Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery) by Dorothy Howell Read Free Book Online

the impression that he was flush and could afford a place like this, where a day’s stay could cost more than an average family’s mortgage payment, not judging from the clothes he wore, anyway—I was pretty sure he had on the same khaki pants and blue polo shirt I’d seen him wearing several months ago.
    If Ben wasn’t vacationing, he must be here investigating a story. But that didn’t make sense, either. The Rowan Resort would never— never —allow a reporter on their property. The privacy of their guests was their top priority.
    So why was he here?
    I decided to ask him.
    I walked closer and said, “Hi, Ben.”
    His head jerked up, his eyes widened, and he shouted, “Get away from me!”
    Wow, was that a different reception than I’d gotten from Luke or what?
    “I just want to talk—”
    “Stay back!”
    Ben slammed the lid on his laptop and sprang to his feet. He lurched right. I jumped in front of him. He cut left, cradling his laptop to his chest and holding out his other hand like a running back going down field for a touchdown. I went with him, blocking his escape.
    “Why are you being such an idiot?” I asked.
    “Because I don’t want you to ruin my life—again!” he told me.
    “I didn’t ruin you life,” I insisted.
    “Yes, you did!”
    Okay, he was right. Kind of. But it wasn’t all my fault. Really.
    A few months ago I’d given Ben some hot tips on breaking news—long story—that should have propelled him to the top of the newspaper journalist world—whatever that was—but things hadn’t worked out exactly as I’d thought they would. In fact, they’d gone sideways big-time and, to put it mildly, Ben’s editor hadn’t been pleased. Ben had ended up covering chili cook-offs, community Little Miss pageants, and craft projects at retirement homes.
    Ben hadn’t seemed to appreciate the effort I’d put into feeding him those potential career-making stories, for some reason, and had blamed me for all the bad things that had happened to him. Seems he was still holding a grudge.
    “Look,” Ben said, “just stay away from me.”
    He circled around me and disappeared.
    Yeah, okay, I guess it made sense that Ben would be a little miffed at me, but jeez, he seemed to be holding on to his anger a little too tightly.
    Or maybe something else was going on. Was he here investigating the disappearance and death of Jaslyn Gordon?
    The idea zinged around in my head for a few minutes—and I hadn’t even had a mocha Frappuccino—until I finally decided that even if that was the reason for Ben’s presence at the resort, it had nothing to do with me. I didn’t know Jaslyn, I wasn’t involved, and I didn’t have reason to become involved. In fact, if the rumors I’d heard were correct, the whole thing was an unfortunate accident. End of story—except that I still needed a mocha Frappuccino.
    I found my way back to the hotel’s front entrance, went into the lobby, and stopped dead in my tracks. Oh my God—a Sea Vixen.
    My heart rate picked up. My breathing got shallow.
    There it sat on the floor beside a chair in all its polka dot glory. The blue, orange, yellow, and green mesmerized me, drawing me across the lobby as if in a trance. I drew closer, arms extended, my fingertips tingling. Within seconds, it would be mine.
    “Oh, hi there,” somebody said.
    My world shattered. I blinked back to reality and saw a woman sitting in the chair. Oh my God, the Sea Vixen belonged to her.
    Her? How could that be? She was old—like fifty, or something. She had on—yikes!—those were shorts I’d seen on the rack at Holt’s, and Holt’s sold the most hideous clothing known to mankind. How could she have a Sea Vixen? She didn’t deserve it. Not like I did.
    Maybe I could just take it. I glanced at the hotel’s entrance and considered making a break for it. She was old. She couldn’t possibly move very fast. I could lose her in a heartbeat. Except this was an island. Where would I run to?