want it if it weren’t?

“We’re expecting another shipment,” the clerk told me with a see-how-helpful-I-am smile.

“When?” I demanded. “Exactly.”

“It could be at any time. The supply ships come in several times a day,” she said. “Would you like me to hold one for you?”

I resisted the urge to turn a cartwheel and said, “Yes, please.”

She moved behind the counter and wrote my name, room number, and cell phone number in a little book.

“Call me as soon as it comes in,” I said. “Day or night.”

“Of course,” she said.

“No matter where I am on the island, I’ll come immediately,” I told her.

“If there’s a delay reaching you, I’ll call your personal hostess,” she assured me. “I’ll contact Avery and alert her to the situation.”

I had no idea how this salesclerk knew that Avery was my personal hostess, but I rolled with it.

“Thanks,” I said.

She looked relieved when I left.

This had taken longer than I’d anticipated, I realized as I left the shop. I had to get moving on my investigation. I had a wedding to avoid and a murder to solve, and I knew just where to start.

Regardless of what Ben claimed, I knew there was no way he’d be at this resort unless he was investigating a story—and what story could he possibly be checking into but the death of Jaslyn Gordon?

If I used the hotel’s house phone to call his room, I knew he wouldn’t answer. I had his cell phone number from a few months ago, but if I called he’d see my name on the caller ID screen and wouldn’t pick up, so I didn’t bother trying. That meant I was going to have to do what women had been doing since the dawn of time to find a man—hunt him down on foot.

Immediately, my I’d-really-like-to-be-a-cool-private-investigator skills sprang up—they usually worked better with a mocha Frappuccino, but I was willing to tough it out.

I remembered that Ben liked to do his writing outside. I also knew he was avoiding me like the plague—not a great feeling, but oh well. Since I’d seen him earlier near the front of the hotel I figured he’d think that if I looked for him again, I’d head to the back of the hotel. Thus, being the crafty sort-of kind-of private investigator that I was, I headed once again for the front of the hotel.

Outside, the sun was sliding into the Pacific, lighting the low clouds with stunning shades of orange. A number of trams unloaded weary beachgoers. I strolled through the walkways and, sure enough, spotted Ben sitting on a bench beside a fountain decorated with ceramic frogs. He was in his writing trance, staring at his laptop screen, pounding on the keys. I crept up, then slipped around the bench and plopped down beside him.

Ben cut his eyes to me and growled—yes, actually growled. It was kind of hot.

“Why do you keep showing up?” Ben demanded.

“Maybe because you need help dressing,” I said, and tugged on the sleeve of his tired-looking, stretched-out polo shirt.

Wow, there was a good muscle under there. I hadn’t expected that.

“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes,” Ben insisted.

“This is the same shirt and pants you were wearing when I saw you ages ago,” I told him. “How about if I give you a makeover?”

“Go away,” he said, and turned back to his laptop.

“Don’t you want to look your best so you can hook up with some hot-looking chick?” I asked. “I mean, why wouldn’t you—if you’re really not here investigating a story?”

Ben turned to me again, his eyes narrowed, his jaw set. His nose flared a little and his chest expanded. Wow, that was way hot. If he’d only growl again.

I gave myself a mental shake.

“Because you’re here investigating Jaslyn Gordon’s murder, aren’t you,” I said. “Admit it. You are.”

Ben drew a breath and closed the lid of his laptop.

“I can tell you without a moment’s hesitation,” he said, “that I am absolutely not here to investigate a murder—although I’d gladly investigate yours, if the situation presented itself.”

This, I hadn’t expected—which didn’t suit me, of course.

“I know why you’re here,” I insisted. “You’re on a story. You have to be. A reporter like you wouldn’t be at an expensive resort like this unless there was some huge story—”

“Quiet,” he told me, glancing around to make sure we weren’t being overheard.

I glanced around, too. It made me feel very covert.

“Nobody can know—or even suspect—that I’m a reporter,” Ben said quietly.

“So maybe you’d better tell me what I want to know,” I said, thinking a little blackmail might work.

Ben glared at me and clamped his mouth shut. My attempt at blackmail definitely hadn’t worked. I had to try something different.

“Okay, look,” I said. “I can help you and you can help me. I happen to have inside information about Jaslyn Gordon’s murder.”

“Why are you so interested in that girl’s murder?” Ben asked, then shook his head. “No. Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“You don’t?” I asked, stunned. “What kind of reporter are you?”

“The kind who’s not investigating that story,” Ben told me.

He tucked his laptop under his arm and walked away.

Huh. Well, that didn’t go exactly as I’d planned.

I sat on the bench as the sunlight faded and shadows crept across the fountain. So far, my murder investigation had gotten nowhere. I had no suspects and no motive. Nothing. And my one potential source of info—Ben—wasn’t even interested in the story, which made me believe that he was telling the truth. His presence here at the resort was in no way connected to Jaslyn’s murder.

Still, I couldn’t believe that Ben was here simply on vacation. Something else was definitely going on with him.

But I couldn’t worry about that now. I had to come up with some way to find Jaslyn’s killer—and quick.

People didn’t get murdered for no reason. There had to be something going on with Jaslyn Gordon that had resulted in this horrible crime.

Mentally, I reviewed all the people at the resort who I needed to talk to—which would have been a heck of a lot easier if I had a mocha Frappuccino available.

I decided I’d start with Tabitha, the maid I’d seen in the hall outside my room earlier. She’d asked about Jaslyn and seemed to know her pretty well. I figured that Tabitha could probably give me some good info about what was going on in Jaslyn’s life or at least point me toward someone who could.

My cell phone in my pocket vibrated. I checked the caller ID screen and saw Avery’s name. Oh my God, was she calling because that salesclerk had gotten a Sea Vixen into the shop already?

My day could really use a boost.

I leaped off of the bench and pushed the green button on my phone in one smooth, well-practiced motion.

“Haley, could you meet me in the lobby?” Avery asked.

This
had
to be about the Sea Vixen. There was no other reason for Avery to call me.

Maybe she wanted to escort me to the shop herself. Maybe there was some sort of presentation planned.

“Sure,” I said, already heading toward the hotel. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

I hurried through the gardens to the hotel entrance and dashed up the stairs and into the lobby. Immediately, I spotted Avery standing by the staircase. I rushed over.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said.

“No, it’s no problem,” I assured her, bouncing on my toes.

“This can wait, if you’d rather,” she told me, and gestured down the corridor. “Are your friends expecting you for dinner? I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

“They’re fine,” I told her, in my get-on-with-it voice.

“All right, if you’re sure,” she said.

Avery led the way toward the rear of the hotel and down the long corridor, past the room in which—ugh—the homicide detectives had interviewed me earlier. But instead of turning right toward the shops, Avery opened a small door on the left bearing a tiny sign that read E
MPLOYEES
O
NLY
and gestured me in ahead of her.

Okay, this was weird.

There was a short hallway in front of me that led to a room with a partially closed door. I glimpsed several people inside and heard the hum of their conversation.

My weird feeling got weirder.

A man stepped out of a small office off to my right. He was tall with square shoulders and a trim waist, dressed in a shirt and tie. He had a full head of gray hair, cut short. I guessed his age at fifty, maybe.