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

sprang up in her chair. “Oh my God, there’s Vin Diesel.”
    We all whipped around, craning our necks to see through the crowd, in time to see what could—or could not—have been Vin Diesel disappear behind a stand of palm trees.
    “Wow, that was so cool,” Sandy said.
    We all nodded and sank into our chairs again.
    “I can’t believe Holt’s would give you something as fabulous as this resort vacation for a contest prize,” Sandy said.
    “I was surprised, too,” I admitted.
    “It’s b.s. You ask me, it’s b.s.,” Bella said, and sipped her drink. “But I’ll take it.”
    “It is kind of odd,” Marcie said, and gave me her something-else-is-going-on look that only a BFF could pull off.
    I knew she was questioning the prize upgrade, which had occurred after I turned out to be the winner of the Holt’s contest, and I knew she was thinking that my boyfriend—my former boyfriend—Ty was involved, since he owned the department store chain. But I didn’t agree with Marcie. Ty and I had broken up, so he had no reason to bestow such a fantastic prize on me, especially since the breakup had been his idea—long story.
    “Hey,” Bella said, sitting up straighter in her chair. “Holt’s ought to reimburse me for my lucky panties that got stolen. Maybe I can sue them for emotional distress, get disability or something.”
    “You should do that,” Sandy agreed. “My boyfriend says that an inspiration piece is crucial to living a full, happy life. That’s how he’s able to produce such beautiful works of art.”
    “Do you mean those tattoos he does?” I asked.
    “It’s art, Haley,” she said.
    We’d had this conversation a couple of zillion times. I didn’t like Sandy’s boyfriend—even though I’d never actually met him, that was no reason not to dislike him. He treated her like crap and she definitely deserved better, which was all I needed to know.
    Marcie suddenly leaned forward and bobbed her brows in the universal something’s-going-down gesture. We all immediately leaned in with her.
    “Look who just walked up,” she whispered. “And it’s not Vin Diesel.”
    We all leaned back, looking casual and unconcerned while our gazes darted around the bar like we’d just walked into Nordstrom on the morning of their after-Christmas sale, until we spotted Sebastian. He stood near the band looking at our table. I noted he wasn’t wearing his Rowan Resort uniform.
    “I’ll bet he’s here looking for you,” Marcie said to Sandy. “Go talk to him.”
    Sandy shook her head. “I shouldn’t.”
    None of us had a chance to disagree, because Sebastian walked over to our table.
    “Good evening,” he said, with an easy smile. “Sandy, would you like to dance?”
    Sandy immediately had an I-don’t-think-I-should look on her face, so what could I do but take over?
    “She’d love to dance,” I said, then drilled Sandy with a go-do-it glare.
    She grinned, and Sebastian escorted her onto the dance floor.
    We stared after her, all of us rethinking our no-men pact—at least, that’s what I was thinking.
    Marcie jumped to her feet. “Let’s go do the limbo.”
    “Sounds good to me,” Bella declared.
    “I’ll get a fresh drink first,” I said.
    They headed off to the limbo game, and I grabbed my drink and headed for the bar. It was a big rectangle covered with a thatched roof and decorated with fake fish and nets. About a half-dozen people were scattered around the bar. I found an open seat away from everyone.
    The bartender came over. He was a little taller than me, around thirty, with neat brown hair and an I’m-really-too-competent-to-be-working-in-this-place aura about him. He looked a little old to be a college student, like so many of the other Rowan Resort employees I’d seen, so I figured he had something else going in life and this bartending gig wasn’t permanent.
    He took my empty glass, a tall, frothy thing with a chunk of pineapple stuck on the rim, one of those cool drinks