Beach Bags and Burglaries (A Haley Randolph Mystery) by Dorothy Howell Page A

displaying high-end clothing and accessories for men, women, and children. My senses perked up. The Sea Vixen was here, only steps away. I could feel it.
    I have a sixth sense about handbags. It’s a gift, really.
    Immediately, I was drawn into one of the shops. There, at the entrance, stood a shelving unit filled with all sorts of bags: satchels, clutches, shoulder bags, cross-bodies, and—oh my God, totes—all in buttery leather, fabulous textiles, patterns, solids, a rainbow of colors.
    This was where Geraldine had found her Sea Vixen—it had to be. My heart began to beat faster. The Sea Vixen was here. Here . I was mere seconds away from claiming one for myself.
    “Can I help you?” someone asked.
    I spotted a salesclerk in a Rowan Resort burgundy uniform standing nearby. I noted she hadn’t come too close. Apparently, I was giving off an I’m-a-crazed-shopper vibe.
    I forced myself to calm down and channeled my pageant queen mom’s I’m-better-than-you attitude.
    “I’m looking for a Sea Vixen tote bag,” I said.
    “Oh, dear,” the clerk said and frowned. “I just sold the last one.”
    “What?” I’m pretty sure I said that too loud.
    She didn’t back off, as I expected her to. This place catered to celebrities, so I guessed she was used to dealing with lunatics.
    “Yes, I sold it just a few minutes ago,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
    Sorry? She was sorry? I was within minutes of buying the most fabulous tote of the season and she was sorry?
    She glanced at the telephone behind the counter. Oh my God, was she thinking about calling security?
    I drew in a breath, and steadied myself. “No problem. I’ll check with the other shops.”
    I got her oh-dear frown again. “All the shops have sold out. It’s such a popular bag.”
    Like that was supposed to be a comfort? Of course it was popular. Would anyone vacationing here want it if it weren’t?
    “We’re expecting another shipment,” the clerk told me with a see-how-helpful-I-am smile.
    “When?” I demanded. “Exactly.”
    “It could be at any time. The supply ships come in several times a day,” she said. “Would you like me to hold one for you?”
    I resisted the urge to turn a cartwheel and said, “Yes, please.”
    She moved behind the counter and wrote my name, room number, and cell phone number in a little book.
    “Call me as soon as it comes in,” I said. “Day or night.”
    “Of course,” she said.
    “No matter where I am on the island, I’ll come immediately,” I told her.
    “If there’s a delay reaching you, I’ll call your personal hostess,” she assured me. “I’ll contact Avery and alert her to the situation.”
    I had no idea how this salesclerk knew that Avery was my personal hostess, but I rolled with it.
    “Thanks,” I said.
    She looked relieved when I left.
    This had taken longer than I’d anticipated, I realized as I left the shop. I had to get moving on my investigation. I had a wedding to avoid and a murder to solve, and I knew just where to start.
     
    Regardless of what Ben claimed, I knew there was no way he’d be at this resort unless he was investigating a story—and what story could he possibly be checking into but the death of Jaslyn Gordon?
    If I used the hotel’s house phone to call his room, I knew he wouldn’t answer. I had his cell phone number from a few months ago, but if I called he’d see my name on the caller ID screen and wouldn’t pick up, so I didn’t bother trying. That meant I was going to have to do what women had been doing since the dawn of time to find a man—hunt him down on foot.
    Immediately, my I’d-really-like-to-be-a-cool-private-investigator skills sprang up—they usually worked better with a mocha Frappuccino, but I was willing to tough it out.
    I remembered that Ben liked to do his writing outside. I also knew he was avoiding me like the plague—not a great feeling, but oh well. Since I’d seen him earlier near the front of the hotel I figured he’d