Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery) (15 page)

Ben leaned close. “That guy you were just talking to, he was a cop. Don’t deny it. I recognized him.”

How did he manage to still smell so good when he kept wearing the same crappy clothes?

“Seriously, Ben,” I said. “I’m assembling my glam squad first thing tomorrow and I’m giving you a makeover.”

He ignored my comment and said, “What did he tell you?”

“Oh my God,” I realized. “You were watching me?”

“Shh,” Ben whispered. “I’m telling you, this place is crawling with undercover security.”

He glanced around as if he expected to see plainclothes investigators dart from bush to bush.

Then it hit me—Ben wasn’t here investigating Jaslyn’s murder, he was following the story of Colby’s old crime spree and searching for the one gang member who’d never been apprehended. Why else would he recognize and ask me about Shuman?

Ben had claimed he was investigating a tip from a Hollywood insider about thefts involving A-list celebrities, so I figured some of the jewelry, watches, and other stuff stolen in Colby’s robberies had been connected to high-profile stars. Those shops stored expensive pieces for the wealthy, rich, and famous, especially since celebrity home break-ins were a constant threat.

“His name is Shuman, right?” Ben said. “He’s a detective with the LAPD, right? What did he tell you?”

No way was I going to admit to anything that might give away something major and betray Shuman’s trust.

Ben didn’t seem to notice.

“Look, Haley,” he said. “You owe me.”

I did, in fact, owe Ben on some level, and I was surprised he hadn’t reminded me of that before now.

Still, I wasn’t going to be bullied—or guilted—into telling him anything.

Ben must have sensed that, because his expression softened—which was kind of hot, given the fabulous lighting—and said, “This story will put my career into the stratosphere. I’m talking
Rolling Stone
, the
New Yorker
, talk shows, morning news broadcasts. It will put me on the A-list of reporters. I’ll have my pick of jobs anywhere.”

Ben sounded really excited—and kind of desperate. I didn’t blame him, of course. His career had spiraled downward lately and I’d been kind-of-sort-of to blame—not that I’d intentionally done anything to make Ben look bad. It was just a series of tough breaks that I’d, well, really, I’d been responsible for.

Still, I wasn’t going to give away anything big.

“You’re right,” I said, “he’s here on a case. Undercover—so don’t blow it for him.”

“What did he tell you?” Ben asked.

“This is a two-way street,” I said. “I’ll share, if you’ll share.”

Ben stewed for only a couple of seconds—guess he was desperate for info—then said, “Fine, sure, okay, whatever. What did he tell you?”

“He’s definitely here investigating a case that involves someone at the resort,” I said.

“I
knew
it.” Ben clinched his fist and kind of growled—which was way hot, of course.

“It’s very high profile,” I said.

“Yes.”
Ben gave another fist pump.

“He’s investigating, so he doesn’t have anything definite yet,” I said.

“LAPD wouldn’t have sprung for this place if they didn’t think there was something to it,” Ben concluded.

He nodded, and I could see that he was spinning the story out in his head, mentally composing his headline and picturing himself chatting with the gals on
The View
.

I’ll definitely have to help with his wardrobe.

“Great. This is great,” Ben said. “What else?”

I glanced around and leaned closer, the universal this-is-the-coolest-part move, and whispered, “Sidney Rowan is actually alive.”

Ben fell back in his chair. His mouth fell open and, for a second, I thought his eyes might actually pop out of his head.

Then he shot forward and drilled me with what I guess was his I’m-an-investigative-reporter-and-I’ll-know-if-you’re-lying look.

“Are you sure about this?” he demanded. “You swear it? You swear it’s true?”

It miffed me a bit that Ben actually thought I wasn’t being truthful, but given our history, I didn’t blame him.

“I’m only telling you what Shuman told me,” I said.

“I haven’t actually seen Sidney Rowan roaming the resort grounds or anything.”

Ben fidgeted for a moment—mentally composing yet another Pulitzer Prize–winning headline, I suppose—then hopped out of his chair.

“Keep me up-to-speed,” he said. “Okay?”

“You do the same,” I said.

“I will, I will,” he said, then gave me a half smile.

Ben had a nice half smile.

“Thanks, Haley,” he said. “This means
everything
to me.”

I got a warm, tingling feeling in my belly knowing that, this time, I’d done something that would actually help Ben with his story. Finally, he and I were on the same page with one of his investigations.

What could go wrong?

I
t was almost lunchtime before we got downstairs. Last night at the beach bar had been fun—the kind of fun that’s a bit hazy the next morning. We all seemed to be in the same I-can’t-believe-I-did-that-even-if-I’m-on-vacation mode, except for Sandy.

“Wow, Bella, I didn’t know you could limbo so well,” she said.

Sandy seemed as perky and happy as always—not the kind of thing that usually goes over well with the what-the-heck-did-I-do morning-after crowd.

“Limbo?” Bella asked.

I had to hand it to Bella. Even though she looked like a returned-for-store-credit Dooney & Bourke bag on a clearance table—really, we all kind of looked that way—she’d still managed to style a perfect sea turtle atop her head this morning.

“Last night,” Sandy said. “You were in the limbo contest.”

Bella frowned. “I was?”

“You won,” Sandy said.

“Damn. No wonder my back is killing me this morning,” Bella muttered. “I won, huh? Did I get a trophy or something?”

“You won a free drink,” Sandy said. “One of those big ones that comes in a commemorative Rowan Resort pineapple glass.”

“That explains a lot,” Bella said, massaging her temples.

“Yeah,” Sandy said, “and after that, you—”

“Don’t tell me,” Bella said, waving her off with both hands. “Whatever happened, I don’t want to know.”

I was with Bella on this one.

“Who’s up for the breakfast buffet?” Sandy asked, as if she actually thought we’d consider it a good idea.

Where was my all-time favorite mocha Frappuccino drink when I really needed it?

Bella made a grumbling sound, and Marcie shook her head.

“Just coffee,” I said. “Maybe a—”

I stopped dead in my tracks as we crossed the lobby. My heart rate shot up, taking my blood pressure along with it, and I gasped so loud that Marcie, Bella, and Sandy stopped and stared. I tried to speak, but I couldn’t seem to form any actual words. All I could do was point, like one of those hunting dogs that had tracked down its prey. Only it wasn’t some poor dead pheasant I’d spotted, it was a Sea Vixen tote bag.

I watched as a woman walked across the lobby and disappeared out the front door, the Sea Vixen hung casually in the crook of her arm. All I could think was, Oh my God, where did she get it? Then, all I could think was, Why was I standing here wondering instead of asking her?

I was about to take off after her when I spotted yet another Sea Vixen, this one on the shoulder of a different woman who was walking toward the rear of the hotel.
Two
Sea Vixens in the lobby at the same time? Was I dreaming—or maybe hallucinating?

My head got light. I thought I might actually faint.

Then it hit me—if two women whom I’d never seen before were now carrying the totally fabulous, ultra cool Sea Vixen tote bag, it could only mean the resort shop had gotten in a new shipment.

Mentally, I did a full double twisting layout with a back-handspring.

I stuck the landing.

“I have to go,” I said—at least that’s what I tried to say. It might have come out as, “Blah, blah, blah, blah.”

Luckily, Marcie grasped the situation and said, “We’ll catch up later,” although it really sounded to me like, “Blah, blah, blah, blah.”

I took off through the lobby, down the hallway that led to the rear gardens, then turned right into that long corridor where the shops, cigar room, spa, and who-knows-what-else were located. I’m pretty certain my feet never actually touched the carpeted floor.

Yet no need to hurry, I reminded myself. The salesclerk I’d spoken with had put one on hold for me, so I knew my Sea Vixen was sitting there waiting for me to pick it up and give it a good home.

Still, I couldn’t stop the yay-for-me scenario from playing out in my head. I imagined women coming into the shop, seeing my Sea Vixen, falling in love with it, asking—no begging—for it, but no way could they have it. The Sea Vixen was mine—all mine. I’d walk into the shop and pluck it away, right under their noses. They’d be totally jealous, of course, and even—

Okay, maybe I was getting a little carried away.

I forced myself to stop at the shop’s entrance. I drew a calming breath—which wasn’t easy because I don’t really like being calm—then channeled my mom’s I’m-better-than-you expression along with her pageant walk, and glided inside.

Only two other women were in the shop, and they were bogged down in a discussion of which bracelet to buy, the one with the coral seashells or the one with the turquoise sand dollars. Both were hideous, and if I’d felt more generous with my time I would have told them so, but really, I can’t take care of absolutely everyone, can I?

I stepped up to the counter, smiled my I’m-getting-what-I-want-and-no-one-can-stop-me smile, and said, “Good morning.”

The salesclerk, who’d waited on me before, was faced the other way, sorting out a tangle of necklaces. She turned and said, “Why, good morning—oh, it’s you.”

Huh. Not exactly the we-give-great-service-here Rowan Resort greeting I expected.

No matter. I was getting my Sea Vixen. Nothing could upset me right now.

“You got in a shipment of Sea Vixen totes, I see,” I said, and couldn’t help bouncing on my toes.

“Well, yes. Yes, we did,” she said, and backed away slightly, looking as if she’d been swatted on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.

“I’d like to pick mine up now,” I said.

“Well, yes. Yes, you would,” she said. “I’m sure you would.”

I was just about out of patience now—I don’t have much under normal circumstances. My long-awaited, totally fabulous beach tote was inside the stock room, just steps away, waiting for me to take it into my arms and give it a good cuddle. If this clerk didn’t speed things up, I might have to jump the counter and get it myself.

The clerk forced a smile. “I’m just going to call our manager.”

Oh, hey, this was something new. Apparently, there was some sort of presentation that went along with transferring custody of the Sea Vixen from the shop to me. Cool.

The clerk picked up the telephone and gave me a things-are-great smile, then turned her back and murmured into the receiver. After a few moments she turned to me again.

“Patricia will be here momentarily,” she said. “I’ve alerted Avery.”

Wow, I guess this would be one heck of a handbag purchase. I glanced around the shop wondering if a shower of balloons would float down, or maybe confetti would shoot out of a cannon to mark the occasion.

I definitely wanted my BFFs here for the festivities.

I was reaching for my cell phone to call Marcie when a woman with an I’m-in-charge look appeared next to me. I figured her for midforties, dressed in a Rowan Resort color-coordinated burgundy and white skirt and blouse, with an I-just-stepped-off-the-set-of-
Mad
-
Men
hairstyle.

The look was really working for her.

“Good morning, Miss Randolph,” she said, smiling pleasantly. “I’m Patricia. I’m the executive director of all the shops here at the Rowan Resort. Please, come this way.”

She walked through the curtained doorway behind the counter. I followed, glancing right and left, expecting to see a camera crew waiting to capture the moment.

I saw no one.

“In here, if you please,” Patricia said, gesturing to a small room off to the right.

I stepped inside and saw that it was an office crowded with a desk; chairs; some file cabinets; and a credenza covered with all kinds of papers, folders, and binders.

No sign of a photographer or champagne—or my Sea Vixen beach tote bag.

I got a weird feeling.

“Please, Miss Randolph, sit down,” Patricia said, and pointed to one of the chairs in front of the desk.

I didn’t sit down.

Patricia—wisely—didn’t push it.

“I’m extremely sorry to say that I have some disappointing news,” Patricia said.

The other salesclerk suddenly appeared in the doorway and said, “I’m standing by.”

I was not sure if she intended to call security or fetch a portable heart defibrillator—from the look on her face, it could have been either.

My weird feeling got weirder—but not in a good way.

Patricia drew herself up, squared her shoulders, and said, “We did, in fact, receive a shipment of Sea Vixen beach totes this morning. However, we didn’t get as many as we’d expected—it’s a very popular bag this season.”

I didn’t say anything.

“And, unfortunately,” Patricia went on, “our ‘hold’ list wasn’t properly posted, and the bag designated for you was sold to someone else.”

What the heck was she so upset about? Immediately, I saw a solution to the situation—one that benefited me, of course.

“So give me one of the bags designated for someone else on the list,” I said.

Patricia’s smile curdled. “We received only two totes. Both were sold. We have no more. There isn’t another bag to give you, at this time.”

I saw her mouth move and heard her words, but I couldn’t quite seem to understand them.

“I’m terribly embarrassed about this situation,” Patricia said. “I assure you, this isn’t the way we operate here at the Rowan Resort.”

I just stared at her. Surely any minute now she’d say something I could comprehend.

“As soon as the next shipment arrives, I’ll personally make certain you receive your bag,” Patricia said, then added quickly, “at no cost to you, of course, in the hope of rectifying this error.”

I still couldn’t seem to make sense of anything she was saying.

“Miss Randolph?” Patricia said.

She looked a little concerned now.

“Miss Randolph, please allow me to apologize for—oh, look who’s here,” Patricia said. She waved frantically. “Come in, Avery, come in. Please, please, come in.”

Avery stepped into the office. She didn’t look all that happy about being there.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone,” Patricia said, and dashed out of the office, the other salesclerk hot on her heels.

I felt numb, fuzzy-headed, still unable—unwilling, really—to grasp the situation.

“I—I don’t understand,” I said.

“They gave your bag away to someone else,” Avery said.

Her I’m-not-bothering-to-sugarcoat-it version sank in.

“Crap,” I said, and plopped down into the chair nearest the desk.

Avery just stood there for a minute, then pulled over another chair and sat down beside me.

I’d been through a lot of stuff on this vacation—a vacation at a place where guests paid big bucks to make sure they didn’t have to go through a lot of stuff. I’d found a dead body; I’d been interrogated by the police; Bella’s lucky panties had been stolen right out of her room—and I’d rolled with all of it.

But this was different. This was a handbag—
the
handbag. The hottest bag of the season.

I was too mad to be mad.

“I’m sorry,” Avery said.

She sounded like she meant it—honestly meant it, not like she’d said it just because she was expected to, or because somebody in the Rowan Resort publicity office had composed it for her.

My anger deflated because, really, there was nothing I could do.

I hate it when there’s nothing I can do.

“Things happen,” I said, and shrugged.

We both just sat there for a few minutes, staring at nothing, saying nothing.

“Are you going to get in trouble with your boss because of this screw-up?” I asked.

Avery looked surprised that I’d asked. I suppose guests here weren’t overly concerned about anything more than getting their way on everything—not that I blamed them, of course. So what could I do but turn the situation around and use it as a ploy to help myself?

“I figure you’re on the ropes—employment-wise—be-cause of the problems you had with Jaslyn,” I said. “I heard she wasn’t a very good employee, but you were kind of stuck with her on your team.”

“Where did you hear that?” Avery asked.

“It’s not true?” I asked.

“Jaslyn was a good worker,” she said. “She even volunteered to help another team that was shorthanded clean some of the downstairs rooms. She had trouble following the resort rules. So, yes, in that respect she was a problem employee.”

Jaslyn didn’t follow the rules?

I could totally relate.

“So you wanted to have her change teams permanently?” I asked. “Not that I blame you, of course, if she caused you trouble.”

“Jaslyn kept overstepping herself,” Avery said. “She sneaked into the hotel after her shift, which is always off-limits to employees. I caught her in the library twice.”

“Jaslyn risked her job over coming to the library? The
library?
” I asked.

How weird was that?

“There are rare first editions in the library,” Avery said. “Many of the pieces of the Rowan art collection are displayed there, too. They’re beautiful. You should make it a point to see them.”

I was pretty sure I’d pass on that.

“Jaslyn kept asking questions about things that, frankly, were none of her business,” Avery said.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Things like whether Mr. Rowan visited the resort often, whether he kept an eye on things here, how actively he was involved with running the place,” Avery said.

I guess Jaslyn thought Sidney Rowan was alive—or maybe she hadn’t read
People
magazine lately.

“Strange things for a college student and hotel maid to be concerned with,” I said.

“Yes,” Avery said. “And, really, I have enough to deal with every day without the staff adding to my workload.”

I couldn’t disagree with her on that—nor did I miss the fact that I was one of those things Avery had to deal with.

Not a great feeling—but not bad enough that I considered backing off from my quest for a Sea Vixen or my questions about Jaslyn’s death.

I remembered that someone had told me that Jaslyn had requested a transfer off of Avery’s team. I wondered now if that was true, or if Avery had pushed Jaslyn to make the transfer request in an effort to get rid of her because of the headaches she caused.

Either way, it was obvious Avery wasn’t happy with Jaslyn. But unhappy enough to murder her?