Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery)

by Dorothy Howell

  “I’m going to the library,” I said again. “I just want to, you know, check it out.”

  Jeez, did that sound lame or what?

  “I thought we could all have a spa day. Doesn’t that sound great?” Sandy said, pointing to the picture in the resort brochure. “The spa is gorgeous. Crystal chandeliers, four-foot-deep Roman tubs, hand-painted Dutch scenes with windmills.”

  I guess I’d missed all of that the day I’d been in there dealing with Yasmin’s toenail polish crisis.

  “You’ve got a hot date, don’t you?” Bella said. “I’ve seen you talking to good-looking men since we got here, men you already know. I remember seeing them in the store. What are they doing here? Are you having them flown in?”

  Yeah, okay, I could have come up with a better excuse to go check out the library—other than using the actual see-the-library reason—but I’m on vacation, plus I haven’t had a mocha Frappuccino or anything else chocolate in ages, so perhaps my I-always-think-of-fantastic-excuses superpower was a little off.

  But, one way or the other, I was definitely going to the library to investigate just how the heck Sebastian had walked out of a secret panel in the bookcase last night. After he left, I’d scurried down the ladder for a closer look, but two old geezers with stacks of we’ll-need-hours-to-read-these newspapers came in, so I left. I hadn’t had time to hunt around for the hidden latch that opened the door, but at least now I had a good idea about how Sebastian had disappeared so quickly when I’d followed him into the lounge.

  The only thing that made sense to me was that Sebastian was actually part of the resort’s undercover security team. How else could he know about secret passages and hidden doors? It would also explain why I hadn’t discovered any info about his supposed consulting firm, or his maybe-they’re-rich family in Connecticut on the Internet.

  Of course, if Sebastian was working undercover, he wasn’t acting all that covert. I’d seen him wearing an official Rowan Resort polo shirt, plus he was dating a guest, dancing at the bar—he’d even showed up at Sandy’s art lesson with Colby.

  Sebastian was either the worst undercover security guy in history or something else was going on. Either way, I intended to find out what it was, and the best place I knew to start with was the library.

  “The spa sounds great,” Marcie said.

  “Oh, wait. I have a better idea,” Sandy said. “Why don’t we have an art lesson? Sometimes Colby takes her classes to the beach, or up to the cliffs, or someplace with a fantastic view to paint. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

  Bella leaned toward the hotel grounds. “I’m pretty sure I hear the hammock terrace calling my name.”

  “The spa sounds good to me,” Marcie said. “I’m could definitely use a massage.”

  “Yeah, that does sound good,” Sandy said, and pulled out the resort brochure. “All their massages have ultra hydrating, rich, warm coconut milk to bring balance to the body, and exotic oils for a sense of calm.”

  “See you later,” Marcie called as they walked away.

  “The library?” Bella gave me the kind of stink-eye only a BFF can pull off. “I still say it’s b.s.”

  “Yeah, it is, kind of,” I admitted.

  She nodded and said, “Whoever you’re meeting, find out if he’s got a brother.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  I trekked through the hotel, down the hallway, and went into the library. The place was like a tomb, silent and dimly lit, with three old gray-haired guys seated in chairs who looked like they were mummified. Since it looked as if they would topple over at any moment, I figured I could still search for the secret door that Sebastian had walked out of last night.

  Then something else hit me as I stood in front of the bookcases.

  I thought back to the history of the Rowan mansion-turned-hotel that our hostess Millicent had shared with us upon our arrival at the welcome center on the mainland a few days ago. I couldn’t remember much—honestly, I’ve got to do better about drifting off—but I did recall that Sidney Rowan had been a big deal back in the day. I figured that somebody, somewhere, must have included his island mansion—complete with info about its secret passageways—in a book, and surely that book was here in the library.

  I leaned back and studied the shelves of books climbing nearly to the ceiling. Yeah, okay, this might take a while.

  “Hello, Haley.”

  A mellow male voice whispered in my ear, and a warm body eased up behind me. I knew by the way my knees immediately started to tremble that it was Luke Warner.

  He moved alongside me and smiled.

  Luke has a killer smile.

  “What are you doing in here?” he whispered.

  Luke also had a super sexy voice.

  Not super sexy enough, however, that I’d tell him why I was here or what I was looking for.

  I gestured to the books on the shelf in front of me and said, “Just looking for something to read.”

  Luke eyed the books. “Shakespeare, huh? The entire ten-volume collection? Ambitious.”

  Okay, obviously he knew I was lying, which really didn’t suit me, so what could I do but tell another lie to cover for the first one?

  Really, anyone in my position would have done the same thing.

  “Shakespeare sounds good,” I said, nodding as if I was actually thinking it over.

  “Maybe something lighter?” Luke suggested.

  I had absolutely no idea what kind of book anyone would want to read, so I mustered my I’m-thinking-it-over expression. I’ve found that if I hold this look long enough, the other person will eventually say something.

  Luke said nothing.

  Crap.

  “Sure,” I said. “Something lighter.”

  “A biography?” Luke asked.

  What the heck is he even doing in the library?

  “History?” he asked.

  And why won’t he leave?

  “Self-help?” Luke asked.

  Obviously, I was going to have to tell him something to get him out of here. Then it hit me—I could tell him the truth, part of it anyway.

  “Architecture,” I said. “I’d like to read up on the history of the hotel and learn more about its design and construction.”

  “There’s bound to be a book here,” Luke said. “I’ll find it.”

  He took off like a bloodhound on a fresh scent—men are, essentially, hunters—then homed in on an old-school card catalogue situated in the corner. Luke opened a drawer, fingered the cards, then blasted to a shelf nearby as if he’d been shot out of a cannon.

  It was kind of hot.

  He selected a big, coffee-table-sized book from a high shelf, then presented it to me as if he’d just brought down a T-Rex.

  That was kind of hot, too.

  “This should give you all the information you need,” he said. “But check it out, just to be sure.”

  Since Luke gave no indication of leaving, I carried the book to a love seat and sat down. He sat next to me and leaned close as I flipped through the pages.

  It was mostly black-and-white photos on glossy paper showing lots of huge mansions, some under construction, with brief descriptions of their location, as well as the names of the owners and architect. Most of the houses were in Los Angeles’s older areas of West Adams District, Bunker Hill, and Hancock Park.

  “Nice places,” Luke said softly. “Too bad most of them are gone now.”

  “I guess you had to be rich to build one of these houses,” I said.

  “Rich and worried,” Luke said. “There was—and still is—a concern among the wealthy that they’d be robbed.”

  Ben Oliver and his claim that he was following a tip about some sort of theft involving celebrities flashed in my mind.

  “Or worse,” Luke said.

  “Worse than being robbed?” I asked.

  “Kidnappings,” Luke said, and tapped his finger against a photo of a huge house in the West Adams District that kind of looked like one of the pl
antation homes in Gone With the Wind. “After the Lindbergh baby was kidnapped in the early thirties, well-to-do families started building safe rooms in their houses where they could hide, if necessary.”

  I glanced at the spot on the bookcase that Sebastian had walked out of last night.

  “You mean with secret passageways and hidden doors?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Luke said.

  I didn’t want to dwell on the whole secret-and-hidden thing because I didn’t want Luke to get suspicious. He was an FBI agent, after all. He got suspicious for a living.

  So what could I do but turn the conversation to yet another topic that would benefit me?

  “Have you heard anything new about Jaslyn Gordon’s murder?” I asked, flipping pages oh-so casually.

  Luke stilled. “No.”

  Okay, now I was suspicious. Something about Luke’s body language and tone made me think he wasn’t being truthful.

  Not a good feeling—especially after all the other times he’d lied to me.

  I decided to push further.

  “Any news about problems connected to the resort?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Luke said, and leaned away from me, checking his watch. “I’ve got a golf game. See you later, Haley.”

  He left the library and I sat on the love seat, thinking.

  Luke had definitely cut and run when I’d mentioned Jaslyn’s murder and asked about any other situations concerning the Rowan resort. Either he didn’t want to talk about criminal activity while on vacation or maybe he knew something and wasn’t telling me.

  But what was it?

  All kinds of things sprang into my head—Jaslyn’s murder; her brother in jail; Colby, who’d been in jail, Gabe Braxton, who probably should be in jail; dusty books in the library that jeopardized Avery’s job; the A-list celebrities targeted by thieves who Ben was pursuing.

  Was there some giant conspiracy going on at the Rowan Resort?

  I needed more info, and I knew who I could get it from.

  CHAPTER 19

  I found Ben seated at a table in the garden outside the hotel snack bar, working on his laptop. A wrapper from a package of peanut butter crackers and a plastic water bottle sat nearby. He had on the same pants and polo shirt I’d seen him in for days, which looked as rumpled as ever. His whiskers had thickened.

  I sat down in the chair next to him.

  “Go away,” Ben said, not bothering to look up from the laptop screen.

  “Are you growing a beard?” I asked.

  His gaze darted to me, then returned to the laptop.

  “Really, Ben, I mean this in the nicest way, but you look like crap,” I said. “Honestly, the beard is not working for you. And those same clothes? Why the heck don’t you change?”

  He ignored me.

  “Look, I’ll go to your room with you,” I offered. “Even you would have packed more than one outfit for this assignment. I’ll put together a great look for you that will—”

  Hang on a minute.

  I looked again at the meager snacks, his scraggly beard, his tired shirt and pants, and it hit me.

  Oh, crap.

  “You’re not a guest here,” I said.

  Ben kept his gaze glued to his laptop.

  “You’re not on assignment,” I said.

  “Shh!” Ben glanced around frantically. “Be quiet.”

  “Oh my God. I’m right, aren’t I,” I said.

  “Keep your voice down,” he hissed, throwing surreptitious glances around us. “You’re going to get me thrown out of this place.”

  I leaned in and said, “You’re like a stowaway or something.”

  “All right, all right,” Ben said, slamming the lid down on his laptop. He turned to me. “Yes. Yes, I sneaked aboard the supply ship and slipped onto the resort grounds after dark, and I’ve been hiding out ever since, dodging security and the staff. Okay? Are you happy now?”

  “Where have you been sleeping?” I asked.

  Ben fumed for a bit, then said, “The hammock terrace, the beach, the sun porch, wherever.”

  I glanced at the wrapper of peanut butter crackers.

  “Have you had anything decent to eat?” I asked.

  “I’m okay,” he insisted. “Just drop it, will you?”

  No way was I letting this go.

  I got up from the table. Ben caught my wrist.

  “You’re not going to rat me out, are you?” he asked.

  “Just stay here,” I told him.

  I went into the snack bar, ordered a double cheeseburger all the way, fries, and two chocolate milkshakes, then took them outside and put them on the table in front of Ben.

  I kept one of the shakes for myself, of course.

  Ben glared at me, then picked up the burger. He wolfed down the whole meal in just a few minutes.

  “Thank you,” he said softly, licking the tips of his fingers.

  “You’re welcome,” I said, and passed him a napkin.

  “I’m still not going to tell you about the story I’m working on,” he said.

  “I know.”

  We sat there for a while, sipping our shakes, not saying anything. Sitting quietly wasn’t what I did best, but for some reason enjoying the silence with Ben was nice.

  “Okay. Fine. I’ll tell you about my story,” Ben said. “But don’t you breathe a single word about it to anyone.”

  “I won’t,” I said.

  “Swear it,” he told me.

  “I swear it,” I said. “I swear it on my Sea Vixen.”

  “You’re what?”

  Honestly, why couldn’t men keep up with fashion trends?

  “It’s a fabulous beach tote,” I said. “I’m absolutely dying for it, and the shop here is holding one for me from their next shipment.”

  “Whatever,” Ben said, waving away my words.

  He scooted his chair over until we were elbow to elbow.

  “Like I told you before,” he said quietly, “I got a tip about thefts from A-list celebrities.”

  Visions of mounds of jewelry, boxes of cash, designer clothing, artwork, and Bentleys filled my head.

  “Their things have been showing up for sale on the Internet,” Ben said. “It’s caused all kinds of problems.”

  “Don’t rich, famous people have insurance to cover that kind of thing?” I asked.

  Ben shook his head and said, “Panties.”

  Jeez, had all that food sent Ben’s thought waves off in a totally crazy direction? I know my chocolate shake had my brain cells hopping pretty good. Still, I wasn’t following him.

  He must have read the confusion in my face because he said, “Panties. Bras. Thongs. That’s what’s being stolen.”

  “Underwear?” I asked.

  “It’s an underground Internet site,” Ben explained, gesturing at his laptop. “Celebrity-panty-raid-dot-com.”

  Okay, I couldn’t help it. My mouth fell open.

  “Somebody is actually stealing underwear from stars and selling it on the Internet?” I asked. I shook my head. “Who would want somebody else’s used panties?”

  “Lots of people, and they’re paying thousands for it,” Ben said. “It’s an auction site. Winning bids for top A-list stars reach into the tens of thousands of dollars.”

  I didn’t think my mouth could fall open any farther, but it did.

  “It’s an invasion of privacy of epic proportion,” Ben said. “Plus, this kind of purchase can encourage overzealous fans, which is never good. These stars have husbands and wives, some of whom aren’t stars themselves and can’t deal with this sort of thing, and aren’t happy they can’t protect their spouse from such a personal theft. The whole thing is driving security teams crazy. People are getting fired over it.”

  Wow, I guess I’d never thought about that sort of thing happening—over, ugh, already-worn underwear.

  I glanced around, seeing the people near us in a whole different way.

  “No wonder there’s so much undercover security at
this place,” I said.

  “Yeah, and like I told you the other day, there’s a possible connection to this resort,” Ben said. “I haven’t found anything definite yet, but I’m closing in on something. The site has been teasing a killer item from a megastar for a couple of days now. If it’s who I think it is, I’m going to be all over it. The story will be a lock.”

  “If you find the culprit and break the story, it will be a huge deal,” I said, remembering what he had told me earlier. “Those celebrity TV shows will be all over it—and you. You’ll be on talk shows around the clock, no doubt about it. Bloggers will go crazy for the story.”

  Ben nodded. “And I’ll have my pick of jobs.”

  Something else occurred to me.

  “Does your editor know you’re doing this?” I asked.

  Ben glanced away. “I’m freelancing on this one.”

  I could see that he was really out on a limb with this story. If it went the way he expected, he’d be the golden boy of the media. But if the story turned out to be nothing—or worse, if he reported it and it was later proved wrong—well, I didn’t want to think about how far he’d fall.

  I didn’t like thinking that Ben’s entire future was at stake but, really, there was nothing I could do to help. I cared about Ben, but celebrities and their undergarment problems were way down on my priority list.

  I’d hunted down Ben to ask him if he knew whether Sebastian was working undercover for resort security, as I suspected, hoping he could confirm my suspicion and I could feel better about encouraging Sandy to date Sebastian. Obviously, that question was pointless now. Ben was doing everything he could to avoid the hotel’s security personnel so as not to get dumped onto the next outbound supply boat, and maybe prosecuted for trespassing.

  I didn’t see how Ben could be of any help but, for some reason, I couldn’t walk away when he had so much on the line.

  “If I see anything suspicious, I’ll let you know,” I said.

  Ben didn’t seem to hear me. He opened his laptop and started typing.

  “Oh my God, you’ll never guess who we saw when we left the spa,” Sandy declared when we all met up again. She covered her mouth with both palms, then shook her hands as if she were doing a jazz routine. “You’ll never—ever—guess.”