Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery) (17 page)

Another minute passed while she considered my suggestion.

“Okay,” Sandy said. “That’s what I’ll do. I’ll wait and see how it goes.”

She sounded relieved and, really, I was too because that would give me more time to check further into Sebastian’s background and run him off if he turned out to be a complete fraud.

“Hey,” Sandy said, “there’s a luau on the beach. Marcie and Bella are there. Want to go?”

“Sure,” I said, and nodded toward the hotel. “But I want to check with the shops for a Sea Vixen.”

It was a total lie, but I didn’t want to tell Sandy that I actually intended to go to the business center and scour the Internet again for info on Sebastian’s background.

“I’ll meet you at the luau,” Sandy said. She waved and headed toward the beach.

I crossed the grounds, went into the rear entrance of the hotel, and turned down the corridor toward the business center.

But something caught my eye. Situated beside a set of ornately carved doors was a small brass sign that read LIBRARY.

Huh. I must have walked past it a dozen times but never noticed it.

Imagine that.

Jaslyn flew into my head, and I remembered what Avery and Tabitha had told me about some sort of situation in the library that kept Jaslyn so intrigued that she got into trouble over it. I decided I should check it out.

I looked up and down the corridor and saw no one, then pulled open the big door and walked into the library.

The room was absolutely huge. Dark wood shelves rose about twenty feet, almost to the ceiling, on four walls, all of them stuffed with thousands of books. A shelf displaying statues, vases, plates, and other pieces topped the bookshelves on three of the walls. More pieces were scattered among the books on the shelves. Seating areas were situated throughout the room, covered in burgundy leather and old-fashioned tapestry fabrics. Lamps burned softly.

No one was in the library—I figured most people were probably at dinner or off someplace having actual fun. I walked to the center of the room. It was deadly silent in here, thanks to extra insulation, I suppose, to keep out sounds so people could read. I turned in a slow circle trying to imagine what the heck could have piqued Jaslyn’s interest in this place.

I saw nothing—except for the tall, vertical ladders on rollers that allowed access to the upper bookshelves. They looked like fun, if you got a running start, hopped on, scrambled up, and rode them to the end of the room. But I couldn’t imagine Jaslyn doing that, since I’d been told that she was afraid of heights.

I wandered through the library glancing at the zillions of leather-bound volumes, the busts of old guys I didn’t recognize, some small statues and sculptures of things only people who hung out in galleries would likely appreciate—or understand. Still, nothing job-risking jumped out at me.

I decided to get a different perspective—thanks to an old Indiana Jones movie I’ve seen on TV—so I climbed one of the ladders all the way to the top. I’m not afraid of heights—actually, I think it’s kind of cool to be up high—so I turned and looked down at the library.

Everything looked a little smaller now—but no less dull. I didn’t see a giant “X” on the carpet that
marked the spot
, or an ancient symbol pointing to a major, case-breaking clue.

So much for my Indiana Jones move.

Still, I kind of liked it up here, so I wasn’t anxious to climb down again. I turned on the ladder and checked out a couple of vases that were displayed on the shelf. They were about eight inches tall, with handles on both sides, painted bright colors.

Yikes! It was hard to believe these things were considered art. They were slightly misshapen, the paint ran together, and they reminded me of the things my mom had brought home during her, thankfully, short-lived ceramics phase.

The only cool thing about the vases was the colors—they had the same blue, orange, yellow, and green shades of the soon-to-be-mine Sea Vixen beach tote.

I picked up one of the vases to have a closer look and stopped still—not because of the vase, but because of the dust circle left behind. I set the vase down in a different spot and ran my finger across the shelf. Damn, the place was filthy. It hadn’t been dusted in forever. Whichever crew had been responsible for cleaning the library wasn’t doing a good job, at all.

I hung there on the ladder thinking about Jaslyn. She was an art major. She’d volunteered to help the downstairs team. Had she come into the library and noticed that the pieces on display weren’t being properly cared for? Was that what made her so upset that she’d risked getting fired by coming back again and again? Was that what she intended to report to upper management?

Could dusty library shelves have caused her murder?

Okay, this was totally weird.

I was about to push the ladder farther down the shelves and check out a statue of a—well, I didn’t know exactly what the heck it was—when I heard a faint scratching sound below me. I looked down but saw nothing. Then I heard a
click
. A section of the bookshelves swung open and Sebastian walked out. He closed it behind him, crossed the library, and disappeared out the heavy doors into the hallway.

Oh, crap.

I
woke up with Jack Bishop—on the phone, not in person. I grabbed my cell phone off of the nightstand on the second ring, saw Jack’s name on the screen, hit the green button, and glanced over to see that Marcie was still sleeping in the other bed, all in one quick motion.

Pretty good moves for so early in the morning.

“Just a minute,” I whispered into the phone as I rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

“Is somebody there with you?” Jack demanded.

“No,” I told him.

“I’ll be right over,” he said.

I figured Jack had some pretty good moves for so early in the morning, too, which made my belly feel all warm and gooey.

I closed the bathroom door behind me and glimpsed myself in the mirror. Yikes! I had a serious case of bed head.

Images of Jack, an early morning, and just how my hair might end up in tangles flashed in my head—which was perfectly all right since I’m on vacation. Then, just as quickly, I decided it was better to keep things professional between us.

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

“What’s so important you have to wake me up this early on my vacation?” I asked.

“Info on the stalker,” Jack said.

It took me a few seconds—okay, more than a few but, jeez, it was really early and, despite my best effort, that whole bed head thing was still rattling around in my brain—to remember that I’d asked Jack to uncover some info on the guy Jaslyn had worked with at the magazine in L.A., the one who’d stalked her and, hopefully, murdered her.

I mean that in the nicest way, of course.

“There was a guy who wanted to date Jaslyn,” Jack said. “He continued to pursue her after she left the magazine and went to work at the resort. I talked to him. He insisted there was no stalking, that he genuinely liked her.”

“Do you believe him?” I asked.

Jack gave it about two seconds, then said, “He seemed like a straight shooter to me.”

“So what happened?” I asked.

“He was, shall we say, convinced to leave her alone,” Jack said.

“Gabe Braxton?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I already knew.

“He paid a visit to the guy,” Jack said, “convinced him to back off.”

I could only imagine the tactics Gabe had used.

“That means I can mark the stalker off my list of suspects,” I said, and sighed. “The hunt goes on.”

“I’m not finished with you,” Jack said.

He used his hot, male-cologne-TV-commercial voice.

I tried to respond but couldn’t seem to form any words.

“I’m checking into something else,” Jack said.

I pulled myself together and asked, “Yeah? What?”

It came out sounding kind of squeaky.

“Jaslyn Gordon’s brother,” Jack said. “He’s in jail.”

This, I hadn’t expected, and I instantly shifted back into private-investigator-wannabe mode.

“For what?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Jack said. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“You be careful,” Jack said. “An island isn’t the best place to be when there’s a murderer on the loose.”

“I owe you,” I said.

“We’ll settle up,” Jack said, in his toe-curling voice. “I’ll see to it.”

“That’s b.s.,” Bella said. “You ask me, it’s b.s.”

All three of my BFFs stared at me and, really, I couldn’t blame them. Some of the other people in the lobby were staring too, but I think it was because of the hair-sculpted starfish atop Bella’s head rather than what I’d just said.

“I’m going to the library,” I said again. “I just want to, you know, check it out.”

Jeez, did that sound lame or what?

“I thought we could all have a spa day. Doesn’t that sound great?” Sandy said, pointing to the picture in the resort brochure. “The spa is gorgeous. Crystal chandeliers, four-foot-deep Roman tubs, hand-painted Dutch scenes with windmills.”

I guess I’d missed all of that the day I’d been in there dealing with Yasmin’s toenail polish crisis.

“You’ve got a hot date, don’t you?” Bella said. “I’ve seen you talking to good-looking men since we got here, men you already know. I remember seeing them in the store. What are they doing here? Are you having them flown in?”

Yeah, okay, I could have come up with a better excuse to go check out the library—other than using the actual see-the-library reason—but I’m on vacation, plus I haven’t had a mocha Frappuccino or anything else chocolate in ages, so perhaps my I-always-think-of-fantastic-excuses superpower was a little off.

But, one way or the other, I was definitely going to the library to investigate just how the heck Sebastian had walked out of a secret panel in the bookcase last night. After he left, I’d scurried down the ladder for a closer look, but two old geezers with stacks of we’ll-need-hours-to-read-these newspapers came in, so I left. I hadn’t had time to hunt around for the hidden latch that opened the door, but at least now I had a good idea about how Sebastian had disappeared so quickly when I’d followed him into the lounge.

The only thing that made sense to me was that Sebastian was actually part of the resort’s undercover security team. How else could he know about secret passages and hidden doors? It would also explain why I hadn’t discovered any info about his supposed consulting firm, or his maybe-they’re-rich family in Connecticut on the Internet.

Of course, if Sebastian was working undercover, he wasn’t acting all that covert. I’d seen him wearing an official Rowan Resort polo shirt, plus he was dating a guest, dancing at the bar—he’d even showed up at Sandy’s art lesson with Colby.

Sebastian was either the worst undercover security guy in history or something else was going on. Either way, I intended to find out what it was, and the best place I knew to start with was the library.

“The spa sounds great,” Marcie said.

“Oh, wait. I have a better idea,” Sandy said. “Why don’t we have an art lesson? Sometimes Colby takes her classes to the beach, or up to the cliffs, or someplace with a fantastic view to paint. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Bella leaned toward the hotel grounds. “I’m pretty sure I hear the hammock terrace calling my name.”

“The spa sounds good to me,” Marcie said. “I’m could definitely use a massage.”

“Yeah, that does sound good,” Sandy said, and pulled out the resort brochure. “All their massages have ultra hydrating, rich, warm coconut milk to bring balance to the body, and exotic oils for a sense of calm.”

“See you later,” Marcie called as they walked away.

“The library?” Bella gave me the kind of stink-eye only a BFF can pull off. “I still say it’s b.s.”

“Yeah, it is, kind of,” I admitted.

She nodded and said, “Whoever you’re meeting, find out if he’s got a brother.”

“I will,” I promised.

I trekked through the hotel, down the hallway, and went into the library. The place was like a tomb, silent and dimly lit, with three old gray-haired guys seated in chairs who looked like they were mummified. Since it looked as if they would topple over at any moment, I figured I could still search for the secret door that Sebastian had walked out of last night.

Then something else hit me as I stood in front of the bookcases.

I thought back to the history of the Rowan mansion-turned-hotel that our hostess Millicent had shared with us upon our arrival at the welcome center on the mainland a few days ago. I couldn’t remember much—honestly, I’ve got to do better about drifting off—but I did recall that Sidney Rowan had been a big deal back in the day. I figured that somebody, somewhere, must have included his island mansion—complete with info about its secret passageways—in a book, and surely that book was here in the library.

I leaned back and studied the shelves of books climbing nearly to the ceiling. Yeah, okay, this might take a while.

“Hello, Haley.”

A mellow male voice whispered in my ear, and a warm body eased up behind me. I knew by the way my knees immediately started to tremble that it was Luke Warner.

He moved alongside me and smiled.

Luke has a killer smile.

“What are you doing in here?” he whispered.

Luke also had a super sexy voice.

Not super sexy enough, however, that I’d tell him why I was here or what I was looking for.

I gestured to the books on the shelf in front of me and said, “Just looking for something to read.”

Luke eyed the books. “Shakespeare, huh? The entire ten-volume collection? Ambitious.”

Okay, obviously he knew I was lying, which really didn’t suit me, so what could I do but tell another lie to cover for the first one?

Really, anyone in my position would have done the same thing.

“Shakespeare sounds good,” I said, nodding as if I was actually thinking it over.

“Maybe something lighter?” Luke suggested.

I had absolutely no idea what kind of book anyone would want to read, so I mustered my I’m-thinking-it-over expression. I’ve found that if I hold this look long enough, the other person will eventually say something.

Luke said nothing.

Crap.

“Sure,” I said. “Something lighter.”

“A biography?” Luke asked.

What the heck is he even doing in the library?

“History?” he asked.

And why won’t he leave?

“Self-help?” Luke asked.

Obviously, I was going to have to tell him something to get him out of here. Then it hit me—I could tell him the truth, part of it anyway.

“Architecture,” I said. “I’d like to read up on the history of the hotel and learn more about its design and construction.”

“There’s bound to be a book here,” Luke said. “I’ll find it.”

He took off like a bloodhound on a fresh scent—men are, essentially, hunters—then homed in on an old-school card catalogue situated in the corner. Luke opened a drawer, fingered the cards, then blasted to a shelf nearby as if he’d been shot out of a cannon.

It was kind of hot.

He selected a big, coffee-table-sized book from a high shelf, then presented it to me as if he’d just brought down a T-Rex.

That was kind of hot, too.

“This should give you all the information you need,” he said. “But check it out, just to be sure.”

Since Luke gave no indication of leaving, I carried the book to a love seat and sat down. He sat next to me and leaned close as I flipped through the pages.

It was mostly black-and-white photos on glossy paper showing lots of huge mansions, some under construction, with brief descriptions of their location, as well as the names of the owners and architect. Most of the houses were in Los Angeles’s older areas of West Adams District, Bunker Hill, and Hancock Park.

“Nice places,” Luke said softly. “Too bad most of them are gone now.”

“I guess you had to be rich to build one of these houses,” I said.

“Rich and worried,” Luke said. “There was—and still is—a concern among the wealthy that they’d be robbed.”

Ben Oliver and his claim that he was following a tip about some sort of theft involving celebrities flashed in my mind.

“Or worse,” Luke said.

“Worse than being robbed?” I asked.

“Kidnappings,” Luke said, and tapped his finger against a photo of a huge house in the West Adams District that kind of looked like one of the plantation homes in
Gone With the Wind
. “After the Lindbergh baby was kidnapped in the early thirties, well-to-do families started building safe rooms in their houses where they could hide, if necessary.”

I glanced at the spot on the bookcase that Sebastian had walked out of last night.

“You mean with secret passageways and hidden doors?” I asked.

“Sure,” Luke said.

I didn’t want to dwell on the whole secret-and-hidden thing because I didn’t want Luke to get suspicious. He was an FBI agent, after all. He got suspicious for a living.

So what could I do but turn the conversation to yet another topic that would benefit me?

“Have you heard anything new about Jaslyn Gordon’s murder?” I asked, flipping pages oh-so casually.

Luke stilled. “No.”

Okay, now I was suspicious. Something about Luke’s body language and tone made me think he wasn’t being truthful.

Not a good feeling—especially after all the other times he’d lied to me.

I decided to push further.

“Any news about problems connected to the resort?” I asked.

“Nope,” Luke said, and leaned away from me, checking his watch. “I’ve got a golf game. See you later, Haley.”

He left the library and I sat on the love seat, thinking.

Luke had definitely cut and run when I’d mentioned Jaslyn’s murder and asked about any other situations concerning the Rowan resort. Either he didn’t want to talk about criminal activity while on vacation or maybe he knew something and wasn’t telling me.

But what was it?

All kinds of things sprang into my head—Jaslyn’s murder; her brother in jail; Colby, who’d been in jail, Gabe Braxton, who probably
should
be in jail; dusty books in the library that jeopardized Avery’s job; the A-list celebrities targeted by thieves who Ben was pursuing.

Was there some giant conspiracy going on at the Rowan Resort?

I needed more info, and I knew who I could get it from.