Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery) Read online

  He was probably one of the college students who worked here. Early twenties, brown hair, maybe an inch or two taller than me. He didn’t look as if he spent much time in the gym, but he was kind of cute.

  “Who’s he?” Bella asked.

  “That’s Sebastian Lane,” Marcie said. “We met him on the beach. He’s the one who was trying to talk to Sandy.”

  “I have a boyfriend,” she pointed out. “Besides, this is our no-men vacation. Aren’t we going to honor our pact?”

  “Won’t be a problem for me,” Bella said, “since I’ve got no lucky panties now.”

  “What does he do here?” I asked.

  Sandy frowned, as if she were trying to recall. She shook her head and said, “I don’t know.”

  That was weird. Men were always yammering on about their job.

  I looked at Marcie, sure she’d have asked him at the beach and remembered what he’d said, but she shook her head.

  “He didn’t say,” she realized.

  Just as the line reached the salad station, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out.

  Shuman was calling.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Hey, how’s it going?”

  I answered my phone using my everything-is-strained-between-us-but-I’m-pretending-it’s-not voice.

  “Good. Everything’s good,” Shuman replied, using the same voice.

  I’d left the buffet line and found a quiet spot away from the dining area to take the call, not knowing exactly what to expect from Shuman. Now I knew, and it wasn’t great.

  A minute dragged by with neither of us saying anything because we both knew what we were doing.

  Finally, Shuman said, “So, what’s up?”

  I was relieved to have something concrete to talk to him about—even if it was Jaslyn’s murder.

  I mean that in the nicest way, of course.

  “I was wondering if Madison had accused me of murdering somebody lately,” I said.

  Shuman chuckled. It was good to hear him laugh.

  “You can’t stay out of trouble, can you?” he asked.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I told him.

  “Then why would Madison accuse you of murder?” he asked.

  “He was provoked, I guess,” I said, and gave him a quick rundown on my vacation at the Rowan Resort, Jaslyn Gordon’s murder, and how I’d found her body and then been questioned by two homicide detectives and Walt Pemberton.

  “So Pemberton phoned Madison to get some sort of personal reference, I guess,” I said.

  “How did he know about your history with Madison?” Shuman asked.

  “Good question,” I said. “All I can figure is that this resort is wired-in big-time. Everybody here knows everything about the guests.”

  “The resort probably does routine background checks, since there are so many high-profile guests staying there,” Shuman said.

  I could tell he was in cop mode now. It was kind of hot.

  “That’s creepy,” I said.

  “Better than booking a room for a celebrity stalker,” he said.

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  “Okay, here’s the weird part,” I said. “All Pemberton asked me about was stolen panties.”

  Shuman was quiet for a moment, then said, “Were they your panties?”

  A warm rush went through me, which I ignored.

  “No,” I said, and figured it was better not to get into too much detail.

  Shuman didn’t say anything and, honestly, I couldn’t blame him.

  “I’m not following you,” he finally said.

  “I don’t get it either,” I told him. “Why would Pemberton ask me about stolen panties when he has a murder to solve?”

  “Maybe it was his way of bringing you in, getting a read on you without accusing you of anything,” Shuman said. “Maybe he was using the panty theft as cover.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed.

  Shuman was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “I’m surprised the head of security would involve himself with a theft of this nature.”

  “Well, they were lucky panties,” I told him.

  Shuman got quiet, but I was pretty sure I heard him breathing heavier.

  I decided it was a good time to move our conversation along.

  “They take this sort of thing seriously here,” I said.

  “Yes, but they’d try to keep it quiet,” Shuman said, shifting into cop mode again. “It’s not the kind of thing they’d want the other guests to know about, and bringing you in to ask about it would only create an opportunity for word to spread.”

  “Makes sense,” I said.

  “Something else might be happening,” he said. “Who knew you’d found the body and also knew about the stolen panties?”

  Huh. Good question. Besides Bella, Sandy, Marcie, and me, I could think of only one person.

  “Our hostess, Avery,” I said.

  Of course, everyone up the management chain probably knew I’d discovered Jaslyn’s body. Avery could have told her supervisor that the theft of Bella’s panties was connected to me too, but I kind of doubted it. She probably wouldn’t have wanted to admit that the same guest—me—whose satisfaction she was responsible for had encountered yet another problem at the resort.

  I’m pretty sure they note stuff like that in the staff members’ personnel files.

  “Avery told Pemberton about the theft,” Shuman concluded. “Why?”

  “I think she was worried that I was an unhappy guest, after finding a dead body, plus having my friend’s panties stolen out of her room,” I said. “It was her way of dealing with the problem without getting herself into trouble by reporting it to her direct supervisor.”

  That’s what I would have done.

  “Maybe,” Shuman said. “Or maybe the panty theft was her way of getting you in front of the head of security.”

  I gasped. “You think she might have thrown me in front of him on purpose?”

  “Possibly, if she wanted to make sure Pemberton considered you a murder suspect,” he said. “I can think of only one reason she’d want to do that.”

  I could think of only one reason too—that Avery was involved in Jaslyn’s death.

  I remembered then that Avery had told me Jaslyn had been on her team, cleaning the rooms of guests assigned to Avery. That meant they’d known each other and had worked together. Definitely something I needed to check into.

  “Madison hasn’t mentioned you,” Shuman said, “but I’ll try to get some info.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  A few awkward seconds dragged by. I felt I should say something more personal to Shuman, and I got the idea he felt the same, but neither of us seemed to know exactly what that would be.

  “I’ll call if I learn something,” Shuman said.

  “Great,” I said, and we hung up.

  “This place is so cool,” Sandy said.

  The four of us were sitting at a table near the bar on the beach. We’d stuffed ourselves at dinner but, of course, that was no reason not to have drinks and snacks afterward. Tiki torches and twinkle lights illuminated the darkness. A dozen people were on the dance floor swaying to the rhythm of the reggae band. A resort hostess had organized a limbo game in the sand nearby.

  Sandy sprang up in her chair. “Oh my God, there’s Vin Diesel.”

  We all whipped around, craning our necks to see through the crowd, in time to see what could—or could not—have been Vin Diesel disappear behind a stand of palm trees.

  “Wow, that was so cool,” Sandy said.

  We all nodded and sank into our chairs again.

  “I can’t believe Holt’s would give you something as fabulous as this resort vacation for a contest prize,” Sandy said.

  “I was surprised, too,” I admitted.

  “It’s b.s. You ask me, it’s b.s.,” Bella said, and sipped her drink. “But I’ll take it.”

  “It is kind of odd,” Marcie said, and gave me her something-els
e-is-going-on look that only a BFF could pull off.

  I knew she was questioning the prize upgrade, which had occurred after I turned out to be the winner of the Holt’s contest, and I knew she was thinking that my boyfriend—my former boyfriend—Ty was involved, since he owned the department store chain. But I didn’t agree with Marcie. Ty and I had broken up, so he had no reason to bestow such a fantastic prize on me, especially since the breakup had been his idea—long story.

  “Hey,” Bella said, sitting up straighter in her chair. “Holt’s ought to reimburse me for my lucky panties that got stolen. Maybe I can sue them for emotional distress, get disability or something.”

  “You should do that,” Sandy agreed. “My boyfriend says that an inspiration piece is crucial to living a full, happy life. That’s how he’s able to produce such beautiful works of art.”

  “Do you mean those tattoos he does?” I asked.

  “It’s art, Haley,” she said.

  We’d had this conversation a couple of zillion times. I didn’t like Sandy’s boyfriend—even though I’d never actually met him, that was no reason not to dislike him. He treated her like crap and she definitely deserved better, which was all I needed to know.

  Marcie suddenly leaned forward and bobbed her brows in the universal something’s-going-down gesture. We all immediately leaned in with her.

  “Look who just walked up,” she whispered. “And it’s not Vin Diesel.”

  We all leaned back, looking casual and unconcerned while our gazes darted around the bar like we’d just walked into Nordstrom on the morning of their after-Christmas sale, until we spotted Sebastian. He stood near the band looking at our table. I noted he wasn’t wearing his Rowan Resort uniform.

  “I’ll bet he’s here looking for you,” Marcie said to Sandy. “Go talk to him.”

  Sandy shook her head. “I shouldn’t.”

  None of us had a chance to disagree, because Sebastian walked over to our table.

  “Good evening,” he said, with an easy smile. “Sandy, would you like to dance?”

  Sandy immediately had an I-don’t-think-I-should look on her face, so what could I do but take over?

  “She’d love to dance,” I said, then drilled Sandy with a go-do-it glare.

  She grinned, and Sebastian escorted her onto the dance floor.

  We stared after her, all of us rethinking our no-men pact—at least, that’s what I was thinking.

  Marcie jumped to her feet. “Let’s go do the limbo.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Bella declared.

  “I’ll get a fresh drink first,” I said.

  They headed off to the limbo game, and I grabbed my drink and headed for the bar. It was a big rectangle covered with a thatched roof and decorated with fake fish and nets. About a half-dozen people were scattered around the bar. I found an open seat away from everyone.

  The bartender came over. He was a little taller than me, around thirty, with neat brown hair and an I’m-really-too-competent-to-be-working-in-this-place aura about him. He looked a little old to be a college student, like so many of the other Rowan Resort employees I’d seen, so I figured he had something else going in life and this bartending gig wasn’t permanent.

  He took my empty glass, a tall, frothy thing with a chunk of pineapple stuck on the rim, one of those cool drinks that are fun to have at the beach, especially for people like me who weren’t hard-core drinkers.

  “Another one?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said, and read his name tag pinned to his burgundy shirt. “Thanks, Shane.”

  He glanced at the dance floor and the limbo game. “Are you girls having fun, Haley?”

  “Okay, look,” I said. “You’ve got to tell me the truth. How does everybody here know who I am?”

  Shane grinned as he mixed my drink. “It’s a secret. Do you like secrets?”

  “Of course,” I said, “as long as I’m the one who knows them.”

  His grin bloomed into a smile—a naughty smile, which was kind of hot.

  “In that case, I’ll tell you,” he said as he set my drink in front of me. “Resort employees are required to study guest photos and memorize who’s who.”

  Jeez, and I thought waiting on customers at Holt’s was tough.

  “Not that we’re supposed to talk to any of the guests, except to respond to their every need,” Shane said.

  I could see where employees fraternizing with guests could create a problem. Aspiring actors might hit up a visiting director for an audition, or a computer geek might badger a multimillionaire for a Silicon Valley job. No way would the resort want guests’ vacations interrupted with personal requests from their employees.

  I nodded toward Sebastian and Sandy on the dance floor, and asked, “What about him?”

  Shane’s expression soured. “He’s golden.”

  “Why does he rate a pass?” I asked.

  “You got me,” Shane said, with more than a little disgust in his voice, and turned away to wait on another customer.

  I sipped my drink and watched as the band struck up another song, and Sebastian and Sandy kept dancing. They were a nice-looking couple which made me think of Ty.

  I pushed him out of my head.

  Then Luke Warner popped in.

  I pushed him out, too.

  Ben Oliver appeared in my thoughts. Then he mentally disappeared and Ty took his place.

  Ty. Tall, handsome Ty. Had he really engineered my contest win at this gorgeous place, thinking I’d ask him to join me?

  The image of the two of us here together raced through my head. Walking the beach hand in hand, swimming, hiking up the cliffs, maybe horseback riding. It seemed so romantic, so perfect, my heart started to hurt a little.

  “You found Jaslyn’s body,” Shane said, standing in front of me again.

  Nothing like a dead body to jar you back to reality.

  Since Shane already knew, I saw no reason to deny it.

  “Yes, it was me, unfortunately,” I said.

  “She wasn’t on the cliffs, was she,” he said.

  The only people I’d shared that information with—other than law enforcement—were Avery and Tabitha. One of them must have told Shane.

  I shook my head. “It was near some big rocks on the north side of the island, close to the dock.”

  “She was murdered, and whoever did it put her phone and driver’s license on the cliffs to make it look like she’d killed herself,” Shane said. His expression darkened. “Jas would never do that. Never.”

  My this-could-benefit-me mental alarm sounded in my head. Bartenders heard all kinds of things—drunk people had a tendency to blab on—so I figured Shane was in a good position to give me the inside scoop. Plus, since this place was an island and employees lived here much of the time, he probably had the inside track on his coworkers, too.

  “You don’t think so?” I asked.

  “She had a lot to live for. All she talked about was getting her degree and touring Europe,” Shane said.

  “Sounds cool,” I said.

  “Jas was a lover of beautiful things. She was an art major.” Shane frowned. “And she would never have gone up on those cliffs, no matter how great the view was. She didn’t like high places.”

  I wondered if something had been going on between Jaslyn and Shane, since he knew so much personal info about her.

  “Were you and Jaslyn dating?” I asked.

  “No, she was just a cool girl,” Shane said. “Her room was near mine in the employee dorm, so we’d see each other and talk.”

  Shane seemed to drift off into thought, probably remembering those good times he’d shared with Jaslyn. But I didn’t have time for his stroll down memory lane. I had a murder to solve and, thus, a wedding to avoid.

  “So who was Jaslyn dating?” I asked.

  His expression hardened. “A real bastard. Gabe Braxton. Works maintenance.”

  Shane glanced behind him at two couples who’d just taken seats at the bar, then tur
ned to me again.

  “Tell your friend Sandy to watch out for that guy,” he said, nodding toward the dance floor.

  His comment totally threw me.

  “Sebastian?” I asked. “Why?”

  “He’s trouble,” Shane said.

  Oh, crap.

  CHAPTER 9

  “So what happened last night?” Marcie asked.

  The four of us were seated at yet another of the resort’s outdoor patio dining areas, finishing breakfast. The day was gorgeous, of course, since this was Southern California; people from back East often claimed that we have no seasons here, but we do—just not the crappy ones.

  We were all dressed in our resort wear shorts, capris, tees, and tanks, each outfit fully accessorized, of course. Bella had fashioned her hair into the shape of a starfish, continuing her tropical theme.

  Sandy giggled. “You mean with Sebastian?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Bella said. “It’s not like any of us are getting any action at this place.”

  “We had a great time,” Sandy reported, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “We walked on the beach and talked for hours.”

  “Really?” Bella asked. “That’s it?”

  “He was a perfect gentleman,” Sandy said.

  “Damn ...” Bella muttered.

  “Tell us about him,” Marcie said.

  “He’s so nice,” Sandy said. “He asked about me. You know, where I was from, where I worked, what I liked. And he even asked about all of you. He wanted to know everything about me and my friends.”

  Okay, that was weird. A guy who was actually interested enough to ask questions and not just blab on about himself?

  “Did he actually listen to what you said?” Marcie asked.

  I could see that she and I were thinking the same thing.

  “Oh, yes,” Sandy told us. “He listened. He asked follow-up questions and everything.”

  My spirits lifted, thinking maybe Sandy had found a guy who was really nice and would treat her decently, and I was glad that I’d practically put the smack-down on her to dance with him last night.

  “What does he do here at the resort?” I asked.