Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery)

by Dorothy Howell

  “What?”

  “Colby murdered—”

  A totally creepy feeling swept over me. I turned and saw Colby standing in the doorway.

  CHAPTER 25

  “Well, aren’t you the clever one,” Colby said.

  I didn’t feel so clever at the moment, only a little scared.

  Colby stood in the doorway, blocking my escape. Both hands were behind her back. I couldn’t see what she was holding, but I had a feeling it wasn’t something that would benefit me.

  “So, it’s true?” I asked. “You murdered Jaslyn?”

  “It was a shame, really. She was such a bright girl.” Colby’s expression darkened. “Too bright for her own good.”

  “Jaslyn was assigned to clean the library. She realized the artworks on display were fakes,” I said.

  Tabitha had told me that Jaslyn was upset about something she’d seen in the library and intended to speak to upper management about it. She’d questioned Avery about the provenance of the pieces in the collection and had been told, pretty much, to mind her own business because Colby was the resort collection’s curator, the expert, and she was handling things.

  “Jaslyn reported the fake vases to you,” I said. “But you already knew about them, didn’t you?”

  If Jaslyn had told Avery exactly what she suspected, I’m sure Avery would have handled it differently. Instead, Avery had unknowingly sent Jaslyn to her death.

  “The poor girl. So upset. So sure she’d stumbled upon the greatest art theft since Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner heist.” A sly smile crept over Colby’s face. “And she was right.”

  I gestured to the damaged vases on the worktable.

  “So these weren’t the only pieces you made here in your studio, then substituted for the genuine ones,” I said.

  “Oh, heavens, no,” Colby said. She smiled, pleased with herself. “This little project of mine has been rolling along quite nicely for some time now.”

  “The man I saw you with at the boat dock is your accomplice,” I said. “You pass the genuine pieces to him, and he sells them. You must really trust him.”

  “He’s an old friend,” Colby said. “Very well connected in the international art market.”

  I figured he was the guy who’d been on the lam since Colby and the rest of her robbery gang had been captured, the one Shuman had come to the island to look for.

  “Did you have other help here on the island?” I asked.

  Colby dismissed the thought with a toss of her head. “Why on earth would I need help from anyone at this dreadful place?”

  So much for my idea that Gabe Braxton was involved.

  “Did Jaslyn suspect what you were doing?” I asked.

  “Good gracious, no,” Colby said, and rolled her eyes.

  I figured that meant Jaslyn’s brother hadn’t been involved, either.

  “Jaslyn had no idea I was behind it,” Colby said. “I acted quite surprised when she told me, of course. Really, I gave a memorable performance.”

  Something told me she was really good at that sort of performance; she’d probably been pulling them off all her life.

  “Her brilliant plan was for the two of us to report the whole thing to Walt Pemberton,” Colby said. Her eyes lit up. “Another inspired performance on my part was necessary. It came to me in a snap. I convinced Jaslyn that, as chief of security, Walt was in on the thefts.”

  “And she believed you?” I asked.

  “Why wouldn’t she?” Colby said. “I told her to spend the night here in my bungalow, and the following day we would secretly take the supply boat to the mainland and call the authorities.”

  That explained why the search teams hadn’t been able to find Jaslyn when they’d initially combed the island. She’d been in Colby’s bungalow.

  “Jaslyn went along with that?” I asked.

  “Poor little thing was frightened,” Colby said. “She didn’t know who else to trust.”

  “So she trusted you,” I said.

  A really ugly image filled my head: Colby leading Jaslyn to the docks via the island’s most remote beach—her trumped-up excuse to avoid being seen by resort security, no doubt—then smashing Jaslyn over the head with a rock.

  I didn’t like that picture. I pushed it out.

  “You took Jaslyn’s driver’s license and cell phone up to the cliffs to try to make her disappearance look like a suicide,” I realized.

  “It was worth a try,” Colby said with a shrug.

  “How many pieces of the collection have you sold?” I asked.

  I didn’t really care, but I wanted to keep her talking.

  “Almost all of them,” she said. Her expression soured. “And I would have gotten every one of them if it hadn’t been for that other girl.”

  Tabitha flashed in my head. Oh my God, had she suffered the same fate as Jaslyn at Colby’s hand?

  “What about Tabitha?” I asked.

  “Suddenly disappearing the way she did created a problem.” Colby huffed irritably. “More media attention, more security personnel on the island, more people asking questions.”

  “You had to change your plans,” I said.

  “I did,” Colby said.

  I really hoped that meant Tabitha was alive and well. But where? Did this fairyland cottage have a dungeon beneath it where she was imprisoned?

  “What happened to Tabitha?” I asked.

  Colby lapsed into thought, as if she was considering making yet another change in her plan, taking care of one last problem before leaving.

  I had a sick feeling that it was me.

  No way would Colby have been so forthcoming if she intended to let me live to share the info with law enforcement.

  Colby snapped back to reality and said, “Now you know everything, which means I can’t let you leave.”

  I remembered that Shuman had told me two innocent people had been killed during the holdups in L.A. and that Colby had been implicated.

  Not a great feeling.

  She drew her arm from behind her back, and I saw a big knife clinched in her hand, probably one from the utensil caddie I’d seen on the kitchen counter.

  Oh, crap.

  The studio was cluttered with art supplies, leaving only a narrow path to the door, which Colby was blocking. Not much room to maneuver. The only window was fronted by the workbench. No way could I scramble out quickly.

  This seemed like a really good moment to stall for time.

  “I don’t know everything,” I insisted. “I don’t know why you did this. You’re Sidney Rowan’s daughter. You have billions of dollars. You live in a luxury resort—”

  “Where I’m a prisoner!” Colby shrieked. “I’m held captive by my own father!”

  She transformed before my eyes. No way did she look like a princess living in a fairyland cottage, or an heiress to one of the world’s largest fortunes. Now she looked like a hardened criminal who’d done prison time, murdered an innocent college student—maybe two—and would think nothing of murdering again.

  Colby’s eyes narrowed. She took a step toward me.

  I backed up a step.

  “Look where he makes me live!” she screamed, gesturing wildly with the knife.

  I’d sent Shuman to the island helipad.

  “Here! In this tiny, wretched shack,” Colby said.

  I hadn’t told Luke where I was.

  “Where I’m forced to kowtow to pampered, egotistical nobodies so they can play at creating art,” Colby said.

  I hadn’t told anyone where I was going.

  Colby took another step toward me. I backed up again and bumped into the workbench.

  If Shuman got to the helipad and saw Colby wasn’t there, would he come to her bungalow?

  Jeez, I really hope he comes to her bungalow.

  “Where I’m watched by security forces every minute of every day.” Colby’s breath quickened. “That supposed loving father of mine doesn’t think I know—but I know. That sneaky little
Sebastian Lane isn’t the first person he’s sent to spy on me.”

  So that was the confidential job Sebastian had gotten here at the resort? Working for Sidney Rowan himself? To keep tabs on his daughter?

  “The great Sidney wants everyone to believe how loving he is,” Colby said. “But it’s a lie. It’s all a show he puts on for the world. He never cared about me! Never cared about what happened to me! He could have used his influence to keep me out of prison—but he didn’t! He insisted it would teach me a lesson!”

  Her face was flushed, and her eyes were wide. Each word she spoke sounded more and more hysterical.

  “But you showed him,” I said, hoping it would calm her down. “You sold most of his art collection.”

  “I had to,” Colby declared, coming closer. “He cut me off completely after I was released. Forced me to live as a prisoner on this island. I needed money, and selling off his collection was the only way I could get it—the only way I could escape before he forgot I existed and left me marooned here forever.”

  Okay, now she sounded as if she’d lost her mind completely. I took a step to the side, thinking maybe I could push past her and dash out of the room.

  “Why would your dad do that?” I asked, hoping to cover for my shift toward the door.

  “He’s getting married—for the seventh time,” Colby said. “It’s supposed to be a huge secret. But I found out about it. It’s been in the works for months.”

  “The ceremony will be here at the resort,” I said, and realized this must be the special event coming up in a few weeks that Joy was planning for, and the reason Sebastian’s job would end at the same time.

  Sidney Rowan had probably put Sebastian in place to keep an eye on Colby and report on any of her plans to disrupt the ceremony—not that I blamed him, of course. Sebastian probably wasn’t the only undercover security personnel given the task.

  Yet Colby had managed to outsmart them all. On the surface, she seemed like a totally reformed, artistic, gentle soul, so it was no wonder security personnel hadn’t been watching her all that closely when she’d been selling off the art collection under the guise of shipping her own creations to buyers and galleries.

  “Another wife to shower with attention,” Colby said. “Another wife who’ll be just the excuse he needs to ignore his children—to ignore me.”

  If I’d been in a more generous mood, I might have felt sorry for her that she’d been ignored and hurt by her father all her life. But I couldn’t bring myself to muster any sympathy, not after what she’d done—and what, I felt sure, she still intended to do.

  Colby lunged at me with the knife. I jumped sideways.

  Where the heck was my hot FBI agent?

  She swiped at me, the blade barely missing my shoulder.

  Why hadn’t LAPD’s finest figured out what was going on?

  Colby swung the knife upward. I jerked back and fell against the worktable.

  Why was Jack Bishop guarding Yasmin’s stupid necklace when I was about to get knifed to death?

  At least Ben might get a Pulitzer Prize–winning story out of it.

  I picked up a canvas and swung it at Colby, striking her on the arm. The knife flew out of her hand and clattered to the floor between us. She made a move for it but grabbed a drop cloth instead and heaved it at me. I threw out both hands and batted it away just as Colby bolted from the studio.

  I raced after her, hot on her heels as she ran through the living room and out the front door. I knew she was headed for the helipad. No way was I letting her get there.

  Colby disappeared around the corner of the bungalow. I followed, then jerked to a stop as two men appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Colby.

  Oh my God, it was Luke and Shuman.

  Another man stepped forward. It took me a second to realize it was Walt Pemberton.

  Colby screamed and fought as they wrestled her to the ground and Walt snapped handcuffs on her.

  Colby was still blabbing her confession—people on the mainland, no doubt, heard it—when several hot-looking guys from the resort security team showed up to take her away.

  “Make her tell you what she did with Tabitha,” I insisted.

  Walt Pemberton gave me triple-stink-eye, ignored what I’d said, and kept talking to his security team.

  I was in no mood.

  “It’s okay, Haley,” Shuman said, and moved to stand next to me.

  Something about the way he said it made me believe everything really was okay.

  Luke eased up beside me.

  “We got word just a few minutes ago. Tabitha’s fine. She’s at her mom’s place,” he said. “She was frightened about everything that had gone on here, so she left without telling anyone.”

  “I was afraid something awful had happened to her,” I said.

  Shuman touched my shoulder. Nice. Some of the tension went out of me.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Do you need anything?” Luke asked.

  It was really great standing between the two of them—I almost wished something was wrong with me.

  “I’m okay. Just a little shaken up,” I said. “So how did the two of you end up at Colby’s bungalow?”

  “I went to the helipad, but she wasn’t there,” Shuman said. “I called Pemberton, told him what was going down, and headed here.”

  “I ran into the two of them,” Luke said. “You were right, Haley. Pieces from the Rowan art collection are suspected of being sold to private bidders in Europe and Asia. The Art Crime Theft division will be all over it now.”

  “I saw Colby’s accomplice,” I remembered. “He came to the island aboard the Unexpected Opportunity. I saw the two of them exchange a package at the dock.”

  “Awesome,” Shuman said, and gave me a wink.

  Pemberton ambled over. Colby and the security team had disappeared.

  “Miss Randolph, I’d like you to come with me,” he said. “There’re a few loose ends I need to tie up.”

  “Are you up to it, Haley?” Luke asked.

  “You’ve been through a lot,” Shuman said.

  How cool to have two totally fabulous men fussing over me. Still, I was really okay, plus I was anxious to tie up whatever loose ends he was talking about and be finished with this whole thing.

  “You need to call LAPD with the new lead,” I said to Shuman. I turned to Luke. “And you should get back to the reception.”

  Neither of them looked as if they wanted to leave—which was way hot, of course.

  “I’ll meet you both at the banquet hall,” I promised.

  “After you,” Pemberton said, and gestured me ahead of him.

  He was quiet as we walked back to the hotel, but I saw a little smile on his lips, like he knew something I didn’t—and could barely contain his joy.

  Wow, he must have been really pleased with me.

  What else could it be?

  CHAPTER 26

  O bviously, I was going to get a reward of some sort. I mean, really, why wouldn’t I? I’d solved Jaslyn’s murder, identified the accomplice in Shuman’s cold case, broken up an international art theft ring—and solved a couple of other crimes Walt Pemberton didn’t even know about—all without a single mocha Frappuccino. Was that reward-worthy or what?

  I was feeling pretty darn good about things as we crossed the hotel lobby and went inside the security office.

  No one was there. No balloons fell from the ceiling. No confetti cannon fired. Huh. What kind of celebration was this?

  Pemberton didn’t sit down. He didn’t invite me to sit, either.

  I got a weird feeling.

  “Your resort pass was recovered,” he said.

  My weird feeling got weirder.

  He handed me the card, then opened the door to another office. It was an interview room furnished with a metal desk and four really uncomfortabe-looking metal chairs. The lighting was harsh, the air warm. Slumped in one of the chairs was—oh my God, Ben Oliver.

  His sh
oulders drooped, his eyes were dull. His elbows resting on the table seemed to be the only thing holding him up. He looked worn out and disheveled in the same khaki pants and blue polo shirt he’d had on for days.

  “Ben, are you okay?” I asked.

  “He’s uninjured,” Pemberton barked. “This man was found using your resort pass. Do you want to explain how that happened, Miss Randolph?”

  Oh, crap.

  “Mr. Oliver here is not a guest of the Rowan Resort,” he went on. “He’ll be sent back to the mainland where he’ll be arrested and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

  Ben covered his face with his hands.

  “Arrested and prosecuted? Seriously?” I demanded. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I don’t like reporters sneaking around my resort, spying on guests, and sticking their noses into things that aren’t their business,” Pemberton said. “Nor do I like guests doing that, Miss Randolph.”

  I’m pretty sure he meant me.

  But there was little he could do, except maybe ban me from the resort for life—which, after this vacation, would be okay with me.

  Still, no way was I going to stand there and let Ben get arrested and prosecuted for anything.

  Immediately, I switched to I’m-better-than-you mode.

  “Then maybe you should pay closer attention to what’s going on here,” I said. “Ben is an investigative reporter and he’s ready to break a story about theft at your resort, perpetrated by your own employee against the very guests who come here expecting world-class security.”

  “He already knows,” Ben moaned.

  Pemberton gave me a smug smile. “Oh, yes, we discovered the Celebrity Panty Raid site. It’s shut down. Gone. Out of business.”

  Okay, so that hadn’t worked out as I’d planned. I pushed on.

  “Then Ben will report on the hidden passageways and secret door in the hotel,” I told him, using my you-can’t-top-this-one voice.

  “Carpenter crews have already closed them off. Walls have been painted and papered. There’s absolutely no sign they ever existed, so no proof for a news story,” Pemberton said. “Besides, Sidney Rowan owns, or influences, almost every media outlet in the country. I can guarantee the story will never see the light of day.”