I saw a quick oh-crap expression on Avery’s face, but her I’m-great-at-dealing-with-difficult-guests training must have kicked in, because she pushed past it.
“All of our events are big,” she said, a standard reply composed by the resort’s publicity staff, no doubt.
“Not as big as this one, from what I hear,” I said.
I’d totally embellished what I’d heard, of course, but how else was I going to get any info from her? Really, I owed it to my BFFs to get as much gossip as possible, and if I learned something that might help me solve Jaslyn’s murder, all the better.
“There are always rumors,” Avery said, stiffening her spine. “In fact—oh, look, here’s your resort pass.”
The door to the security office opened and Walt Pemberton walked out.
Oh, crap.
“Hello, Miss Randolph,” he said. “Enjoying your stay?”
He said it nicely enough, but he was definitely mad-dogging me, like he knew I was up to something, or withholding information—which I was, of course, but still.
“Yes, I am,” I said, “despite all the problems I’ve had.”
I didn’t think it would hurt to put him on the defensive.
He didn’t get defensive. Actually, he looked kind of smug. Like he knew I’d been lying about things.
I hate it when that happens.
“If anything else comes up, please let me know immediately,” he said, and handed me my resort pass.
“I’ll do that,” I told him.
I headed out of the hotel into the gardens. I didn’t look back, but I knew Walt Pemberton was still watching me.
I knew, too, that Avery had lied about not knowing what the resort’s upcoming big event was all about.
I strolled through the gardens—okay, I could have walked faster but I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to get back to Yasmin’s I-love-me bachelorette party—thinking about Jaslyn. I still hadn’t come up with a reason for her to have been murdered. I’d found absolutely no motive. Everyone I’d spoken with had said she was a really nice person, a bright, intelligent college student obsessed with art who, aside from a run-in with Avery over visiting the library, hadn’t caused anybody any trouble.
Jeez, somebody had to dislike her. Supernice people didn’t get murdered for no reason.
Maybe I needed to talk to more people.
Colby popped into my head.
Tabitha had told me that Jaslyn was upset about Colby leaving the resort in a few weeks. I figured that was because Jaslyn would miss their conversations about art—which sounded kind of dull to me—but maybe something more was going on.
I wondered, also, where Colby was headed off to. She’d been a bit secretive about the whole thing, from what I’d gathered. Was she just trying to avoid publicity?
Possibly, I decided. After all, she was a convicted felon who’s served time in prison. Maybe she didn’t want her new neighbors, whomever they were, to learn that she was moving in and somehow block her attempt to join their community, a story that would surely find its way to the tabloids, bloggers, celebrity Web sites, and magazines.
Honestly, I couldn’t really blame the new neighbors for not wanting Colby to live among them. The one time we’d met, I hadn’t really liked her. Plus, she’d lied about being at the dock and about owning a Sea Vixen beach tote. Why would she do that?
My thoughts rushed ahead.
Obviously, Colby had attempted to cover up her visit to the dock, and by claiming she didn’t own a Sea Vixen tote she could also deny passing a package along to the guy she’d met at the boat. It made me wonder if Colby was part of Sebastian’s auction site. After all, Colby had lived in the mansion as a child, so she surely knew about the hidden passageways and secret entrances into the rooms.
I stewed on that for a couple of minutes, then decided that, honestly, I couldn’t see Colby involving herself with a panty auction site. She wouldn’t want the publicity if the scheme were exposed, plus she didn’t need the money—she was Sidney Rowan’s heir. She lived on an exclusive resort in a luxury private bungalow, where she could watch over the art collection and paint to her heart’s content.
Good grief. I was getting nowhere, I realized.
I definitely needed a brain boost. The dessert at Yasmin’s party loomed large in my head. I started walking faster.
The very thought of chocolate seemed to give my brain a jolt. I pulled out my cell phone and called Shuman.
“Have you had any luck finding Colby’s old accomplice?” I asked when he answered.
“Maybe,” Shuman said. “I got a lead on a man seen hanging around the resort’s supply boat in Long Beach a few days ago.”
Oh, crap. That must have been Ben they saw before he managed to slip aboard the boat bound for the island.
“Was it Colby’s accomplice?” I asked.
Really, what else could I say?
“We’re working the lead,” Shuman said.
I decided this was an excellent time to bring the conversation back to a subject that would benefit me.
“Have you turned up anything concerning artwork?” I asked.
“Stolen artwork?” Shuman asked.
He sounded surprised and I couldn’t blame him, since that question had come out of nowhere.
“Jaslyn and Colby both loved art,” I said, “so I thought maybe there was some sort of connection.”
“Still trying to solve that murder you’re not supposed to be involved with?” Shuman asked.
He used his cop voice—which was kind of hot—but no way was I backing off.
Really, Shuman had known me for a long time. You’d think he’d know better than to ask.
“Of course,” I said. “So have you heard anything about artwork?”
Shuman was quiet for a few seconds. I pictured him frowning his cop frown, running the whole scenario through his cop brain, shifting his weight, breathing a little heavier.
Always hot.
“I haven’t heard anything, but LAPD wouldn’t handle it,” Shuman said. “The Feds would.”
“The FBI?” I asked.
“The FBI has a rapid deployment Art Crime team that investigates the illicit trade in art and cultural artifacts,” Shuman said.
Luke Warner flashed in my head.
I forced his image away.
“Look,” I said, “if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Stay out of it, Haley,” he said.
“I can’t do that,” I said.
“I know,” Shuman said. “But it makes me feel better to say it.”
His tone lightened, and I imagined him with a little grin on his face. It made me grin, too.
“Call me if you run into trouble,” Shuman said.
“I will,” I promised, and we hung up.
By the time I reached the summer house, the party was breaking up. Everyone was out of their chairs, clustered in small groups, chatting and laughing. Marcie, Bella, and Sandy had melted into one of the gatherings and seemed to be having a good time.
I made a dash for the dessert table.
Jack Bishop stepped in front of me, cutting me off.
“I need you,” he said.
Dessert or Jack?
I looked back and forth between the yummy confections and Jack—a yummy confection in a whole different way.
Jeez, why are there so many difficult choices in life?
“We’re headed to a photo shoot,” Jack said.
I noticed then that a photography crew waited nearby. A guy was snapping pictures of Yasmin and some of her guests.
“A magazine is doing a story about engaged couples, traditional weddings, that sort of thing,” Jack said.
Leave it to Yasmin to get her face and her kill-me-now wedding plastered all over a magazine.
“The Heart of Amour is in the shoot?” I asked.
Jack nodded. “Something about the pendant predicting who the next bride will be?”
“So I heard,” I said. “Seems tha
t whoever catches the bouquet with the pendant attached will be the next to get married. Supposedly, it’s worked in the last four weddings.”
“I need you to come to the shoot with me,” Jack said.
I pinched my lips together to hold in a squeal.
Jack wanted me to work with him? Wow, this was way cool. Finally, something great would come out of Yasmin’s wedding ordeal.
“Sure,” I said, and managed to sound calm and composed—at least, that’s how I hope I sounded. “What can I do?”
“You know Yasmin’s friends,” Jack said. “I need you to keep an eye on everyone at the shoot and let me know if someone shows up who shouldn’t be there.”
“You’re thinking somebody might attempt to steal the Heart of Amour pendant?” I asked.
“Resort security was alerted to an incident at the Long Beach harbor,” Jack said. “There’s a possibility a man sneaked onto the island and is at large at the resort.”
Oh, crap.
That had to be Ben Oliver.
“Do you think they’ll find him?” I asked.
Jeez, I really hope they won’t find him—considering that he’s upstairs in my room right now.
Jack shook his head. “Resort security personnel aren’t going to challenge their guests and ask for identification. If he makes a mistake, they’ll catch him.”
“Seems doubtful somebody would sneak onto the resort to steal the Heart of Amour,” I said.
“I’m not taking any chances,” Jack said. “You never know in this sort of situation. He could be a criminal, or just some nut case.”
It hit me then that, really, I didn’t know Ben all that well.
Jeez, I hope he’s not in my room trying on my bras or something.
“Will you come to the shoot with me and keep an eye out for strangers?”
Wow, I was working a covert op with Jack. Cool.
“Sure,” I said.
Joy squeezed between us.
“We have a problem,” she said.
We? I don’t think so.
“Yasmin has changed her mind about the location of the photo shoot,” Joy said.
This hardly seemed like a problem to me.
“So we’ll move it,” I said.
“She found a new location a few days ago that she liked,” Joy said.
Somehow, I knew it couldn’t be that simple.
“But now she can’t remember where it was,” Joy said.
Visions of search parties combing the island and helicopters flying a grid pattern over the resort flashed in my head.
There had to be an easier way, and I thought I knew what it was.
I hurried over to where my friends were chatting with some of the other party guests.
“Do you have your resort brochure?” I asked Sandy.
I figured she did, since she’d been our unofficial tour guide since we arrived and hadn’t been without it.
“Sure,” she said, and pulled it from her pocket.
It was wrinkled, folded, and dog-eared, but it would do. I took it with me to the spot where Yasmin was huddled with the photographer.
“Haley, I’m so glad you’re here,” Yasmin wailed when I walked up. “You won’t believe where they want to photograph me. At the beach, Haley, the beach.”
I just looked at her.
“The beach is so this morning,” Yasmin declared, with a truly unattractive pout. “What is Tate going to think? What is Tate’s family going to think? How can I have Tate pose for photos at the beach? He won’t like this. The beach? I mean, seriously, the beach?”
“You found another place you liked, right?” I asked, trying to move things along.
“I can’t remember what it’s called!” Yasmin sniffed hard and big tears pooled in her eyes. “How does anyone expect me to remember the name of every place on this island? I can’t. I can’t do it!”
I opened the resort brochure.
“Was it the sun porch? The morning room? The trophy room?” I asked, reading from the list of the property’s amenities.
“No, none of that sounds right,” Yasmin said.
“The organ chamber? The billiard room? The card room?” I asked. “How about the tap room?”
The tap room sounded great to me—it would certainly help everyone get through the shoot easier.
“No,” Yasmin said, shaking her head.
I went back to the brochure. “The rotunda entrance hall? The stair hall? The great banquet hall—”
“That’s it,” Yasmin said, and gasped. “The one with the stairs. That’s it. That’s the one.”
“The stair hall with the flying circular stairway?” I asked, showing her the picture.
“Yes, yes, that’s it,” Yasmin said. “The stair hall will be perfect. I’ll look fabulous in the photos, don’t you think?”
I had no idea what the stair hall was, so what could I say but, “Sure.”
“Tate is going to be so happy.” Yasmin clapped her hands. “Oh, Haley. Thank you. You’ve saved the day for me again—and I won’t forget everything you’ve done.”
“No, really, it’s fine. Forget me,” I said. “Please.”
She didn’t hear me.
While Yasmin, Joy, Jack, and the photographer discussed the new shooting location, I took the resort brochure back to Sandy. She was still talking with Marcie, Bella, and some of the other party guests.
“Do you need this one, too?” Sandy asked, holding out another brochure.
“No, the problem is—”
I stopped, realizing that Sandy was offering me one I hadn’t seen before.
“What is this?” I asked, taking it from her.
“It’s the resort’s art collection,” she said. “Avery gave it to me before my art lesson with Colby, remember?”
The art catalogue had slick, glossy, color photographs and descriptions of each piece in the collection. I flipped through the pages, and my gaze instantly homed in on the photo of the two vases I’d seen on the high shelf in the library, the ones that were painted the same bright colors as the Sea Vixen beach tote I was dying to own.
Only these vases looked different. The handles weren’t quite the same shape as I remembered, and the colors were a couple of shades lighter.
Huh. That was weird.
“Haley, we’ve got a few details to work out for a new shoot location,” Joy said, appearing next to me. “Yasmin is going to change her outfit while we go to the stair hall and set up. I’ll have the florist, set dresser, and stylist meet us there. The hair and makeup people will come with Yasmin after she changes clothes and will be on standby.”
It sounded as if Joy had everything handled—which suited me, since I hadn’t wanted to be involved in the first place.
Jack and his partner were discussing transporting the pendant, Joy was on her phone while typing on her iPad, and the photographer and his crew were talking about lighting. I didn’t really have anything to add to any of those conversations—which was just as well, because I couldn’t stop thinking about the vases. Sure, the color might have been a bit off in the photos, but the shape of the handles? No way.
“Haley?” Marcie jarred me back to reality. “I need to talk to you.”
Something in her tone kind of scared me. I knew something bad had happened.
“It’s all over the Internet,” Marcie said, holding up her cell phone. “Another maid from the resort has gone missing.”
“Who?” I asked, but I was afraid I already knew.
“Tabitha Donahue,” Marcie said.
Oh, crap.
CHAPTER 24
I’d tossed and turned all night, worried about Tabitha. She’d gone missing yesterday afternoon, according to reports posted on the Internet. Of course, celebrity blogs and Web sites were having a field day with the story—the second maid to disappear from the Rowan Resort.
I hoped she wouldn’t be the second maid to turn up dead.
In typical fashion, nobody at the resort was talking. Everyone
we’d asked had given the same story—the search was continuing, no foul play was suspected, and the staff was cooperating with law enforcement.
I figured the resort’s publicity department must be working around the clock these days.
“This is a cool room, huh?” Sandy said as we sat down to breakfast. “It’s the Renaissance room.”
“Looks more like Dracula’s castle to me,” Bella said.
I was with Bella on this one. The room was gloomy, thanks to the dark wood paneling, the open-beam ceiling, flickering wall sconces, and the huge stone fireplace.
The ambience, such as it was, didn’t help my mood. I was worried about Tabitha’s disappearance, of course, but now it looked as if there was no way I could get out of attending Yasmin’s wedding today. If any of her guests had decided that maybe it was safe to come after all, no way would they show up after learning about another employee’s disappearance.
Still, I clung to the tiny thread of hope that somehow Tabitha would be located—alive and well—and that I could find out who’d murdered Jaslyn in time for Yasmin’s guests to get to the resort this afternoon.
Yeah, okay, it was a very small possibility it could happen, but I was still holding on to it.
That’s how much I didn’t want to go to Yasmin’s wedding.
“The stained glass windows were designed in Europe by a famous artist and constructed just for this house,” Sandy said as she consulted the resort brochure and gestured around the room. “They all depict Vikings at their evening prayers.”
“We’re going to need a prayer or two to survive this vacation,” Bella said.
“Nothing new to report,” Marcie said, glancing at her phone. She’d kept us updated on the search for Tabitha since yesterday afternoon when the news had broken.
The waiter appeared at our table, poured coffee and juice, and left a basket of fresh muffins before taking our orders.
I grabbed a chocolate chip—in the hopes of lightening my mood, of course.
“I know we’re all bummed about this thing with Tabitha,” Marcie said, and selected a blueberry muffin from the basket. “But we need to do something fun today. We’re on vacation, and this is a fabulous place. We owe it to ourselves to make the most of it.”
Marcie was right—Marcie was almost always right about things. Still, none of us jumped in with a suggestion.
Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery) Page 20