Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery)

by Dorothy Howell

  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.

&
nbsp; 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?

  We were quiet for another minute, then Avery sat up straight in her chair as if she’d just realized that she’d let her I’m-a-Rowan-Resort-employee shield slip a little.

  “Again, I’m very sorry about the situation with your bag,” Avery said, then drew in a sharp, fortifying breath. “I fully expect you to report this to Mr. Cameron.”

  Report it to Mr. Cameron? What the heck did Ty’s dad have to do with anything?

  Avery pressed on, saying, “He’s one of our frequent guests, and we truly appreciate his business. If you’d like me to explain the situation to him, I’ll be happy to do so. In fact, my supervisor will personally handle the conversation as soon as he arrives.”

  What the heck was she talking about?

  “When who arrives?” I asked.

  “Mr. Cameron,” Avery said. “He’s joining you, isn’t he?”

  Then it hit me.

  “Ty?” I might have said that kind of loud.

  “Yes, I know you’d initially said this was a girls-only vacation,” Avery said. “But after he called, I assumed he’d be arriving shortly.”

  Ty had called the Rowan Resort? He’d talked to Avery? She thought he was coming here?

  This made no sense and, really, I didn’t want to try to understand it—I’m on vacation.

  I got up and left.

  CHAPTER 17

  Having my look-at-me-and-be-jealous Sea Vixen tote bag slip through my fingers was a tough blow to deal with—especially so early in the day. But I’d survived other tragedies, so I knew I could survive this one. In fact, I was determined to. This vacation had sustained a number of maybe-I-should-just-pack-up-and-go-home incidents, but I intended to push through.

  Of course, it would be easier if I had a mocha Frappuccino to sustain me.

  I left the shop, walked down the endless no-man’s-land corridor to the hotel’s main hallway figuring that a nice meal—heavy on the desserts—with the three best BFFs in the entire world was just what I needed to give my day a boost. I was reaching for my cell phone to call Marcie when I noticed a commotion up ahead in the hotel lobby. A large party of about a dozen people was making its way inside, causing heads to turn.

  Wow, maybe this was some big celebrity checking into the hotel. It would be cool to see who it was and tell Sandy. She’d be so impressed.

  I walked a little faster, pretending I wasn’t staring or the least bit interested, of course—a trait passed on to me genetically by my more-than-slightly-snooty pageant queen mom—and got to the lobby just as a Rowan Resort hostess was motioning all of them up the stairs. I bobbed and weaved a little, trying to get a better look at the woman at the center of the group, whom everyone was fussing over, to see who she was—and find out what she was wearing and how she’d styled her hair, of course. My BFFs deserved all the details I could get.

  I stepped in front of another guest—hey, I can’t help it that I’m tall—and got a partial view.

  Wow, she looked great, all right, maybe my age, blond, terrific figure. I didn’t recognize her, but I knew that anybody who caused this much hubbub must be a famous celebrity. I skirted around a wingback chair and came just short of elbowing aside a couple of old ladies to get a better look at her face, and—

  Oh my God. Oh my God.

  It was that girl. The one who used to work at Holt’s and stunk up the breakroom with those microwaveable diet meals of hers—the girl whose name I can never remember. She lost like a hundred pounds or something, ditched her glasses for contacts, quit Holt’s, and headed for Hollywood. I’d seen her in print ads, then a shampoo commercial. And now she had an entourage?

  One of the old ladies next to me must have read my expression, because she nodded wisely and said, “She’s a soap star. She’s fabulous. Absolutely fabulous.”

  Oh, crap. This was too much. Just too much.

  I mean, I was happy for her, of course. But, jeez, why couldn’t I have an entourage? Or a cool undercover job? Or at least an official boyfriend? I didn’t even have a fabulous Sea Vixen beach tote.

  I hate my life—and I’m on vacation.

  I decided that no way could I face my BFFs and pretend
to have a good time right now. At this point, there was nothing to do but go upstairs and take a nap.

  Even I know when it’s time to take a breather.

  I waited a minute or two for what’s-her-name’s entourage to clear the stairs, then dashed up to the second floor, anxious for the solitude. Three housekeeping carts were in the hallway. I spotted Tabitha going into a room, three doors down from mine.

  Avery flashed in my head—which didn’t suit me because I really wanted to lie down—and I remembered what she’d told me about Jaslyn helping out a different team that was assigned to clean some of the downstairs rooms. Somebody had told me that Jaslyn had requested a transfer off of Avery’s team, but I’d wondered if the idea had actually come from Avery.

  I didn’t know who to believe, but I knew that no matter who initiated the request—Avery or Jaslyn—it would look bad for Avery. It would indicate she couldn’t keep her own team member in line, something that surely would come up at Avery’s next employee performance review.

  I’d wondered if this situation had somehow escalated to murder, and I could still see that happening—jobs at the Rowan Resort paid big bucks, plus if you could make it here, you could make it anywhere, so I could understand Avery’s desire to be successful in her position.

  But I needed the real story, and I didn’t think I was getting it from Avery. I couldn’t help feeling as if something else was going on, and I figured Tabitha could tell me.

  I walked down the corridor to the room I’d seen her disappear into. The door was propped open, and a big housekeeping cart was parked just outside. I squeezed around it and went in.

  The curtains were open, flooding the room with bright sunlight, brilliantly illuminating the complete disaster. Jeez, it looked like a fabric bomb had gone off in there. Dresses, skirts, shirts, shorts, capris, bathing suits, cover-ups, and jeans were scattered on the floor and across both beds, along with the sheets, pillows, and blankets. Food wrappers, soda cans, and beer bottles covered almost every flat surface. What a mess. What was wrong with people?

  Tabitha was at the desk tossing out trash. I didn’t envy her job.

  Maybe I could find her another place to work.

  She saw me and gasped. Her gaze darted around the room like a cornered mouse looking for a hole to scurry into.