Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery) (4 page)

I could stake them out and wait for the woman to appear with the bag—a sacrifice I was willing to make, of course, though under normal circumstances I didn’t really have the patience for long-term waiting—or I could start knocking on doors.

My choice was easy.

Just as I approached the first bungalow, movement off to my right caught my eye. I turned and spotted Marcie barreling toward me, her jaw set, her brow furrowed, her gaze transmitting an urgent run-for-it message.

Oh my God, what now?

M
arcie blasted past me. I fell in behind her. Wow, she was really moving, so I knew something major had happened. I could barely keep up with her and I’ve got pageant legs, the only beauty queen gene my mom passed on to me.

We whipped through the palms, shrubs, flowers, and fountains, and finally Marcie ducked behind a huge fern plant and stopped.

“It’s that girl,” she blurted out in a hushed voice. “Yasmin.”

I gasped. “Yasmin? The one who’s dating Tate-Tate-Tate?”

“Yes.”

“I hate her.”

Marcie peeked through the greenery. “I just saw her.”

“Here?” I demanded.

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“I hate her.”

“I think she’s getting married here,” Marcie said.

“Crap.”

Between Marcie and me, we knew a lot of people. We’d see friends and acquaintances at bars, clubs, out shopping, and at the purse parties Marcie and I gave, which is how we’d met Yasmin. She’d somehow rotated into our circle of friends.

Marcie got along with Yasmin okay—Marcie can get along with most anyone—but I absolutely couldn’t stand her. All she ever talked about was her boyfriend, Tate. No matter what kind of conversation we were having, she always turned it around to focus on him. She was so obsessed with the guy we’d started referring to him as Tate-Tate-Tate—behind her back, of course.

I pulled back a fern branch and peeked out. “She didn’t see you, did she?”

“No,” Marcie said. “I took off as soon as I spotted her.”

“No way am I dealing with her on this vacation,” I said. “I don’t want to see her, or talk to her, or even be in the same room with her.”

“I know,” Marcie said.

“I hate her.”

“She had on one of those T-shirts that had the word ‘bride’ spelled out in rhinestones,” Marcie said.

“Hang on a minute,” I said, now irritated in a whole new way. “Yasmin is getting married? And she didn’t invite us?”

“That’s what it looks like,” Marcie said.

“We’re supposed to be her friends,” I said, totally outraged now.

“I know,” Marcie agreed.

“And she didn’t even invite us to her wedding?” I demanded.

“Nope.”

Yeah, okay, I couldn’t stand her—which I’m sure she didn’t realize because she was always so focused on Tate-Tate-Tate—but I was majorly miffed because she hadn’t invited me to her wedding, which made no sense but there it was.

“We’ll avoid her. It’ll be easy, really,” Marcie said. “She’ll be so caught up in her wedding, she probably wouldn’t notice us even if we walked right past her.”

Marcie was almost always right. I hoped she was this time, too. Not only was this supposed to be my no-men vacation, but I’d recently broken up with my fabulous boyfriend Ty, so the last thing—the very last thing—I wanted to be around was a couple who were blissfully happy, totally in love, and actually getting married.

“Bella and Sandy are at the beach,” Marcie said. “Let’s go, too. It’ll be fun.”

My mood instantly improved. Surely I would spot a Sea Vixen if I was at the beach.

We made our way through the courtyard, took a couple of wrong turns, and finally found the rear hotel entrance.

Thanks to my extraordinary peripheral vision—enhanced significantly by months of avoiding eye contact with Holt’s customers desperate for help—I saw that lots of men were still in the room where Detectives Vance and Pearce had interviewed me.

Luke Warner popped into my mind again.

I pushed him out.

Upstairs in our room, Marcie and I changed into bikinis—mine was blue, Marcie’s black—gathered our things, and went downstairs. A tram pulled up just as we walked outside, so we climbed onboard. I immediately turned my attention out the window, hoping to spot a Sea Vixen.

“You’ll find one,” Marcie said, reading my mind as only a BFF could.

“Darn right I will,” I said.

The tram glided silently and effortlessly along the paved road, and stopped a few minutes later beneath tall, swaying palms. The sandy beach stretched to the edge of the blue, rolling surf. A thatched roofed bar had attracted a crowd. Servers in white shorts and burgundy shirts brought drinks to the guests relaxing on lounge chairs. People splashed in the water and floated on the waves.

Immediately I scanned the area for the most sought-after bag of the season. Not a single one in sight.

“There they are,” Marcie said, and pointed to Bella and Sandy as we left the tram.

They were lying on chaises near the bar, sipping drinks from tall, umbrella-topped glasses. Sandy had on a red one-piece and a floppy hat. Bella wore a bright yellow bikini and huge sunglasses; no way would she put on a hat and ruin her carefully sculpted hair.

An attendant brought us towels and spread them over our chairs, and we settled in. The waiter came over, and Marcie and I ordered frothy, beach-vacation-worthy drinks.

“Oh my God,” Sandy said. “You’ll never guess what just happened.”

“Did you see Brad Pitt?” Marcie asked.

“No, something even better,” Sandy declared. “Two little girls came up to us and asked for Bella’s autograph. They thought she was Beyoncé.”

“No kidding,” Marcie said.

“So what did you do?” I asked.

Bella shrugged. “I gave them an autograph.”

“And then,” Sandy said, “they took her picture.”

“I smiled and waved,” Bella said.

I figured that photo would make one heck of a vacation memory for someone—Bella in her bright yellow bikini and a hair-sculptured dolphin atop her head.

I sat back ready to enjoy the ocean view, the breeze, and the late-afternoon sun. This was great. Just what I needed. Nothing—except maybe spotting another murder victim—could spoil the moment.

Then it was spoiled.

“Haley! Marcie! I can’t believe you’re here!”

Oh my God. Yasmin.

She walked toward us through the sand smiling and waving—just as if she actually thought we were glad to see her. She had on a pink bathing suit, pink sandals, pink hat, pink-framed sunglasses—really—and a pink cover-up that had BRIDE written across the front in dark pink hearts.

Where was that waiter with my drink?

“It’s really you!” Yasmin declared as she sat down totally uninvited on the foot of Marcie’s lounge chair.

Yasmin was about my age with dark hair and a great figure that her dad had paid one of L.A.’s highest profile personal trainers serious bucks for to keep his little girl happy—or at least quiet.

Her dad was a hotshot lawyer. He brought down seven figures a year representing celebrities who ran afoul of the law. Honestly, I didn’t know how he put up with some of those people. I wouldn’t have the patience to deal with them. I pictured finding myself in his position captured in a YouTube clip with a celebrity who’d just been sentenced to jail for violating the terms of her probation
again
, as she sobbed and threw herself on the defendant’s table, and me in her face screaming, “What did you think was going to happen, you crazy bitch?”

Anyway, Yasmin’s parents had money, which she seemed to think was
her
money, so she got pretty much everything she wanted.

“I’m Yasmin,” she said to Sandy and Bella, and they introduced themselves. “Haley and Marcie have been my friends for—well, forever. Since I started dating Tate. Oh my God, I can’t wait for you to meet Tate. We’re getting married!”

Nobody said anything.

“So, let me tell you all about the wedding,” Yasmin announced. “Oh my God, Tate insisted I pick pink for my color. He’s so sweet about giving me absolutely everything I want. Somehow, he just knows!”

Nobody said anything.

“When Tate first asked me out, I wasn’t sure if I should go out with him,” Yasmin said, and made a little frowny face I’m sure she’d perfected early in her teen years. “He was nice, but he didn’t compliment me much—not as much as I thought he should.”

“I can see why you wanted to break up with him,” I said.

Yasmin, deep in Tate-Tate-Tate mode, didn’t hear me.

“But then he started sending me flowers, and calling me, and texting me, all the time,” she said. “That’s Tate. He’s just so thoughtful.”

“Are you honeymooning here?” Sandy asked.

“Tate’s a lawyer, you know,” Yasmin said. “He works at my daddy’s firm, and he’s so smart. Everybody at the firm loves him, and they all think he’s brilliant.”

“How many bridesmaids do you have?” Sandy asked.

“Tate picked out the most gorgeous tuxedo for the ceremony,” Yasmin said. “He has perfect taste in absolutely everything.”

Bella caught my gaze and mouthed, “What the hell?”

I mouthed back, “I hate her.”

Bella just nodded.

I sat up in my chair and looked around. Where the heck was that waiter? I desperately needed a drink.

“You won’t believe my flowers,” Yasmin declared, and clapped for no apparent reason. “Lilies, shipped all the way from Holland. And tucked inside my bouquet will be a special pendant called the Heart of Amour. It’s an antique, or something. It has a huge jewel in it that Tate’s cousin bought in Paris, which is, oh my God, the most romantic city in the world.”

Nobody said anything.

“The necklace has been inside the bouquet at four weddings in Tate’s family,” Yasmin said, “and whoever caught the bouquet got married within a few months—all of them! So Tate said we absolutely have to use the Heart of Amour in our wedding.”

Nobody said anything.

“And then—
then
—Tate insisted I go to New York to buy my wedding gown. He planned the whole trip. Me, my mom, all my bridesmaids. Limos, champagne, a personal escort, everything,” Yasmin said. “He’s always thinking about new ways to make me happy.”

It sounded to me as if Tate-Tate-Tate was always thinking of new ways to make partner in her daddy’s firm.

“Tate insisted I try on every gown in every shop so I would get the one I really wanted, so I did.” Yasmin pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her cover-up. “Let me show you the pictures.”

I sprang out of the lounge chair as if I were lunging for the last Michael Kors satchel on a Macy’s sale table.

“I have to go,” I said.

Bella hopped up, too. “Yeah, so do I.”

“But you just got here,” Sandy said.

“And I haven’t told you Tate’s ideas for the reception,” Yasmin said.

“I’m—I’m expecting a call,” I said.

“Yeah, and I have to be careful not to get too much sun,” Bella said.

We grabbed our things and took off. Marcie and Sandy—who were clearly nicer than Bella and me—stayed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to a wedding here?” Bella asked as we trudged across the beach.

“I’m not,” I told her. “I wasn’t invited.”

Bella frowned. “She’s your friend?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

“And she didn’t invite you to her wedding?” Bella asked. “That’s b.s. You ask me, that’s b.s.”

“Really, I’m okay with it,” I said.

Bella nodded. “I can see why.”

We caught the next tram, rode back to the hotel, and went upstairs.

“Want to go get something to eat?” Bella asked as we walked down the corridor.

“Sure,” I said, digging in my tote for my resort pass room key.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby in a few minutes,” she said, and let herself into her room.

I scrounged through my tote—I was positive the Sea Vixen had better pocket organizers—and finally came up with my key.

“Excuse me?” someone called.

From the corner of my eye I glimpsed a young woman hurrying toward me. My initial reaction—thanks to my Holt’s training—was to ignore her, but then I saw that she had on a burgundy uniform and figured she was one of the hotel maids.

“You’re Miss Randolph, aren’t you?” she asked, stopping in front of me.

Wow, even the maids knew me by name. The Rowan Resort gave top-notch service, all right.

“I’m Tabitha,” she said, pointing to the name tag pinned to the lapel of her uniform.

She was blond with bright blue eyes, probably just out of her teens. I figured she was one of the college students who worked here.

Tabitha was really small, and I wondered how someone so tiny could push those heavy housekeeping carts up and down the halls. I glanced around but saw no cart.

She gestured to my room. “I just wanted to see if you needed anything, Miss Randolph.”

Was my picture up in the employee lounge above the caption “Be extra nice to this person, she discovered a dead body”?

“Everything’s great,” I told her.

She nodded and twisted her fingers together for a few seconds, then said, “I heard you’re the one who found Jaslyn.”

I wasn’t all that anxious to talk about Jaslyn—I should have gone with my Holt’s instincts and bolted when I saw her coming—but there was nothing I could do about that now.

I shouldn’t have to be constantly on my toes. I’m on vacation.

“That’s right,” I said.

Tabitha glanced around and leaned a little closer. “Is it true what everybody is saying? You know, that the detectives think it was just an accident?”

Okay, now I felt kind of bad. Obviously, Tabitha was concerned for her safety.

“That’s what somebody told me,” I said. “But, really, I don’t know anything for sure.”

“What did the detectives say?” she asked. “Exactly?”

“They mostly just asked me questions,” I said.

“Do they have any evidence?” Tabitha asked.

Of course, workers at the resort would be interested in the details of Jaslyn’s death. Word must have gotten around that the detectives thought it was an accident and Tabitha wanted to confirm the news. I guess it would give a little more peace of mind to everyone working here. Tabitha seemed anxious for details, but if I were in her shoes, maybe I would be, too.

“I don’t know anything about their evidence,” I said, then decided to move the conversation in another direction. “You and Jaslyn were friends?”

“Kind of,” she said. “We live here, all the employees. Well, not here at the hotel. There’s a dorm near the docks for us. We stay there for our shifts, then we can leave the island on our days off, if we want to.”