Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery)

by Dorothy Howell

  “Well,” Sandy finally said, “the wedding is today. That will be fun.”

  Nobody said anything.

  “I’ll check the brochure,” she said, and whipped it open again. “How about a hula lesson? Or we could learn to play the ukulele. There’s badminton and croquet.”

  We all just looked at her.

  “Okay, then what about a yoga class?” Sandy said. “A meditation group meets on the cliffs. We haven’t done the wildlife tour.”

  “I could use some relaxation,” Marcie said. “Maybe a quiet day on the beach?”

  “Now you’re talking,” Bella said, helping herself to a muffin.

  “Sounds good to me,” I agreed. “Are you in, Sandy?”

  She thought for a few seconds then said, “I think I’ll schedule another art lesson.”

  “And see Sebastian while you’re at it?” Marcie asked, smiling.

  Sandy blushed. “Maybe.”

  The mention of Sebastian’s name darkened my mood further. I was tempted to tell Sandy everything I knew about him, but this hardly seemed the time or the place. Besides, this day would be difficult enough for me to get through, thanks to Yasmin’s wedding, without adding to my problems.

  We had breakfast and I felt a little better—thanks mostly to the tray of pastries we ordered. Sandy left for Colby’s art studio, and the rest of us headed through the hotel to get ready for our morning at the beach. Avery was coming down the stairs just as we started up.

  “Haley, I’m glad I caught you,” she said. “Could I speak with you for a moment?”

  “Sure,” I said, and told Bella and Marcie I’d catch up with them in a few minutes.

  “Good news. Patricia told me the shop is expecting a large shipment of Sea Vixen beach totes today, and she is personally unpacking them and putting yours aside,” Avery said, looking pleased with herself. “So don’t become upset if you see more of them on our grounds, like yesterday.”

  Yesterday I’d used the somebody-bought-my-bag-again story as cover after Avery had seen me coming out of the hotel room where Tabitha was working, in violation of the resort’s policy. Now, with Tabitha missing—and maybe dead—I didn’t feel so great about insisting Tabitha talk to me, even if I’d managed to distract Avery and send her on that trumped-up mission to find out what happened to my Sea Vixen.

  Then it hit me—maybe I hadn’t done such a good job covering for Tabitha after all. Maybe Avery had gone back upstairs, into that room, seen Tabitha, and figured out that I’d been in there with her.

  I got a weird feeling that morphed into anger.

  For a while I’d wondered if Avery was responsible for Jaslyn’s death. She certainly had the motive, and could have easily found an opportunity. And now Tabitha had gone missing—just like Jaslyn—not long after I suspected Avery had discovered her violating the resort rules—just as Jaslyn had.

  “Did you know that I was in that room yesterday talking to Tabitha?” I asked.

  Avery drew back, a little confused, no doubt, by my question—or maybe it was the I-know-you-did-it tone in my voice.

  “Of course,” she said. “It’s my job to know.”

  “And now she’s missing? Just like Jaslyn?” I demanded.

  Color drained from Avery’s face. “You think that I had something to do with Jaslyn’s death and Tabitha’s disappearance?”

  “Yes, actually, I do,” I told her.

  “No, of course not,” Avery said.

  She glanced around at the hotel guests moving past us, then walked to a quiet corner of the lobby. I followed.

  “How can you even suggest something like that?” Avery asked.

  She looked totally confused, which made me think she was, in fact, innocent. But I wasn’t going to let up.

  “Do you expect me to believe this is just some crazy coincidence?” I asked.

  Avery drew in a long breath, then let it out slowly.

  “Jaslyn was a difficult employee. I’ve told you that,” Avery said.

  “And she created a lot of problems for you,” I said, “so you got rid of her.”

  “Yes, she created problems,” Avery agreed. “But nothing that would cause me to murder her.”

  “She kept going into the library when she wasn’t supposed to,” I said. “I’m sure your supervisors were on your case about her all the time.”

  “Oh, Jaslyn and that library.” Avery huffed. “Always with questions about the art pieces.”

  “Hang on a second,” I said. “I thought Jaslyn was unhappy about the library not being cleaned properly.”

  “If only that had been the limit of her interference,” Avery said, shaking her head. “She kept asking where the art came from, when it arrived, how long it had been here. She asked about the provenance of each piece. Really, it was none of her business.”

  “She was an art major,” I said. “She was interested in the history.”

  “Which was fine,” Avery said. “But it wasn’t her concern, and it was disruptive. We have a highly qualified curator at the resort who oversees every aspect of the collection.”

  “Colby Rowan,” I said.

  “I told Jaslyn that Colby had all that information,” Avery said, “and that if she had questions, she should speak with Colby.”

  We just stood there for a minute looking at each other. Finally Avery spoke.

  “Do you still think I was involved in Jaslyn’s murder?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Or Tabitha’s disappearance?” Avery asked.

  “When was the last time you saw her?” I asked.

  “As I told Walt Pemberton, I spoke with her in the hallway about not allowing guests into the rooms of other guests,” Avery said, and gave me a partial stink-eye.

  “And after that?” I asked.

  “I didn’t see her again. Nobody saw her after she left the hotel when her shift ended,” Avery said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  She left, and I stood there thinking about what she’d told me, how it might connect with Jaslyn’s murder and Tabitha’s disappearance. Both of them seemed like nice, sweet college students. Hard to believe that something awful had befallen both of them.

  If only I could piece together just what the heck the two of them had gotten involved with.

  I thought back to what Tabitha had told me yesterday and, really, it wasn’t much, just that Jaslyn was upset that Colby was leaving in a few weeks. The whole conversation had spooked Tabitha, and she’d made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone what she’d told me.

  I got a yucky feeling.

  Had that simple conversation with me somehow led to Tabitha’s disappearance? I didn’t see how, but maybe something else was going on.

  I needed to talk to Colby

  The beach that yesterday had been too this morning for the photo shoot made a perfect location for Yasmin and Tate-Tate-Tate’s wedding ceremony. The guests sat in rows of white chairs facing the reverend, who stood under an arbor, and beyond was the blue waters of the Pacific. Everything was festooned with pink floral arrangements and scattered with pink rose petals. Tate-Tate-Tate looked handsome in his black tuxedo, flanked by his groomsmen.

  Luke was one of them. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him.

  Guess he was telling the truth about being at the resort for a friend’s wedding, which meant that he wasn’t working undercover, as I’d suspected, and that he really had no inside info about Jaslyn’s murder, as he’d claimed.

  Luke had told me the truth—but I wasn’t sure that changed the way I felt about him.

  Jack Bishop and his security partner stood a discrete distance away—looking fabulous in their suits—keeping watch over the Heart of Amour pendant that would come down the aisle shortly with Yasmin’s bouquet.

  I was seated with Marcie, Bella, and Sandy near the back on the bride’s side. The turnout had been good, though not the hundreds of guests Yasmin had probably wanted.

  I sat a little taller in my
chair and looked over the crowd.

  Marcie leaned in and whispered, “Do you see him?”

  Leave it to my BFF to know what I was doing.

  Francine had told me that Ty—my former official boyfriend—would be here today, and Avery had mentioned that Ty had called the resort—I still didn’t know what that was all about—causing her to assume he’d be here.

  I shook my head. “I don’t see him.”

  “You know he’s late for everything,” Marcie pointed out.

  We shared an as-long-as-he-doesn’t-show-up-with-a-date look, as only BFFs can.

  The string quartet struck up “Here Comes the Bride,” and two little flower girls in pink dresses, the ring bearer in a white suit, and the attendants came down the aisle, followed by Yasmin. Her dress was gorgeous.

  Sandy sniffed. I glanced over and saw that Marcie and Bella were teary-eyed, too.

  While getting married was way off my radar, I couldn’t help but think about Ty and all the time we’d spent together, and where it might have led. I tried not to, but those thoughts kept popping into my head.

  Part of me hoped he wouldn’t show up today, but another part of me—

  I’m not thinking about that now. I’m on vacation.

  The ceremony was lovely, and Yasmin and Tate-Tate-Tate made a beautiful couple. They gazed into each other’s eyes, totally in love, totally enamored with each other, totally lost in the moment. I decided that all the upset, headaches, and aggravation involved with putting together a wedding were worth it.

  The reverend pronounced them husband and wife, they kissed, the string quartet struck up again, and the newly wedded couple walked back down the aisle arm in arm, followed by the families.

  “The reception should be really awesome,” Sandy said as we rose from our chairs. “It’s in the grand banquet hall.”

  “I hope they’ve got some good food,” Bella said.

  “They’ll be a while with the wedding photos,” Marcie said. “Let’s head over.”

  Some of the guests were already headed to the reception, so we walked along with them. Everybody was in a great mood, smiling and chatting about the ceremony.

  I glanced back and saw that Jack was still shadowing Yasmin and her bouquet. Luke was talking with the other groomsmen.

  No sign of Ty.

  “We missed you at the beach this morning, Sandy,” Marcie said. “Didn’t we, Haley?”

  I knew she was trying to distract me from thinking about Ty—best friends are great that way—which was, really, a good idea.

  “Yeah,” I said. “How was your art lesson?”

  “No lesson,” Sandy said. “Colby wasn’t available.”

  “Maybe you can try again later today,” Marcie said.

  “She’s leaving,” Sandy said.

  “Where’s she going?” Marcie asked.

  “She can’t be going on vacay,” Bella declared. “Living at this place is a vacation.”

  Sandy shrugged. “She didn’t say where she was going.”

  My senses jumped to high alert.

  I’d heard that Colby was planning to leave the island in a few weeks, but she was leaving today? The day after Tabitha went missing?

  A coincidence? Maybe. But I wasn’t big on coincidences.

  “I’m going to check with Joy and see if everything is set for the reception,” I said.

  It was the quickest excuse I could think of, and luckily no one questioned me.

  “I’ll catch up with you in the grand banquet hall,” I promised.

  Marcie, Bella, and Sandy waved as I hung back. When they disappeared into the gardens, I headed for Colby’s bungalow. When I got there, the front door stood open a few inches.

  Tabitha flashed in my head—and not in a good way.

  I knocked. “Hello? Colby?”

  No answer.

  I looked around but didn’t see anyone on the paths nearby.

  “Damn,” I muttered. I must have missed her.

  I knocked on the door once more—harder this time—and it swung open. I stepped inside.

  The place looked like a cottage straight out of fairyland, with a miniature living room filled with pastel floral prints, pie-crust tables, and tufted footstools. White eyelet curtains covered the windows.

  The tiny kitchenette had a can’t-get-enough-of-the-seventies poppy orange refrigerator and stove, and earth-toned Corelle ware in glass-front cupboards. The avocado green countertops were cluttered with a museum-worthy coffeepot and toaster, and a wire utensil caddy held a few mismatched items.

  I checked out the bedroom and found it’s-so-old-it-must-be-antique furniture, and a twin-size canopy bed you’d imagine one of Cinderella’s stepsisters slept in.

  I peered into the closet and opened the drawers in the it-could-disintegrate-into-dust-at-any-moment bureau. They were empty.

  The adjoining bathroom had those tiny octagonal tiles from the twenties, in a yellow and green checkerboard pattern, and a huge claw-footed tub. I saw no personal belongings.

  Not exactly my taste in home décor, but I guess Colby liked it. Maybe she felt like Sidney Rowan’s little princess in here. I was sure all the other bungalows had been upgraded for guests’ use.

  Everything in here was old and the place smelled kind of musty, but I didn’t see signs of a struggle or any indication that a crime had been committed here. Still, I couldn’t get Tabitha out of my head.

  A second bedroom was off the kitchen. I walked inside and saw that it was Colby’s art studio. It was crowded with easels, one of those pottery wheels, a workbench, stacks of bare canvases, tubes of paint and boxes of brushes, and a jumble of every other imaginable art supply covering every flat space in the room. It smelled like paint and turpentine.

  Colby sure as heck wouldn’t go off and leave all this stuff behind. Maybe I hadn’t missed her, after all.

  Or maybe I had, I realized, since with the Rowan billions Colby could easily replace everything here.

  Jaslyn popped into my head, and I pictured her coming to Colby’s cottage after her shift, sitting in the living room, or maybe coming into the studio to discuss the world of art. She must have been thrilled thinking Colby would introduce her to gallery people and famous artists.

  I didn’t know if Colby had already left the island, but I had to find out. Maybe I could catch her at the helipad and ask what—if anything—she knew about Tabitha’s disappearance.

  I headed out of the room, and a flash of familiar colors caught my eye. On the workbench partially hidden under a drop cloth, I spotted the bright blue, orange, yellow, and greens of a Sea Vixen tote.

  My heart jumped.

  I knew she owned one. She’d lied about it—and this proved it.

  I lifted the drop cloth and—hang on a second. This wasn’t a Sea Vixen beach tote. It was a vase.

  It was painted the same colors as the Sea Vixen and had handles on both sides, just like the one I’d seen pictured in the resort’s art catalog and displayed on the top shelf in the library. But on this vase, both of the handles were cracked.

  I threw back the drop cloth and—oh my God—three more vases. One was missing a handle, and the other two were chipped.

  What the heck was going on? It looked as if Colby was attempting to re-create a priceless work of art in the Rowan collection. But why?

  For a second it flashed in my head that these had been made by students in one of her art classes, but I remembered Sandy had told me that Colby only gave painting lessons, not ceramics, even though she owned a kiln.

  Colby was an artist with an international reputation, supposedly. Why would she spend her time and talent making fake vases? They had no value, served no purpose. They were completely useless. What the heck could she possibly do with them? Nobody would want a copy of a—

  Then it hit me.

  Oh my God, could Colby have been making duplicates so she could sell off the original pieces?

  But why would she involve herself with that kind of scheme wh
en she was heiress to the Rowan billions?

  I didn’t know the answer—but it was the only thing that made sense.

  The vases I’d seen in the library had looked a little sloppy compared to the ones pictured in the art catalog because they were phony, I realized. Colby, after numerous attempts, obviously, had created similar vases, switched them with the originals, and sold the genuine art.

  Oh my God. She must have been handing them off to the guy I’d seen at the boat—her accomplice aboard the Unexpected Opportunity—when I’d spotted her carrying the Sea Vixen tote. That’s why she’d denied the whole thing when I’d asked her about it.

  Then something else hit me. Could this have been a one-time deal? Was it possible that other works of art from the Rowan collection had been copied by Colby and sold?

  I knew how I could find out.

  I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and called Luke.

  “You’re saving a dance for me, aren’t you?” he asked.

  I heard music playing in the background and knew he was at the reception.

  “I need some info, right away,” I said.

  Luke must have picked up on the urgency in my voice because, after a few seconds, I heard the music fade and knew he’d left the reception.

  “What’s up, Haley?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

  “The FBI has an art crime division, doesn’t it?” I asked, and went on before he could respond. “I need you to find out if pieces of the Rowan art collection have turned up for sale anywhere in the world.”

  “Haley, what’s this all about?” Luke asked. “Where are you?”

  “Just make the call,” I said, and hung up.

  I stood there for a few seconds and something else hit me—something awful. I phoned Shuman.

  “You need to stop Colby from leaving the island,” I said, before he could say anything.

  “What?” he asked. “Say again.”

  We didn’t have a great connection. It sounded as if Shuman was at the beach and the wind was muffling our words.

  “Go to the helipad,” I said, louder this time. “Don’t let Colby leave.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “She murdered Jaslyn Gordon,” I said.