Murder of a Botoxed Blonde (13 page)

“Yes.” Amber gave an irritated shrug. “Now that my wicked stepmother is out of the picture, I’m auditioning for the role of princess again.”

“What about her baby?”

“Sheila died before giving birth.”

Skye paused to process what she had learned, then asked, “So, if you’re the princess again, why are you working here?”

“Two reasons. So far, I haven’t quite regained the rank of princess—Bernard gives me expensive presents, but I haven’t talked him into the trust fund yet. And because I never, ever want to have to depend on someone else for money again.” Amber stared at the ceiling. Finally, she looked Skye in the eye. “What part of this do you find so hard to believe?”

“Unfortunately, none of it.” Skye’s tone was gentle. “Did the same thing happen to Whitney?”

“No. Not yet. I’ve been telling her to make every effort to stay in her father’s good graces. But with Esmé trying to get pregnant, the game was probably over. Whitney wouldn’t have a chance to stay daddy’s little girl if Esmé had a baby.”

After Amber left, Skye thought about the young woman. It would be awful to be thrust completely unprepared into the workaday world. It was nice of Margot to give her a job
at the spa. Had Esmé asked her friend to give Whitney’s pal a chance?

Next, Skye talked to one of the waitresses, an assistant groundskeeper, and one of the housekeepers. Since it was after breakfast, the waitress was off duty, and had been sitting in her car listening to music, the assistant groundskeeper had been alone filling in more holes that had appeared overnight, and the housekeeper had been in her room lying down with a headache.

Skye finished her interview list around five. Her stomach was growling and she was feeling light-headed from lack of food. Hurrying out of the treatment room, she ran smack into Wally, who was talking on his cell. After steadying her, he drew her to his side, said good-bye to whoever he was talking to, and asked Skye, “Anything?”

“Only one alibi, but nothing that I can see at this point that would have anything to do with the murder.” Skye leaned back to look into his eyes. “How about you?”

He shook his head. “The only good piece of news is that Quirk’s doctor released him to come back to work, and he’s taking the midnight shift.”

“That’s great.” Quirk was Wally’s best officer and he depended on him.

“Let’s see if the others found out anything.”

As they walked back to the lobby, Wally explained that he had assigned Jeff and Anthony to interview the Scumble River women who were staying at the spa, including Bunny and Frannie, figuring that that group would probably have the least reason to kill Esmé, and that those officers would most likely have at least some knowledge of the women and their backgrounds.

He had assigned Ronnie Vail to interrogate the magazine critic, the second waitress, the other two housekeepers, the bellboy, and the cook.

Wally had talked to May, Trixie, Loretta, and Barb, the reception clerk, before starting the serious interviews. His list had consisted of Dr. Burnett, Whitney, Kipp, Ustelle, and, of course, Margot.

By the time they reached the lobby, Jeff, Anthony, and Ronnie Vail were waiting for them.

Wally asked, “How many of the people you interviewed had an alibi?”

“All the Scumble River women, except for Mrs. Denison, Mrs. Frayne, Ms. Steiner, Mrs. Reid, and Frannie Ryan, were together taking the self-guided hike through the grounds,” Anthony reported. “They met for breakfast at eight and then walked together from eight thirty until nearly ten.”

“Excellent. I was hoping we could cross them off the list.” Wally turned to Agent Vail. “How about your group, Ronnie?”

“The waitress and cook were on duty at the breakfast buffet and alibi each other. The two housekeepers were working together cleaning guest rooms and never out of each other’s sight for more than five or ten minutes at a time. And the bellboy claims that he was in the lobby with the reception clerk.”

Wally nodded. “That matches the statement she gave. How about the magazine woman?”

“She stated that she was with Skye and Margot from about eight to eight thirty, but by herself for the rest of the crucial time.”

“So she’s still a suspect,” Skye said. “As are all the people I talked to except Frisco Indelicato”

Wally told Anthony and Jeff about the protestors. He finished by saying, “Check the motor lodge and the campground to see if you can find them.”

The men nodded and left.

“Ronnie, I want you to continue calling Rex Quinn. He’s supposedly out of the country, but his daughter gave me his cell number. Right now it’s going into voice mail, but try again every hour or so.” Wally handed the woman a slip of paper. “I’ve promised the spa owners that if they keep the place open, I’d have an officer here twenty-four/seven. So if you’re staying on this case, I’d like you to remain here until midnight. After that, I have an officer available for the next shift.”

“Fine.” Ronnie’s voice was controlled and her eyes cold. “Where will you be?”

“You can reach me on my cell.”

Skye noticed Wally didn’t answer the woman, but instead headed toward the door, pulling Skye after him without giving her a chance to say anything.

Outside, Skye dug in her heels and stopped him. “Where are we going?”

“To get something to eat.” Wally let go of her hand. “Unless you’d rather stay here and see what Margot’s cook is serving for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“No, thanks.”

Wally opened the door of the squad car for Skye. “Coming?”

She nodded and joined him at the bottom of the stairs, sliding into the passenger seat. He closed the door and walked around to his own side.

After he buckled his seat belt, she asked, “But where can we find something to eat this late on a holiday?”

“My place.”

S
kye’s nervousness kept her silent on the ten-minute ride to Wally’s house. She had been there only once before, and it hadn’t been an enjoyable visit. As Wally turned the squad car into his driveway, she glanced at the dashboard clock. It was close to six o’clock, and she had a raging headache brought on by hunger and stress.

Wally opening her car door interrupted her thoughts, and she smiled stiffly at him as he took her hand and helped her out. Once she was standing, he rested his palm on the small of her back and guided her to the house’s rear entrance—a small enclosed back porch containing a washer, dryer, and an ironing board.

Straight ahead, a soft glow from the oven beckoned them into the kitchen. Before she even reached the threshold, a heavenly smell of turkey and dinner rolls greeted her.

Wally flicked on the overhead light, and Skye could see that the table was set with a white cloth and bright flower-patterned dishes. She pointed in admiration to the table and the pumpkin pie on the counter. “How did you do all this?”

“When I finished my interviews, I called my housekeeper and explained the situation.” He shrugged off his navy nylon jacket embroidered with
scumble
river
police
, and underneath,
chief
boyd
in gold over the right breast pocket.
“Once she heard our plight, she agreed to bring us the leftovers from her family’s dinner.”

“You have a housekeeper?” How could Skye not have known that?

“About a year ago I hired Dorothy Snyder to come in and clean a couple of days a week, and do the shopping and laundry and stuff like that.”

Dorothy was one of her mother’s best friends. Why hadn’t May mentioned that Dorothy was working for Wally? “Did Dorothy quit the factory job she took last year?”

“Yes.” Wally unbuckled his utility belt and laid it across the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “She said she liked keeping house better than making phone books. She works for a couple of other guys, too.”

Did Wally realize that Dorothy was probably reporting their every move to May? Skye opened her mouth, then closed it. It wasn’t an issue she was ready to bring up just then. Instead she stepped over to the oven. “Let’s see what Dorothy’s family had for Thanksgiving.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it will be good.” Wally yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s a great cook.”

All of a sudden, Skye noticed how tired Wally looked. “How long have you been on duty?”

“I covered Quirk’s midnights. My original plan was to work until eleven, then have Anthony come in for the rest of the day shift and cover afternoons as well.”

Skye did the arithmetic in her head. “So you haven’t been to bed since Tuesday night?”

“It’s not quite that bad. I slept a few hours yesterday before going in to the station last night.”

“Still, you must be exhausted.”

“I’ll be fine.” Wally yawned again. “I just need a shower and a cup of coffee.”

“Mmmm.” Skye could almost taste the caffeine after being deprived for the past twenty-four hours. “Why don’t you take your shower and I’ll put on a pot of coffee? By the time you’re finished, I’ll have everything on the table.”

“You’ve got a deal.” He kissed her on the cheek and started unbuttoning his shirt as he walked out of the kitchen.

Wally’s tiny house, built in the nineteen-thirties, had two bedrooms on one side and the kitchen and living room on the other. She could hear him humming and moving around in one of the bedrooms, then the shower came on.

As she listened to the water, she found coffee in the freezer, and filters in a cupboard. The coffeemaker was a simple model, easy to figure out. As it dripped, Skye examined the fridge. There was a strawberry-pretzel JELL-O salad and a Tupperware bowl full of whipped cream for the pie. She took both out, setting the salad on the table.

Next, she investigated the oven. Wrapped in foil was a quarter of a turkey. A white CorningWare dish held stuffing, and a divided Pyrex bowl had half sweet potato and half green bean casserole. Skye put on oven mitts and started transferring everything to the table.

She could still smell dinner rolls, but couldn’t find them. Where were they? The kitchen was bright and clean, with uncrowded countertops, and she finally located the rolls in the toaster oven. She set the temperature control knob on WARM and the timer for five minutes.

Wally appeared just as the bell dinged and she transferred the rolls from oven to table. He had changed into worn jeans that molded the muscles of his legs and cupped the tight curve of his derrière. A loose Hawaiian shirt didn’t hide the powerful set of his shoulders or his well-developed chest. He wore flip-flops on his bare feet.

Skye felt faint, and not just from hunger. She licked her lips and his fudge brown eyes followed the movement. He gave her a devilish grin.

Skye was torn between the food and the man. Would he mind if she spread the pumpkin pie all over his torso and licked it off? She gave herself a mental slap and ordered herself to follow her original plan: dinner, then dessert.

It was time to move the relationship to the next level, but not on an empty stomach, and maybe not even tonight. It certainly wasn’t the best circumstance for their first time together. They were both exhausted and preoccupied with Esmé’s murder.

Suddenly Skye’s libido receded and she felt a sense of
sadness. Granted, Skye hadn’t found Esmé very likable, but no one had the right to take her life. By murdering her, the killer had taken Esmé’s chance to grow, to become a better person. Who knows, maybe if she had gotten pregnant, having a baby would have changed her.

Skye straightened. Well, whoever killed Esmé would be sorry. They had picked the wrong place to commit the crime. Scumble River may seem like a hick town, but it had a terrific police department and a darn good psychological consultant. Between the two of them, they’d bring the murderer to justice.

Skye pushed away the depression that had seized her and asked, “Shall we eat?” She grabbed the coffeepot and gestured toward a cup. “You take it black, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Wally sank into a chair. “There’s that vanilla creamer you like in the fridge, and Sweet’N Low in the sugar dish.”

“Great.” Skye was touched he remembered exactly how she liked her coffee. “Dorothy did you proud. Don’t wait for me. Dig in.”

She watched him from the corner of her eye as she poured the creamer and dumped in the two packets of sweetener. He was gorgeous. He literally took her breath away. That he was sweet and funny and a good person helped, too.

They ate in silence for a while, both starving. Finally after the initial edge had been taken from their hunger, Skye commented, “These are beautiful dishes. Royal Winton’s Summertime, right?”

“Right.” Wally beamed at her and ran a caressing finger along the rim of the saucer. “They were my grandmother’s. Darleen hated them, said they were old fashioned, so they’ve been in storage. I got them out last week.”

Darleen was Wally’s ex-wife, a topic Skye wasn’t ready to talk about, especially since it might lead to Simon, an issue she definitely wanted to avoid. Searching for another subject, she decided this was a good time to find out a little about Wally’s parents. “Were the dishes from your mom’s mother or your dad’s?”