Murder of a Botoxed Blonde (16 page)

From the sound of the soft snores coming from the other bed, Skye figured Trixie was deeply asleep. Not wanting to wake her, Skye eased into the bathroom to change into her pajamas and prepare for bed.

Back in the room, she opened the drawer of the bedside table and took out her fanny pack, which already contained her stun gun. After adding the equipment Wally had given her, she returned the pack and shut the drawer. With a tired sigh, she slid between the sheets.

Just as she snuggled underneath the blanket, there was a knock on the door and a teenage voice said in a stage whisper, “Ms. D. It’s Frannie. Are you there?”

Hoping to shush Frannie before she woke Trixie, Skye threw back the covers, and said quietly, “Just a minute.” She
located her robe and put it on before opening the door. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, I’m starving and Ms. Bunny snores like a semi going uphill, but that’s not why I’m here.” Frannie had a pencil behind her ear and was clutching a yellow legal pad. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you after you found the body, and I wanted to get your impressions of the murder scene while they’re still fresh.”

“How about we have breakfast together and talk then.” Skye wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. The hallway was cold.

“You’ve been ignoring me since we got here.” Frannie thrust out her bottom lip. “Xenia said you’d be different when you were with adults.”

“You know that’s not true,” Skye denied, alarmed that Frannie was quoting Xenia Craughwell. Xenia had moved to Scumble River last summer, fleeing from the mess she had caused at her previous school. She was a deeply troubled girl, but smart and charismatic, and Skye worried about her influence on Frannie.

“Yes, it is true.” A tear clung to Frannie’s round cheek. “You and Mrs. Frayne are leaving me out.”

“Frannie, you know we wouldn’t do that.” Skye caved, although she knew she shouldn’t. Frannie didn’t usually have trust issues. This wasn’t like her at all, and Skye was alarmed. Then it dawned on her—low blood sugar could cause acute mood swings, and it had been at least thirty-six hours since the teen had eaten any real food.

The girl’s shoulders slumped and she turned to leave, but Skye stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Do you know where the solarium is?” Frannie nodded. “Let me get something from my room, and I’ll meet you there in five minutes. Okay?”

Frannie sniffed, and then nodded.

“Why don’t you put on some slippers or socks? Your feet must be freezing on these marble floors.”

“Thanks, Ms. D.” Frannie smiled, wiping away the tears.

Skye eased back into the room, intent on garnering some
food for Frannie. “What in the heck was that all about?” Trixie asked, appearing wide awake.

“Frannie is having an attack of the ‘nobody loves me blues,’ which I think is being exacerbated by low blood sugar.” Since Trixie was up, Skye flipped on a light and started to sort through the food she had brought. “What did you all have for Thanksgiving dinner?”

“It was awful.” Trixie stuck her finger down her throat and made a retching sound. “Tofu turkey, black soybean casserole, and a green sugar-free JELL-O salad.”

“Ew. No wonder Frannie is in a state.” Skye put the food in a tote bag and laid a towel on top to camouflage it. “Did Loretta share her stash with you afterward?”

“No. Your brother showed up and took her for a ride.” Trixie got out of bed and put on her robe. “Do you have enough there for me?”

“Yep.” Skye nodded. “And I left Wally with a list of provisions to bring tomorrow.”

“Then let’s go.” Trixie had her hand on the knob. “I’m famished.”

On their way to the solarium, Skye briefed Trixie on the protestor’s false confession, call to the media, and Wally’s plan to trap the real killer. Trixie swore on her husband’s life not to tell a soul.

Frannie was already curled up on a wicker settee when Skye and Trixie arrived. They each drew up matching chairs, forming a U-shaped arrangement with a low table in the middle. The broken window had been boarded up, which gave the room a more cozy feeling than the marble perfection of the rest of the mansion.

As Skye started pulling out potato chips, dip, cold cuts, cheese, bread, Oreos, and a six-pack of Diet Coke from her insulated tote bag, Frannie’s petulant expression brightened, but she asked, “Isn’t outside food against the rules, Ms. D?”

Skye bit her lip and looked to Trixie for help. She hadn’t thought of how Frannie would react to seeing the adults go against spa policy. Trixie was too busy filling her mouth with potato chips to respond.

“Of course breaking real rules is bad,” Skye said after a
moment, “but there are a lot of people in the world who think they can make rules for others to live by, when they have no authority to do so. We came to the spa to have fun and relax. Did either of you tell anyone you were here to lose weight?” Both Trixie and Frannie shook their heads. “There was nothing in their literature that mentioned a
mandatory
diet, and no reason to enforce a diet unless the client has signed up to lose weight. Thus, I don’t feel the need to follow the no-outside-food rule.”

“Besides, rules are for fools.” Bunny minced through the door trailing orange marabou feathers from her high heeled slippers, and flung herself next to Frannie on the settee. She peered at the food and beverage selection, and asked, “Where’s the booze?”

“Sorry.” Skye ignored Bunny’s comment about rules, hoping Frannie would, too. She already feared she was setting a bad example for the teen. “Frannie said you were asleep.”

“I was, but my stomach growled so loud it woke me up.” Without asking, Bunny snagged a slice of bread and started making a sandwich.

“You better dig in, Frannie, before it’s all gone.” Skye gestured to the two women stuffing their faces as fast as they could.

The girl grinned at Skye, and followed her suggestion. “Thanks, Ms. D.”

Skye was still full from her dinner with Wally, but she was thirsty. She grabbed a can of Diet Coke, popped the top, and took a long drink before saying, “So, what happened around here while I was gone?”

“Not much.” Trixie twisted an Oreo apart. “They finally fed us their version of dinner, but Margot, Dr. Burnett, and Whitney never showed.”

Bunny swallowed and added, “Someone said they were too distraught by Esmé’s death and were eating in their rooms, but I bet they secretly ordered a pizza.”

“Yeah.” Trixie licked the cream center from her Oreo. “I’ve been noticing that the staff seems awfully perky to be
existing on a thousand-calorie diet. I’ll bet they’re getting real food somewhere.”

Bunny and Frannie nodded in agreement.

“What did you all do after dinner?” Skye asked.

“We all sat around the parlor with that woman officer since everyone was too afraid to go off alone.” Trixie popped the chocolate cookie into her mouth and spoke around it. “Then when we got the word that the killer had confessed, we all went to bed.”

“You know”—Frannie, who had seemed lost in her own thoughts, spoke almost to herself—”Whitney is pretty smart.”

“Really?” She hadn’t struck Skye as any rival to Albert Einstein.

“Well, not book smart.” Frannie popped a chip in her mouth and chewed reflectively. “Maybe not magazine smart either.” She furrowed her brow, then took a sip of soda. “Okay, probably not even back-of-the-cereal-box smart. But she really knows how to take care of herself.”

“Do you mean street smart?” Trixie asked.

“Only if the street is Michigan Avenue.” Frannie paused. “No, I mean she’s good at finding out things and using them to her advantage. What’s the word for that?”

“Blackmail?” Trixie suggested.

“Noooo.” Frannie drew out the single syllable, indicating her annoyance.

“Shrewd?” Skye offered.

“Yes.” Frannie nodded, satisfied. “Whitney is shrewd, and she’s got her father wrapped around her little finger.”

“How do you know that?” Trixie asked.

“‘Cause I overheard her on the phone. Whitney was giving her dad a list of stuff to buy for her—expensive things.”

“So, she said,” Skye questioned, “‘Hi Dad, Esmé’s dead. Oh, by the way, could you pick me up a bottle of perfume, a pair of shoes, and a scarf?”’

When Frannie nodded, Skye asked, “Did he agree?”

“Yes. The phone Whitney was using was weird. I could hear both sides of the conversation. And Whitney’s dad was
like, ‘sure, baby. Anything you want. Let me write this down.”’

Bunny had been silent while Frannie talked, but suddenly she said, “Speaking of wrapped around someone’s finger, don’t you all find it odd that Margot seems to wear the pants in the family?”

“I think that’s because she’s used to being in the limelight,” Skye offered.

“Maybe so, but most doctors I’ve known have egos bigger than their Cadillacs, and are used to running the show,” Bunny argued.

“Bunny’s right,” Trixie added. “It does seem odd the way he allows her to order him around. He sure doesn’t act mat way with the staff. I saw him yelling at one of the housekeepers, about a missing cuff link or something, and he didn’t stop even after she was in tears.”

“Speaking of something missing, I can’t find my new watch,” Bunny added. “And one of the other guests mentioned missing earrings.”

Skye frowned. Was there a thief as well as a murderer on the loose, or were they one and the same?

“That reminds me.” Frannie consulted her notes. “When I overheard Whitney on the phone with her dad, she was complaining that she had to borrow Margot’s cell because hers was missing.”

“Could you tell where Whitney’s dad was calling from?”

“Paris, and since this is the busiest travel weekend of the year, he doesn’t know how long it will take to get home. He told her he had spoken to Margot, and she was willing to have Whitney stay here until he arrives.”

Skye took another sip of soda. “Well, if he’s in Europe, he has a pretty good alibi. I wonder if Agent Vail ever got ahold of him, or if he was letting all his calls go into voice mail so he could screen them. But why would he want to avoid talking to the police?”

“Because he doesn’t have a good alibi. Not really,” a voice from the door interjected. “If she reached him on his own cell phone, he could be sitting in his car in the driveway for all we know.”

Skye put her hand over her heart. “Nancy, you scared the bejeezus out of me.” The magazine writer stood just over the threshold. “Would you like to join us? You’re welcome as long as you promise not to tell anyone about our contraband food.”

“Thanks. I’d love to.” She pulled a chair over to their group and after everyone was introduced said, “Don’t worry, I’ll never tell. As you know, I have my own illicit supply.”

“What are you doing wandering around?” Skye remembered that Nancy hadn’t had an alibi for the time of Esmé’s death.

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Now it’s you-all’s turn not to tell, but one of my ways of writing about a place is to poke around when everyone’s asleep and can’t cover up any problems.”

“Aren’t you afraid to roam alone with a killer on the loose?” Skye blurted out.

“I would be if the murderer hadn’t confessed.” She drew her bare legs up under her nightshirt and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“Oh.” All eyes turned to Skye, and she finally said, “Right. I guess I forgot.” It was a lame answer, but all she could think of. Trying to change the subject, she asked, “Has anyone heard if the spa will go on with its regularly scheduled activities?”

Nancy nodded. “Margot assured me it would, and begged me to stay.”

“Don’t you all find it depressing that Esmé’s death is being treated almost as an afterthought?” May asked as she entered the solarium and pulled up a chair next to Skye.

Loretta trailed the older woman. She was the only one still dressed in street clothes. She closed the circle by adding a chair to the open end.

“What do you mean, Mom?” Skye asked.

“Well.” May’s face was sober. “A woman died here less than sixteen hours ago, and no one seems to care.”

“I doubt that’s true, May.” Loretta eyed the group thoughtfully. “It’s just that none of us knew Esmé’. I’m sure Whitney and Margot are upset.”

“That’s right.” Frannie nodded. “Remember, they stayed away from dinner.”

“Considering the food, that’s not really a sacrifice.” Bunny playfully whacked Frannie’s upper arm with the back of her hand.

“See.” May scowled at the redhead. “
That’s
what I mean. People are joking and complaining as if nothing happened. Heck, you’re all having a party.”

May’s shoulders sagged and Skye put her arm around them. “This isn’t like you, Mom.”

“I know.” The lines in May’s face were deeper than they had been that morning and she appeared smaller. “But it suddenly struck me that this woman was famous. Millions worshipped her, yet not one person seems to be grieving. Her stepdaughter resented her, and her so-called friend Mar-got wants the spa to stay open as if nothing has happened.”

“You can’t blame people for how they feel, Mom, and you can’t make them feel the way you think they should.” Skye looked at her mother, then at the others. Everyone’s expression was somber and Frannie and Trixie seemed ready to cry. Dredging up a lecture she had heard in graduate school, Skye said, “Murder is the ultimate breach of social contract, the very worst crime we can imagine. We feel vulnerable when it touches us, even indirectly. But people who don’t know the victim sometimes feel excitement or curiosity. It doesn’t make them bad people.”

May shrugged, clearly not convinced. There was a moment of silence, then she said, “I suppose you’re right, but…”

“But what. Mom?” Skye could scarcely wait to hear her mother’s description of how things should be.

“But I sure wish we could go back to the time when water balloons were the ultimate weapons.”

Another silence, then Trixie snickered, and Frannie giggled. Finally even May was smiling again as she stuffed an Oreo into her mouth.

Nancy had been quiet during May’s diatribe, but as the conversation relaxed, she joined in. She fit in well, as she was quick with a quip and able to laugh at herself.

After a while, Skye asked her, “Where are you from, Nancy?”