Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery)

by Dorothy Howell

  “It’s just me,” I said. “I need to ask you something.”

  Now her gaze whipped to the door.

  “You’re not supposed to be in here,” she said. “I could get in major trouble if you’re in here.”

  “It won’t take a second,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I can’t get fired. I need this job. I lost my financial aid last semester because I was sick, and I don’t qualify for any scholarships. I can’t lose this job.”

  Tabitha sounded frantic and desperate, and honestly, I couldn’t blame her. But I didn’t know when I’d see her again, and I needed to put this thing with Jaslyn and Avery to rest, one way or the other.

  “Just one quick question,” I said, and pushed on before she could protest again. “Did Jaslyn request a transfer to the team that cleaned downstairs? Or did Avery request it?”

  “Oh, God, not this again,” Tabitha said, and started to tremble. “All I know is that Jaslyn told me that when she helped out the downstairs team, something weird was going on in the library.”

  “How could something weird go on in a library?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tabitha said. “I guess she thought it wasn’t being properly cleaned or something, because she kept talking about the condition of the stuff in there. And she kept going back to check on it, even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to, and even after Avery had talked to her about it.”

  “Jaslyn risked losing her job over dusty books?” I asked.

  “She was like that,” Tabitha said. “She’d get on some cause that she was passionate about, and it was like she was in some other crazy zone or something.”

  “So she requested the transfer?” I asked, bringing our conversation back to my original question.

  “I guess. She said she wanted to keep watch on things,” Tabitha said. She glanced at the door. “Please, Miss Randolph, please. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

  “Sure, I understand. I won’t bother you again,” I said.

  “Please don’t. I can’t lose this job,” Tabitha said.

  “I won’t,” I said. “I swear.”

  I headed for the door.

  “Miss Randolph?” Tabitha called.

  I turned around.

  Tabitha took a deep breath, then said, “Jaslyn told me she was going to complain to upper management.”

  “Did she?” I asked.

  Tabitha shook her head. “I don’t think she had ... time.”

  “When did she tell you that?” I asked.

  Tabitha gulped hard. “The day before she was murdered.”

  Oh, crap.

  “Miss Randolph? Miss Randolph?”

  I heard my name, but no way was I stopping, because I knew it was Joy calling—I heard the unmistakable clack, clack, clack of her pumps on the concrete walkway behind me.

  I’d managed to take an it’s-okay-because-I’m-on-vacation nap and awakened refreshed and rejuvenated to find a text message from Marcie. She was playing tennis, and we were all getting together for an early dinner.

  I’d put on yet another fabulous I-have-great-taste-in-almost-everything outfit, this one denim capris and a sparkling white T-shirt, with tropical yellow, orange, and green accessories.

  I looked terrific.

  Maybe I should date myself.

  I felt terrific, too, so no way did I want to ruin my good mojo by talking to Joy about Yasmin and Tate-Tate-Tate’s wedding.

  “Haley?”

  Joy appeared at my elbow. Wow, she could really move in those pumps. I was definitely going to have to up my game.

  “What is it?” I asked, not even bothering to pretend I hadn’t heard her calling my name over and over again.

  Joy didn’t seem to notice.

  “I wanted you to know that everything has been arranged for Yasmin’s bachelorette party,” she said.

  “I don’t care,” I said.

  Joy didn’t seem to notice that either, because she kept talking.

  “Now, there are just a couple of other things we need to go over.” She flipped open her iPad. “First, there’s a situation with the—oh, here’s our MOB now.”

  Joy stopped in front of two women who were standing near one of the resort’s many fountains. I stopped too, not because I cared if I’d look rude in front of the mother of the bride if I kept walking but because I hoped that Yasmin’s grandmother was nearby and would join us. Ty’s grandmother had specifically called to thank me for helping with the wedding, and since I liked Ada and Ada liked Yasmin’s grandmother, I figured I’d like her, too.

  It would be nice to actually like someone in Yasmin’s wedding party.

  Joy took care of the formalities, introducing me to Yasmin’s mother Deandra and her aunt Elnora. Both women—sisters, obviously—were approaching fifty, had perfectly coiffed brown hair and full-on makeup, and wore YSL dresses—like, somehow, nobody had told them the wedding was at an island resort.

  “So you’re the one who wanted to be part of Yasmin’s wedding,” Deandra said.

  Or maybe it was Elnora. I’d already gotten their names mixed up.

  Both of them gave my outfit the once-over; I felt like I was a beagle at that Westminster dog show, with both of them judging me.

  “Are you married, Haley?” Elnora—I guess—asked.

  “No,” I said, and smiled.

  “Oh.” Elnora’s nose and mouth pinched together, as if she’d just smelled something stinky. “Well, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find someone special very soon.”

  Did I have a scarlet “single” emblazoned on the front of my shirt?

  “Yes, of course she will,” Deandra said, nodding thoughtfully but giving my T-shirt a dubious glance. “No need to worry. You’re not very old, are you, Haley? You’re only, what, twenty-one?”

  “I’ll be twenty-five soon,” I said.

  “Oh, dear,” Deandra murmured. “You’re that old?”

  “She still has some time left to find that special someone,” Elnora said, as if she were throwing me a bone.

  “Really, I’m in no hurry to get married,” I said.

  “Well, you want to have children, of course,” Deandra said.

  Okay, these two gals were starting to work my nerves big-time. Still, I managed to smile pleasantly and say, “I’m not in a hurry for that, either.”

  Elnora gave me another unattractive frown and said, “I have to admit that I’m concerned about you, Haley. You’re twenty-four years old, already.”

  “In just a few more years you’ll have an increased risk of birth defects, Down syndrome, miscarriage,” Deandra said.

  “And the older you are, the less likely it is that you’ll be able to get pregnant. So I think that having a child soon is something you should definitely consider,” Elnora said.

  How did my reproduction system become a topic of conversation—with strangers?

  They both stared at me waiting, I guess, for me to announce that I intended to shack up with the next guy who walked past and get moving on the whole baby thing.

  I said nothing.

  “We just want you to be happy,” Deandra assured me.

  Elnora nodded in agreement.

  Both of them probably suffered severe neck strain from constantly turning up their noses at everyone and everything, and sticking them into other people’s business.

  I guess they were done with me then, because Deandra turned to Joy and said, “I’ve rethought the napkins for the reception.”

  Joy snapped to attention and rushed in with her iPad. I made my escape.

  I hadn’t gotten very far when I spotted Sandy sitting alone on a bench that was shaped like a butterfly, surrounded by ferns and red flowers.

  She looked up as I approached but said nothing.

  I don’t have great people skills, yet even I could see that something was troubling her. Luckily, Sandy isn’t one to hold back.

  “Sebastian wants us to see each other after vacation,” she said, and sounded upset
at the prospect.

  I was upset, too—but for a totally different reason.

  “But I have a boyfriend,” she said.

  And I had encouraged her to hang out with Sebastian who, after my Internet search, wasn’t looking like such a great guy to me.

  “Dump him,” I said.

  Sandy gasped and drew back a little.

  Okay, maybe my advice was a bit harsh.

  I tried to soften it by saying, “And in the interest of fairness, dump your tattoo artist boyfriend, too.”

  That didn’t seem to help—though I thought it was a fabulous idea.

  Sandy sighed heavily and said, “I don’t know what to do. I really like Sebastian but, well, I just met him.”

  “You should go slow,” I said, when what I really wanted to do was repeat my dump-him suggestion. “And if you’re even thinking about him, maybe you should take another look at your tattoo boyfriend and ask yourself if he’s really the right guy for you.”

  That, I decided, was an idea worthy of a Cosmo article.

  Maybe I should write a column for them.

  Sandy thought for a minute. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

  “Just give it more time,” I said, even though I’m not a wait-and-see kind of gal. “Find out how you feel about Sebastian while you’re here, then decide what to do after you go home.”

  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.

  CHAPTER 18

  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 remem
ber 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.