Murder of a Botoxed Blonde (6 page)

Looking around the solarium, she noticed a telephone. Next to it was a card that explained this was a house phone and she could dial zero for the front desk or a room number to reach a guest. Skye dialed zero and asked to be connected to Margot. Skye described what had happened, and the spa owner promised to have someone look into it immediately.

Skye redressed, then walked back to her room thinking about the wraith. Which guest could she have been? Margot had given her a list when they checked in that afternoon. There were a dozen or so women from the local area, most of whom Skye had a nodding acquaintance with, as well as Margot’s ex-model friend Esmé Gates, and Esmé’s stepdaughter, whom Margot said was arriving late that afternoon. The wraith must have been the stepdaughter. What
was
her name?

*

“Whitney, this is Skye Denison, our town’s school psychologist. Skye, this is Whitney Quinn, Esmé’s stepdaughter.” Margot finished the introductions.

Although there wasn’t assigned seating, Margot had met Trixie and Skye at the dining room entrance and subtly steered them to her table, where Dr. Creighton Burnett already sat along with Esmé Gates and Whitney.

While Esmé and Margot looked enough alike to be sisters, Margot’s beauty had a serene quality, while the best word to describe Esmé was severe. Lipstick, eyeliner, and eyebrows were all drawn on in precise strokes. Her dinner dress was an Armani; the gray-taupe of the chiffon skirt lay in a perfect row of ruffles, while the matching brocade jacket skimmed her torso without a crease.

Esmé’s blue eyes were hard—she had barely acknowledged the introductions—and now she stared at each of her tablemates, daring anyone to tick her off. She reminded Skye of a Komodo dragon she had seen on a nature special—regal and cold. When she had nodded a greeting to Skye and Trixie, Skye felt a shiver run up her spine. There was an eerie hunger in her smile.

Esmé’s gaze reached her stepdaughter, and she pointed to Skye, and asked, “Was this the woman you said was doing some kind of dance, waving her jeans in the air?” She flicked Skye a glance the same way a lizard zaps a fly. “The one you said looked like a frog in a blender?”

Skye’s nostrils flared, but she bit her tongue and didn’t respond.

When the girl didn’t reply either, Margot, her voice knife-edged, said, “Esmé, darling, how often must I tell you, if you can’t be kind, at least have the decency to be vague.”

Before Esmé could react to Margot’s chiding, Trixie asked, “Skye, what happened?”

“Someone threw a rock through one of the windows in the solarium. Unfortunately, I was near enough to be showered with glass.” Skye shot Whitney a stare that made the young woman slump in her chair. “I was shaking the shards from my pants when Whitney stopped by, but I must have frightened her. She ran away before we could chat. Before
Whitney’s appearance, Amber popped in, but she ran off, too.” Skye forced a laugh. “I had no idea the sight of me in my underwear was so scary.”

Everyone laughed, then Margot said, “Amber shouldn’t have been in that area. Was she with you, Whitney?”

“No.” Whitney sounded bored. “Why would she be with me?”

“Because you know her from school, don’t you? She mentioned that when I interviewed her.” Margot turned to Skye and Trixie and explained, “Whitney and Amber went to high school together, but when Amber’s parents divorced, she moved from the area and they lost touch.”

Skye and Trixie nodded and murmured, “I see.”

Margot looked back at Whitney. “Didn’t you get back in contact with Amber recently?”

“Sort of. We’re both old movie buffs and joined the same chat room online,” Whitney answered.

Margot remarked, “I believe Amber said it was around the time of her stepmother’s funeral?”

“I guess.” Whitney shrugged. “We just e-mailed. We can’t really be friend, friends. Her dad cut her off without a penny when he remarried, so she’s too poor to hang around with anymore.”

Skye bit her tongue, trying to keep from lecturing Whitney on the subject of true friendship.

Luckily, Margot stepped in and scolded the young woman about her behavior that afternoon. “It’s too bad you two distracted Skye from the broken window, Whitney. By the time she called me, and Creighton went out to check, there was no one outside, although he did find the ground disturbed next to that wall.”

“Dr. Burnett,” Skye asked, “did it look as if someone was digging, trying to find something, or only wanted the dirt to throw at the window?”

“Definitely looking for something.” Creighton Burnett fingered his silver mustache. “We’ve had several such holes dug around the property. The groundskeepers are having trouble keeping them filled and resodded.”

Trixie smoothed her napkin in her lap. “‘The treasure, of course.”

Esmé looked up from the small mirror she was using to refresh her lipstick. “Treasure? What treasure?” Her bored expression had changed instantly to one of avid interest.

Margot sighed. “There are some silly rumors going around that the original owner’s wife hid her jewelry somewhere, either in the mansion or on the grounds, when the stock market crashed in 1929. He killed her and then himself before she could tell anyone where her jewelry was.” Margot gestured vaguely to her right. “The man who bought the estate after the murder/suicide took place published a book about the whole affair. There’s a copy in the solarium if you’re interested.”

Whitney had been taking a drink of water and she muttered into her glass, “The only book
she’s
interested in is my father’s checkbook.”

No one at the table spoke, pretending not to have heard her.

Finally, as the silence grew uncomfortable, Skye said, “Maybe it was the protesters trying to disrupt things and just pretending to be searching for the treasure. They seemed pretty intent on closing down the spa.”

“They’ll never convince the women coming here that they’d be just as happy growing old and looking ugly.” Margot waved away Skye’s suggestion. “What a silly idea.”

“I think they have a point.” Skye looked Margot in the eye and refused to be the first one to blink.

“You would, my dear.” Esmé’s smile was like the gaze of a cobra—scary enough to freeze her prey until she was ready to devour it. “You’re one of them.”

“Excuse me?” Skye knew where the ex-model was heading, but wanted to see if she would say it to her face.

“The imperfect.” Esmé narrowed her eyes. “Although you aren’t hopeless. If you lost all that extra weight and did something with that hair, you could probably marry well and move uptown.”

“I don’t think the protesters protest because they want to be beautiful and aren’t,” Skye countered.

Esmé’s laugh was hard. “Right. And people aren’t more violently opposed to fur than leather because it’s safer to harass rich women than motorcycle gangs.”

Dr. Burnett cleared his throat, then stood, lifted a bottle of wine from the bucket where it had been chilling, uncorked it, and began to pour. “Even if the jewelry was hidden here back then, that was over seventy years ago, and someone would have found it by now. Margot told that to that silly newspaper woman, but she insists on publishing those lies anyway.”

“Creighton’s right.” Margot lifted her glass. “To a peaceful, serene, and youth-restoring weekend.”

Trixie’s eyes met Skye’s, her thoughts written across her face. The odds of this weekend being any of the three were about a hundred to one.

After they sipped the wine, two waitresses began to serve the food. Skye recognized them as recent Scumble River High School graduates, both pretty girls but with little interest in academics or careers. She couldn’t quite read their name tags, but she knew she’d eventually remember who they were.

Skye had also identified the housekeeping and grounds staff as locals. It looked as if the only employees Margot and Creighton had brought in from out of town were the professional spa staff. In their initial conversation, Margot had said if the spa was a success it would provide several jobs for the surrounding area, and it looked as if she had been telling the truth.

Dinner was everything Skye had feared—tiny, tasteless, and tiresome. When the waitress slid Skye’s plate in front of her, at first she thought it was a joke. At the ten o’clock position were three baby carrots, a half dozen peas, and a water chestnut snuggled into a nest of bean sprouts. A postage stamp size piece of fish lay in the center. And at four o’clock a half circle of what looked like a strange breed of malformed brown rice clung to the china.

Skye waited until everyone had been served, then asked hopefully, “Are there any rolls?”

Esmé froze, her fork and knife poised above a baby carrot
Whitney snickered, and Margot shuddered. No one spoke.

Finally, Dr. Burnett answered in a gentle tone, as if addressing someone mentally ill. “My dear, one of the issues our spa will help you with is your addiction to carbohydrates.”

“Oh.” Skye shot Trixie a withering look.

“Yes,” Esmé testified. “I haven’t had a piece of bread or a strand of pasta in six months.” She patted Dr. Burnett’s arm. “Creighton saved me. When I retired from modeling and married Rex, I lost control and ballooned up to a hundred and twenty pounds. Rex was threatening to divorce me. If Creighton hadn’t gotten me on his Fountain of Youth diet, I would have lost my husband, and who knows how fat I might have gotten. And now that I’m trying to get pregnant, he’s already designed a diet that guarantees I’ll gain no more than ten pounds during the pregnancy.”

Margot nodded. “Botox can get rid of the wrinkles, but you need Creighton’s diet and our Miracle Mud to completely defeat Father Time.”

Botox. Finally Skye understood why neither Margot’s nor Esmé’s faces showed any expression. Happy to solve that mystery, but not giving up getting something edible for supper, Skye asked, “I thought Margot said there would be some choices at mealtimes.”

“Why, of course, regular, vegetarian, and vegan,” Dr. Burnett said. “Would you prefer one of the others?”

“No, but, um, I’m not really here for your diet, so couldn’t I have a normal meal?”

“I’m afraid not.” Margot bared her teeth in a not so subtle message to shut up. “Didn’t you read your brochure? We all follow the Burnett Diet. It’s too hard on those participating to have others eating forbidden food in front of them.”

“Room service?”

“No.” Margot’s voice had lost a bit of its smoothness. “Nowhere in the spa. Even the staff eats according to our diet. It’s helped them all. Our masseuse dropped the five pounds she’d struggled with all her life, Amber’s diabetes is under control, and Frisco, our fitness trainer, finally got his
cholesterol below two hundred.” Margot regained her even tone and asked, “Now that that’s settled, would you like what’s on your plate or vegetarian or vegan?”

“What I have.” Skye forked a bite of fish into her mouth and forced herself to chew and swallow the bland morsel. “Just call me a carnivore.” This was bad enough. Skye was afraid to see what the vegan meal might be like.

The horrible meal finally came to an end and Margot stood. “Herbal tea and dessert will be served in the parlor.”

Dessert? Skye’s mind was immediately lost in a chocolate dream, but the rest of Margot’s statement penetrated her fantasy.

“I’m thrilled to announce that tonight you’ll be entertained by world famous soprano, Elyse Piven, singing selections from Wagner.”

Skye shuddered and prayed that dessert was a chocolate fountain she could drown herself in.

May’s little band of merry women was also not pleased with their dinners or the prospect of the evening’s entertainment. They circled Skye like hyenas around a ripe carcass as soon as she set foot in the parlor.

Loretta grabbed Skye’s arm and hissed into her ear, “Do you have any idea how boring this performance will be?” Ever the suave attorney, she kept a smile on her face and nodded pleasantly to the other guests passing by them.

Skye nodded, but before she could respond verbally, her mother took her other arm and whispered, “That was awful. I thought we were supposed to bathe in this Miracle Mud, not be forced to eat it.”

Bunny, ex-Las Vegas dancer, was not as discreet as Skye’s mom, and didn’t attempt to lower her voice. “I’ve seen anorexics eat more food than what they just served us.”

Skye shoved her hands in her pockets. “Maybe you all should check out.” She studied the toes of her shoes. “According to the owners, this is the world-famous Burnett Diet, and it’s all we’re going to get for the entire weekend.”

“Are you and Trixie staying?” May asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?” May narrowed her eyes. “You two hate diets. What aren’t you telling us?”

“Nothing.” Skye crossed her fingers and lied. “We’ve just decided to give it a try.”

Frannie, who had been silently taking in the adults’ discussion, put her hands on her hips and said, “There’s something going on here, and I’m not leaving until I get my story.”

Trixie joined them in time to hear Frannie’s vow. “You seem pretty sure Ms. D. and I will okay your piece for the school newspaper.”

“Ms. Steele said if you two don’t use it for the
Scoop
, she’ll use it in the
Star.
“

Trixie and Skye looked at each other. They shrugged. Frannie had trumped them.

“No one is going anywhere except, maybe to bed.” May shook her head. “An opera singer. What in heaven’s name were the owners thinking? They should’ve gotten a gal from the Grand Ole Opry.”

May herded everyone through the large parlor to the back corner. The room was decorated in cream and gold, with a white marble fireplace. Satin draperies the color of expensive whiskey pooled on the white marble floor. Tobacco-colored leather couches and chairs provided intimate seating for groups of four, six, and eight. Wrought iron and glass tables showcased crystal vases full of chrysanthemums and asters, while brass lamps glowed invitingly.

Skye’s gang claimed a couple of sofas and two armchairs that had been arranged in a square. Almost as soon as they were settled, waitresses from the dining room wheeled in the dessert cart and Skye turned her attention to not drooling.

Finally, the cart arrived, and one of the servers asked, “Apple tart or brownie?”