Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery)

by Dorothy Howell

  “Tabitha?” I said as I walked in.

  She squealed, spun around, clutching the sheet in front of her. Wow, was she skittish or what?

  “Oh, Miss Randolph, it’s you.” She heaved a heavy, relieved sigh and plopped down on the bed.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  I don’t think my apology helped. Her hands trembled. She gulped big breaths. Her face went white, and it looked like she might pass out.

  Jeez, I really hope she doesn’t faint. I’m not great in a medical emergency.

  I eased closer and sat down on the edge of the bed opposite her. This sent her into a worse panic.

  “You’re not supposed to be in here,” she whispered, twisting the sheet in her fingers. “Nobody is supposed to come into the rooms when we’re cleaning. I told you that before. You’re going to get me into serious trouble.”

  “I just need to ask you something,” I said.

  Tabitha drew the sheet up and held it against her chest like a shield.

  “I don’t want to answer any more questions,” she said.

  Like any good investigator, I ignored her remark.

  “Why did Jaslyn keep going to the library?” I asked.

  “I already told you everything I know,” Tabitha said.

  “Are you certain?” I asked.

  “Of course I’m certain,” she told me.

  I didn’t want to come out and ask her if Jaslyn had confided in her that she’d discovered the hidden door in the library bookcase, just in case Jaslyn hadn’t told her. I’d promised Sebastian I wouldn’t divulge his secret, and I intended to keep my word—unless I found some solid evidence that he’d murdered Jaslyn, of course.

  Tabitha glanced at the doorway and, for a few seconds, I thought she might make a break for it. I tried a new approach.

  “Did Jaslyn talk to Walt Pemberton?” I asked.

  She looked totally lost now, and asked, “Who’s he?”

  Huh. Not exactly the key piece of incriminating evidence I’d hoped for.

  I pushed on.

  “You told me Jaslyn said she was going to talk to upper management about something,” I said. “Do you know who she intended to speak with?”

  “She didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask,” Tabitha said. “The only person she ever talked to was Colby Rowan. They talked about art and stuff.”

  “What stuff?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Jaslyn didn’t tell me everything,” Tabitha insisted.

  “She must have told you something more,” I said.

  Tabitha rubbed her temples and stared at the floor. She looked like she might crack at any second.

  No way would she make a good spy.

  “She—she told me that Colby had showed her some books about art in her bungalow one day,” Tabitha said. “She told me Colby promised to introduce her to some of her art friends at the galleries in New York. She told me she’d miss their talks after Colby left because nobody else on the island understood art like she did. She said that—”

  “Hang on a second,” I said. “Colby was leaving?”

  Tabitha nodded. “Yes. In a few weeks.”

  “Where was she going?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” she told me. “But Jaslyn didn’t think she was coming back. Ever.”

  This whole in-a-few-weeks thing rang a bell. Joy had mentioned she was coordinating a huge event scheduled to take place in a few weeks. Sebastian had claimed that his supersecret-highly-confidential-you-can’t-make-me-tell job was ending in a few weeks. And Colby was planning to leave the island in a few weeks?

  “Do you—do you think that has anything to do with Jaslyn’s murder?” Tabitha asked in a faint whisper, as if she were afraid to ask the question—or maybe more afraid of what the answer might be.

  “I don’t know,” I said because, really, I didn’t.

  Tabitha’s eyes grew round and her breathing became labored.

  “Don’t tell anybody that I talked to you,” she said, latching onto my arm. “Please. Please, don’t tell anybody what I said. I don’t want to get into trouble. I don’t want anything else bad to happen.”

  “It’s okay. Really, it’s okay,” I said.

  I tried for my you-can-trust-me smile, but I couldn’t quite pull it off.

  I always have trouble pulling that one off.

  “I won’t bother you with this again,” I said.

  “That’s what you told me the last time,” Tabitha said.

  “This time, I swear.”

  “You swore last time, too.”

  Crap.

  “Okay, well, this time I’m triple-swearing,” I said.

  I guess that sunk in, because she let go of my arm. I figured it was a good time to leave before Tabitha found a personal injury lawyer and sued me for willful infliction of emotional distress or something.

  I left the room, squeezed around the housekeeping cart parked outside, and—oh, crap—spotted Avery three doors down. She saw me, too, and knew I’d come out of a room that wasn’t mine. Her spine stiffened and her jaw tightened in that universal oh-my-God-what-did-I-just-witness stunned expression that, believe it or not, I’ve had directed at me many times.

  So what could I do but go on the offensive?

  “There you are, Avery,” I said in my mom’s I’m-better-than-you voice, as I walked toward her. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  It was a total lie, of course, but that’s what being on the offensive was all about, right? And, I hoped, it would keep Tabitha out of trouble.

  “Just an hour ago I saw another woman with a Sea Vixen beach tote,” I said, as if I’d just witnessed an invasion of California by the North Koreans. “Where is my bag? I was assured I would get one from the next shipment. What is going on?”

  Avery immediately shifted into total back-down mode.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, and reached for her cell phone. “But I’ll find out. I’ll call Patricia right now.”

  “I would like us to go see her in person,” I told her.

  Really, I didn’t want to go to the shop in person, since the whole thing was a big, fat lie. But I figured that if I got Avery away from here, it would keep Tabitha from getting an earful about unauthorized guests in the rooms.

  It was the best I could do, at the moment.

  “Yes. Of course. Whatever you want,” Avery said.

  We walked through the corridor together and down the stairs. When we got to the lobby, I stopped.

  “This is too upsetting,” I announced, touching the tip of my little finger to the corner of my eye.

  I detected a slight this-is-really-convenient eyebrow bob from Avery, but I pushed on.

  “You go talk to Patricia and call me when you know something,” I said.

  Avery wouldn’t dare refuse. She nodded and continued across the lobby. I ducked out the front entrance.

  I did a quick mental calculation and decided that if I went back to Yasmin’s bachelorette party now, it would almost be over. Perfect timing.

  As I passed the fountain with the water shooting out of the sea horse’s nose, I heard someone call my name. I stopped, then realized—oh my God, I’d actually stopped. What had happened to my Holt’s avoid-the-customer-at-all-cost training I’d engrained in myself since starting work there?

  This was not all right—even though I’m on vacation.

  “Haley, look at this.”

  Ben bounded up beside me, his laptop tucked under his arm.

  He looked more ragged than the last time I’d seen him. Sleeping wherever, eating whatever, and wearing the same clothes had taken its toll.

  “You’ve got to give those khakis and that polo a rest,” I told him, and even managed to say it nicely.

  “You have to see this,” he said, pulling me toward a nearby bench.

  “Do you need something to eat?” I asked, sitting down.

  “It’s happening,” Ben said, and dropped onto the bench. “Just like I thought.”

>   He opened his laptop and started pecking at the keys.

  “I’m taking you shopping,” I told him.

  He ignored me.

  “Let’s go get you some food,” I said.

  “Here.” Ben pointed at the screen. “Look. Look at this. It’s just like I told you.”

  Both hands clinched into fists, he looked at his laptop with such intensity it startled me.

  “See?” he said. “That’s the Web site I told you about.”

  I looked at the screen and saw “Celebrity Panty Raid” across the top of the page in black, lacy letters.

  “Check this out.” Ben clicked on a red thong icon, then typed into a search box.

  I leaned closer and saw that panties were up for auction.

  “This is the big item I told you about. They’ve been teasing it for a couple of days,” Ben said. “It proves this site is tied to the Rowan Resort.”

  I looked again but didn’t see anything spectacular, just a pair of purple panties trimmed with zebra print and some kind of weird-looking appliqué on the front.

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “These are Beyoncé’s panties,” Ben said.

  Okay, so here I was sitting on a bench at an exclusive resort, on my vacation, with a reporter, looking at a photo of Beyoncé’s panties.

  What has my life become?

  “These panties are going to make everything in my life good again,” Ben declared.

  “Is your blood sugar low?” I asked.

  “This proves what I’ve been saying,” Ben said.

  “Are you on some medication that you, maybe, skipped for the last few days?” I asked.

  “The tip I got was right,” Ben said. “Finally, I can break a story that will get me noticed.”

  “I don’t think you’re properly hydrated,” I said.

  “Look at these panties,” he insisted, pointing at the screen. “Beyoncé’s panties. They’re all the proof I need to show that the Rowan Resort is connected to Celebrity Panty Raid.”

  “This is a pair of panties, Ben,” I said. “They don’t prove anything.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” he said, and started hitting the keyboard again. “Look at this.”

  The screen changed, and I saw a photo of the ocean and a sandy beach. People were in the water, playing in the sand, and lying on chaises. A thatched-roofed bar was nearby.

  “That’s here,” I realized.

  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.

  CHAPTER 23

  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.