Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery) (21 page)

I got a weird feeling.

“Yeah,” Ben said, and pointed. “And look who’s sitting right there in the lounge chair. It’s Beyoncé.”

My weird feeling got weirder.

“This photo was taken just a few days ago, on the same day Celebrity Panty Raid started teasing a big item,” Ben said. “It was taken by a couple of girls who spotted Beyoncé on the beach. She gave them an autograph and they took her picture. The girls posted the whole story online.”

My weird feeling got really weird.

“Look. Right here on the beach at the Rowan Resort,” Ben said. “It’s Beyoncé.”

Oh my God.

It wasn’t Beyoncé.

“And those are her panties up for auction,” Ben said.

Those weren’t Beyoncé’s panties.

The girl in the photo was Bella, and the panties up for auction were Bella’s lucky panties, stolen out of her room.

Oh, crap.

“I don’t know what’s going on with her hair, though,” Ben said, pointing to the dolphin sculpted atop her head.

It took everything I had not to blast off of the bench and hunt down Sebastian.

He must have been surfing the social sites on celebrity watch and found the post highlighting the supposed photo of Beyoncé and the story that she was vacationing at the Rowan Resort. Whether he knew the picture was of Bella and not Beyoncé—or if he even cared—it wouldn’t have mattered after Beyoncé’s fans saw it, because everyone would believe the story was true. So he used the secret passageways to sneak into Bella’s room, steal her panties, and put them up for auction.

Ben nudged me with his elbow.

“Look at the bids,” he said. “They’re over ten grand now.”

“Ten thousand dollars? For
panties?
” I might have said that kind of loud.

“Beyoncé is super hot,” Ben said.

“Yeah, but panties?” I’m sure I shouted that.

“Fans will pay big bucks for anything connected to her. But intimate apparel like her panties? There’s no telling how high the bids will go.”

This had to be the item Sebastian had told me about, the one he was certain would bring in a small fortune, the last one he’d need to pay his college expenses before he left the resort for good.

Ben went on talking, but I wasn’t listening.

I wanted to find Sebastian, give him an earful for invading the privacy of my friend’s room and stealing her treasured panties, then rat him out to Walt Pemberton and resort security.

I’d agreed to keep my mouth shut when Sebastian told me about his scheme—but this was different. Now my friend was involved.

Another troubling idea zapped my brain, derailing my I’ll-get-you train of thought.

If I told Pemberton and betrayed Sebastian, it would totally ruin his budding relationship with Sandy and probably land him in legal trouble. I might even wind up in trouble also, for not reporting the thefts when Sebastian confessed them to me. Walt might think I was involved, and I wasn’t anxious to be targeted by him.

I was tempted to take my chances with Walt Pemberton, though, but what would that do to Ben?

His career-making, I’ll-be-a-respected-journalist, everyone-will-know-my-name news story was wrong—all wrong. Somebody somewhere would report that Beyoncé wasn’t at the Rowan Resort at the time the photo was taken—maybe even Beyoncé herself.

If I said nothing and let him break this story, he’d end up the laughingstock of the news media. He’d be fodder for late-night comedians—forever. His life would be ruined—again—because of me.

No way could I let that happen to Ben.

And no way did I want to end up in the middle of another situation with resort security.

“I’ll have this story ready to go by tonight,” Ben said, typing furiously, “and tomorrow I’ll—”

“Wait. No, wait,” I said, and covered his hands with mine.

“I’m not waiting,” Ben said, and pulled away from me.

“You really need to wait,” I said.

Ben shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened.

“You know something,” he said, breathing hard. “You’ve done something. You’re going to ruin my story, aren’t you.”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” I said.

It was a complete lie, of course, but what else could I say? I knew I couldn’t possibly convince him to abandon the story, but I had to get him to delay it.

“What you have here is gossip,” I said, gesturing to his laptop. “I mean, I’m no journalist, but don’t you need facts? Interviews with a spokesperson from the resort? Maybe a comment from Beyoncé’s rep? Some investigation into who, exactly, is behind Celebrity Panty Raid? More info so you can present a balanced story?”

Ben’s shoulders sagged and he seemed to deflate.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just ...”

“You’re exhausted. You’re not thinking clearly,” I said.

He heaved a heavy sigh. “Maybe you’re right.”

I pulled my resort card from my pocket and said, “Go up to my room. It’s two-twelve. Order something to eat from room service. I’m sure things will look different after you get some rest.”

Ben looked at my card.

“It’s the only way you can get a real meal at this place,” I said. I was sure he’d been pilfering chips and crackers, and whatever else he could slip away with, from the snack bars.

“Thanks, Haley,” he whispered, and took my card.

He tucked his laptop under his arm and walked away.

I had to hand it to Ben, he’d definitely figured out that Rowan Resort was involved with the Celebrity Panty Raid Web site, but he’d done it with a connection that would be easily—and vehemently—denied, tanking his story, his reputation, and his career.

I couldn’t bring myself to crush his future by telling him that it was actually Bella in the photo, not Beyoncé. I’d do it, though, as soon as I could figure how.

I slumped back on the bench, exhausted.

I need a vacation from my vacation.

I
cut through the hotel headed for the summer house and the very few minutes, I hoped, that remained of Yasmin’s bachelorette party. I spotted Avery headed my way, cell phone in hand.

“I was just about to call you,” she said, stopping in front of me. “Patricia assures me the resort has received no new shipment.”

It took me a minute to realize she was reporting back on the wild-goose chase I’d sent her on to inquire about my Sea Vixen beach tote.

“That’s a relief,” I said.

It wasn’t, of course, but what else could I say?

It seemed like a good time to change the subject.

“My resort card is missing,” I said. “I’ll need another one, please.”

Avery gave a little not-another-problem shudder and started texting on her cell phone.

“It will be ready in just a moment,” she said. “Shall I have it delivered to you?”

She sounded kind of anxious to get rid of me—not that I blamed her, of course.

“I don’t mind waiting,” I said.

I’m not big on waiting, but I figured this was a good chance to try to get some info on the big event coming up in a few weeks, which several people had mentioned. Even if it turned out to be completely unrelated to Jaslyn’s murder, or anything, it might be some good gossip I could pass on to my BFFs.

That’s what BFFs
do
.

“Everyone on staff must be gearing up for the big event in a few weeks,” I said, in my oh-so casual voice.

I saw a quick oh-crap expression on Avery’s face, but her I’m-great-at-dealing-with-difficult-guests training must have kicked in, because she pushed past it.

“All of our events are big,” she said, a standard reply composed by the resort’s publicity staff, no doubt.

“Not as big as this one, from what I hear,” I said.

I’d totally embellished what I’d heard, of course, but how else was I going to get any info from her? Really, I owed it to my BFFs to get as much gossip as possible, and if I learned something that might help me solve Jaslyn’s murder, all the better.

“There are always rumors,” Avery said, stiffening her spine. “In fact—oh, look, here’s your resort pass.”

The door to the security office opened and Walt Pemberton walked out.

Oh, crap.

“Hello, Miss Randolph,” he said. “Enjoying your stay?”

He said it nicely enough, but he was definitely mad-dogging me, like he knew I was up to something, or withholding information—which I was, of course, but still.

“Yes, I am,” I said, “despite all the problems I’ve had.”

I didn’t think it would hurt to put him on the defensive.

He didn’t get defensive. Actually, he looked kind of smug. Like he knew I’d been lying about things.

I hate it when that happens.

“If anything else comes up, please let me know immediately,” he said, and handed me my resort pass.

“I’ll do that,” I told him.

I headed out of the hotel into the gardens. I didn’t look back, but I knew Walt Pemberton was still watching me.

I knew, too, that Avery had lied about not knowing what the resort’s upcoming big event was all about.

I strolled through the gardens—okay, I could have walked faster but I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to get back to Yasmin’s I-love-me bachelorette party—thinking about Jaslyn. I still hadn’t come up with a reason for her to have been murdered. I’d found absolutely no motive. Everyone I’d spoken with had said she was a really nice person, a bright, intelligent college student obsessed with art who, aside from a run-in with Avery over visiting the library, hadn’t caused anybody any trouble.

Jeez,
somebody
had to dislike her. Supernice people didn’t get murdered for no reason.

Maybe I needed to talk to more people.

Colby popped into my head.

Tabitha had told me that Jaslyn was upset about Colby leaving the resort in a few weeks. I figured that was because Jaslyn would miss their conversations about art—which sounded kind of dull to me—but maybe something more was going on.

I wondered, also, where Colby was headed off to. She’d been a bit secretive about the whole thing, from what I’d gathered. Was she just trying to avoid publicity?

Possibly, I decided. After all, she was a convicted felon who’s served time in prison. Maybe she didn’t want her new neighbors, whomever they were, to learn that she was moving in and somehow block her attempt to join their community, a story that would surely find its way to the tabloids, bloggers, celebrity Web sites, and magazines.

Honestly, I couldn’t really blame the new neighbors for not wanting Colby to live among them. The one time we’d met, I hadn’t really liked her. Plus, she’d lied about being at the dock and about owning a Sea Vixen beach tote. Why would she do that?

My thoughts rushed ahead.

Obviously, Colby had attempted to cover up her visit to the dock, and by claiming she didn’t own a Sea Vixen tote she could also deny passing a package along to the guy she’d met at the boat. It made me wonder if Colby was part of Sebastian’s auction site. After all, Colby had lived in the mansion as a child, so she surely knew about the hidden passageways and secret entrances into the rooms.

I stewed on that for a couple of minutes, then decided that, honestly, I couldn’t see Colby involving herself with a panty auction site. She wouldn’t want the publicity if the scheme were exposed, plus she didn’t need the money—she was Sidney Rowan’s heir. She lived on an exclusive resort in a luxury private bungalow, where she could watch over the art collection and paint to her heart’s content.

Good grief. I was getting nowhere, I realized.

I definitely needed a brain boost. The dessert at Yasmin’s party loomed large in my head. I started walking faster.

The very thought of chocolate seemed to give my brain a jolt. I pulled out my cell phone and called Shuman.

“Have you had any luck finding Colby’s old accomplice?” I asked when he answered.

“Maybe,” Shuman said. “I got a lead on a man seen hanging around the resort’s supply boat in Long Beach a few days ago.”

Oh, crap. That must have been Ben they saw before he managed to slip aboard the boat bound for the island.

“Was it Colby’s accomplice?” I asked.

Really, what else could I say?

“We’re working the lead,” Shuman said.

I decided this was an excellent time to bring the conversation back to a subject that would benefit
me
.

“Have you turned up anything concerning artwork?” I asked.

“Stolen artwork?” Shuman asked.

He sounded surprised and I couldn’t blame him, since that question had come out of nowhere.

“Jaslyn and Colby both loved art,” I said, “so I thought maybe there was some sort of connection.”

“Still trying to solve that murder you’re not supposed to be involved with?” Shuman asked.

He used his cop voice—which was kind of hot—but no way was I backing off.

Really, Shuman had known me for a long time. You’d think he’d know better than to ask.

“Of course,” I said. “So have you heard anything about artwork?”

Shuman was quiet for a few seconds. I pictured him frowning his cop frown, running the whole scenario through his cop brain, shifting his weight, breathing a little heavier.

Always hot.

“I haven’t heard anything, but LAPD wouldn’t handle it,” Shuman said. “The Feds would.”

“The FBI?” I asked.

“The FBI has a rapid deployment Art Crime team that investigates the illicit trade in art and cultural artifacts,” Shuman said.

Luke Warner flashed in my head.

I forced his image away.

“Look,” I said, “if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Stay out of it, Haley,” he said.

“I can’t do that,” I said.

“I know,” Shuman said. “But it makes me feel better to say it.”

His tone lightened, and I imagined him with a little grin on his face. It made me grin, too.

“Call me if you run into trouble,” Shuman said.

“I will,” I promised, and we hung up.

By the time I reached the summer house, the party was breaking up. Everyone was out of their chairs, clustered in small groups, chatting and laughing. Marcie, Bella, and Sandy had melted into one of the gatherings and seemed to be having a good time.

I made a dash for the dessert table.

Jack Bishop stepped in front of me, cutting me off.

“I need you,” he said.

Dessert or Jack?

I looked back and forth between the yummy confections and Jack—a yummy confection in a whole different way.

Jeez, why are there so many difficult choices in life?

“We’re headed to a photo shoot,” Jack said.

I noticed then that a photography crew waited nearby. A guy was snapping pictures of Yasmin and some of her guests.

“A magazine is doing a story about engaged couples, traditional weddings, that sort of thing,” Jack said.

Leave it to Yasmin to get her face and her kill-me-now wedding plastered all over a magazine.

“The Heart of Amour is in the shoot?” I asked.

Jack nodded. “Something about the pendant predicting who the next bride will be?”

“So I heard,” I said. “Seems that whoever catches the bouquet with the pendant attached will be the next to get married. Supposedly, it’s worked in the last four weddings.”

“I need you to come to the shoot with me,” Jack said.

I pinched my lips together to hold in a squeal.

Jack wanted me to work with him? Wow, this was way cool. Finally, something great would come out of Yasmin’s wedding ordeal.

“Sure,” I said, and managed to sound calm and composed—at least, that’s how I hope I sounded. “What can I do?”

“You know Yasmin’s friends,” Jack said. “I need you to keep an eye on everyone at the shoot and let me know if someone shows up who shouldn’t be there.”

“You’re thinking somebody might attempt to steal the Heart of Amour pendant?” I asked.

“Resort security was alerted to an incident at the Long Beach harbor,” Jack said. “There’s a possibility a man sneaked onto the island and is at large at the resort.”

Oh, crap.

That had to be Ben Oliver.

“Do you think they’ll find him?” I asked.

Jeez, I really hope they won’t find him—considering that he’s upstairs in my room right now.

Jack shook his head. “Resort security personnel aren’t going to challenge their guests and ask for identification. If he makes a mistake, they’ll catch him.”

“Seems doubtful somebody would sneak onto the resort to steal the Heart of Amour,” I said.

“I’m not taking any chances,” Jack said. “You never know in this sort of situation. He could be a criminal, or just some nut case.”

It hit me then that, really, I didn’t know Ben all that well.

Jeez, I hope he’s not in my room trying on my bras or something.

“Will you come to the shoot with me and keep an eye out for strangers?”

Wow, I was working a covert op with Jack. Cool.

“Sure,” I said.

Joy squeezed between us.

“We have a problem,” she said.

We?
I don’t think so.

“Yasmin has changed her mind about the location of the photo shoot,” Joy said.

This hardly seemed like a problem to me.

“So we’ll move it,” I said.

“She found a new location a few days ago that she liked,” Joy said.

Somehow, I knew it couldn’t be that simple.

“But now she can’t remember where it was,” Joy said.

Visions of search parties combing the island and helicopters flying a grid pattern over the resort flashed in my head.

There had to be an easier way, and I thought I knew what it was.

I hurried over to where my friends were chatting with some of the other party guests.

“Do you have your resort brochure?” I asked Sandy.

I figured she did, since she’d been our unofficial tour guide since we arrived and hadn’t been without it.

“Sure,” she said, and pulled it from her pocket.

It was wrinkled, folded, and dog-eared, but it would do. I took it with me to the spot where Yasmin was huddled with the photographer.

“Haley, I’m so glad you’re here,” Yasmin wailed when I walked up. “You won’t believe where they want to photograph me. At the beach, Haley, the beach.”

I just looked at her.

“The beach is so
this morning
,” Yasmin declared, with a truly unattractive pout. “What is Tate going to think? What is Tate’s family going to think? How can I have Tate pose for photos at the beach? He won’t like this. The beach? I mean, seriously, the
beach?
”

“You found another place you liked, right?” I asked, trying to move things along.

“I can’t remember what it’s called!” Yasmin sniffed hard and big tears pooled in her eyes. “How does anyone expect me to remember the name of every place on this island? I can’t. I can’t do it!”

I opened the resort brochure.

“Was it the sun porch? The morning room? The trophy room?” I asked, reading from the list of the property’s amenities.

“No, none of that sounds right,” Yasmin said.

“The organ chamber? The billiard room? The card room?” I asked. “How about the tap room?”

The tap room sounded great to me—it would certainly help everyone get through the shoot easier.

“No,” Yasmin said, shaking her head.

I went back to the brochure. “The rotunda entrance hall? The stair hall? The great banquet hall—”

“That’s it,” Yasmin said, and gasped. “The one with the stairs. That’s it. That’s the one.”

“The stair hall with the flying circular stairway?” I asked, showing her the picture.

“Yes, yes, that’s it,” Yasmin said. “The stair hall will be perfect. I’ll look fabulous in the photos, don’t you think?”

I had no idea what the stair hall was, so what could I say but, “Sure.”

“Tate is going to be so happy.” Yasmin clapped her hands. “Oh, Haley. Thank you. You’ve saved the day for me again—and I won’t forget everything you’ve done.”

“No, really, it’s fine. Forget me,” I said.
“Please.”

She didn’t hear me.

While Yasmin, Joy, Jack, and the photographer discussed the new shooting location, I took the resort brochure back to Sandy. She was still talking with Marcie, Bella, and some of the other party guests.