Murder of a Botoxed Blonde (8 page)

“As a matter of fact, we do.” Skye swung her legs off the bed. “Our theory is that the vandal is really a treasure hunter and is one of the staff.”

“Makes sense.” Loretta nodded. “Could be one of the locals Margot and the good doctor hired for the nonprofessional positions, since they’d be most likely to know about the rumor of the secreted jewelry even before the newspaper ran the story.”

“Right.” Trixie picked up where Skye had left off. “And since today’s paper has a riddle which is supposed to be a clue to the treasure’s location, we figure the treasure hunter should be out tonight.”

“You two solved the riddle?” Loretta frowned.

“No. Unfortunately, the only one I know who is good at riddles is Simon, and I can’t ask him.” Skye frowned. “But we figure that if we sort of hang around outside in the shadows, we have a good chance of seeing anyone who tries to dig something up.”

“What if the treasure is inside the mansion?” The lawyer in Loretta’s voice was loud and clear.

“We figure that if the treasure is inside the building, the treasure hunter will have to wait until it’s emptier—which would mean after the guests leave on Sunday,” Skye answered, not sounding overly convinced herself.

“I see.” Loretta gathered the leftover goodies and packed them into her tote bag, then got up and went to the door. “When are you planning on beginning your surveillance?”

“Midnight,” Skye answered. “We figure whoever it is will wait until everyone is in their room and most people are asleep.”

“Midnight?” Loretta smirked. “You, Miss Thing, are staying up past ten o’clock? I’ll bet the last time you were up that late was when the Kappas pulled the panty raid on our sorority house.”

“Hey, I’ve chaperoned my share of overnighters at the high school. Midnight and I are well acquainted.”

“You may be well acquainted, but I bet you aren’t friends.”

After Loretta’s departure, Trixie said to Skye, “She doesn’t think our plan will work.”

“I’m not too sure of it myself.”

“Wake up.”

Skye rolled onto her stomach and pulled the covers over her head.

“It’s nearly midnight.” Trixie pulled the blanket and sheets down and held a glass of water threateningly over her friend’s head. “Get up, or get wet.”

Skye whimpered, but crawled out of bed. She stood looking around the room, trying to remember where she was and why Trixie was dressed like Batgirl. “Where did you get the cape?”

“It’s my swimsuit cover-up.”

“Oh.” Skye wondered why Trixie might need it to catch a treasure hunter, but it was too late at night for her to really care. She stumbled into the bathroom and splashed water on her face, then pulled on a pair of black sweatpants and sweatshirt.

After stuffing her hair under a baseball cap, she tied her tennis shoes, and buckled on her fanny pack.

When she came out of the bathroom, Trixie said, “Are you finally ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be at this time of night without caffeine.”

“What’s in your fanny pack?” Trixie ignored Skye’s whining and followed her to the door.

“Stun gun, mace, flashlight, and plastic fasteners.”

“I get the stun gun and flashlight, but why the ties? Are we going to empty the trash cans?” Trixie asked.

“Very funny,” Skye whispered. “They’re the ones that once you close them can only be opened with scissors or a knife. I brought them to secure the perpetrator’s hands or feet. I saw the cops use them on
Law and Order.
“

“Well, that explains it.”

“Now, I’m going to open the door, so be quiet.”

The passageway was silent and dark, the only illumination coming from night-lights plugged into the electrical outlets. Skye shivered. There was something eerie about this time of night. They reached the outside exit and pushed the bar. The cold November air smelled of burnt leaves and a hint of snow.

They emerged on a side patio with steps leading down to the river. Skye stopped suddenly, and Trixic plowed into her.

Skye whispered, “Any indication someone’s following us?”

Trixie shook her head.

Skye took the stairs slowly, listening for any hint of a footstep or breathing. Nothing. Once they reached the shore, Skye paused, not sure whether to go down to the river or stick close to the mansion.

Trixie took Skye’s arm and whispered, “I think I figured out the riddle. I’m pretty sure it’s a lifeboat, which means we should go to the boathouse.”

Skye hesitated, replaying the riddle in her mind:
THE MAN WHO INVENTED ME DOESN’T WANT ME. THE MAN WHO BUYS ME DOESN’T NEED ME. THE MAN WHO NEEDS ME DOESN’T KNOW IT
. She could see Trixie’s logic, so she nodded and started down the steps.

Once they were on the shore they edged toward the boathouse and peeked inside. It appeared to be empty so they stepped inside. Almost immediately they heard footsteps and positioned themselves on either side of the entrance. Skye took out her stun gun and Trixie whipped off her cape. A moment later someone came through the doorway. Trixie wafted her cape as if it were a net and threw it over the figure’s head and shoulders.

Skye leapt on the intruder, bringing him to the ground
and putting the stun gun against his shoulder. “Move and I fry you like a mosquito caught in a bug zapper.”

Before the bundled figure could react, Trixie yelled, “Incoming,” just as another person ran into the boathouse.

B
y the time the last person entered the boathouse, there were five staff members lined up against the wall. Once Trixie and Skye made it clear they were working for Margot, looking for whoever was hunting for the treasure and in the process messing up the running of the spa, the treasure hunters were eager to explain themselves.

Ruth, one of the three housekeepers, Bryan the bellboy, Barb the reception clerk, Rudy the groundskeeper, and Earlene the cook had shown up for the festivities. All claimed that they were not the ones digging holes or committing any other acts of vandalism.

Earlene clarified what had happened. “The
Scumble River Star
was delivered this afternoon and left in the lobby. I read it after I finished cooking lunch and I had a couple of ideas as to where the riddle might lead. Then, later I noticed Barb and Bryan had the paper and a map of the grounds spread out on the reception desk so I decided to follow them.”

Ruth took up the story from there. “When I was cleaning, I noticed the
Star
in the trash along with a crumpled ball of paper that had the riddle printed on it along with several possible answers. I recognized Earlene’s handwriting so I decided to follow her.”

Barb chimed in, “Bryan and I couldn’t figure out the riddle, but Bryan
overheard Rudy on the phone to his wife saying he thought he knew the answer, so we followed him.”

All eyes turned to Rudy, who had freed himself from Trixie’s bathing suit cover-up, and was keeping an eye on Skye’s stun gun. “Sorry, everyone, I just told the old lady I was hunting for the treasure so I could stay out late and play cards with my buddies. I lost tonight and needed my emergency money, which I keep hidden here in the boathouse.” In an annoyed lone, he added, “Not that I’ll keep it here now that I know you lot are hunting around.”

Skye and Trixie looked at each other, shrugged, and told everyone they could go.

Next, they reported the results of their detection to Mar-got, who said she would inform the staff that any further treasure hunting on their part would result in a termination of their employment.

Once Skye and Trixie were back in their room, and had gotten into bed, Skye asked, “So, do we have a Plan B?”

Trixie’s answer was a soft snore.

Snuggling down into her pillow, Skye tried to think of how pleasant Thanksgiving dinner with Wally would be later that day, but instead the memory of the failed treasure hunter pursuit kept intruding.

On the bright side, maybe Margot would fire them once she had time to think about the debacle in the boathouse. Skye turned over and punched her pillow. Dang. Why wasn’t she going to sleep? Because she didn’t like feeling dumb, and she had no idea how to catch the treasure hunter.

The only plan she could think of was to get rid of the intruder’s motivation, which meant solving the riddle and finding the jewelry. Unless, of course, the treasure hunter was really a vandal trying to sabotage the spa, in which case she was really off track.

She scooted into a sitting position, grabbed her tote bag, and pulled the newspaper from the bottom. According to the article, when Mr. Bruefeld told his wife they had lost all their money, she hid the jewelry so it wouldn’t be taken by the bill collectors. The story reported that Mrs. Bruefeld had been found shot to death by her husband. He’d killed her just
prior to his own suicide, supposedly to “save” her from a life of poverty. And when the coroner examined her, he found a riddle clutched in her hand. Her maid claimed that her mistress had told her that the riddle was a clue to where the jewelry was hidden.

The newspaper story ended by saying the riddle was thought to have been solved several times after the Bruefelds died, but the treasure was never found.

Skye yawned and looked at the clock. Three in the morning. She lay back down and tried to make a mental list of what she knew so far, but her theories had as many holes in them as the lace on her bra.

Still trying to make sense of the past twelve hours, she fell into an uneasy sleep. Four hours later, papers being slid under the door woke her up. They were computer printouts, one with her name on it and one with Trixie’s. The schedules indicated mealtimes, all the available activities, and reminders of the individual treatments they had signed up for when they checked in yesterday.

This morning she had an appointment for a Miracle Mud bath at nine thirty. It was supposed to take away all aches and pains, as well as cleanse the impurities from the skin, and subtract ten years from one’s age. Wouldn’t Wally be surprised when he picked her up at noon to find her looking twenty-three?

Skye’s stomach growled, reminding her that breakfast began in less than an hour, and unlike home, she was sharing a bathroom. After showering, she put on a pink velour jogging suit and French braided her hair, then woke Trixie.

Trixie sat up in bed with her eyes scrunched closed and mumbled, “Breakfast? What’s the point? The food’ll be awful.”

“Probably, but surely, there’ll at least be some form of caffeine.”

Trixie slid back down, muttering, “Wanna bet?” She pulled a pillow over her head and was snoring before Skye made it out the door.

As Skye approached the dining room, Esmé rushed past her without acknowledging they had ever met. Skye closed
her mouth, swallowing the “good morning” she was about to utter.

A buffet was set up against the wall opposite the fireplace, and she helped herself to slices of melon and pineapple and a cup of blueberries. A hot plate held egg white omelets, but the sign indicated the filling was cottage cheese and cod, so Skye passed. She couldn’t find any type of toast, muffin, or Danish. Finally, she settled for a container of unsweetened plain yogurt.

Her biggest disappointment was no coffee, only herbal tea. While she sipped a glass of low-sugar, low-carb, low-calorie cranberry juice, she took a pad of paper from her tote and started making a list of supplies she needed to bring back with her this evening. Earl Grey tea bags, chocolate, Diet Coke, and bread topped the column.

As Skye tried to decide whether she could get away with smuggling in a toaster, Margot glided gracefully into the chair opposite her. She was dressed in a sapphire blue linen pantsuit, and looked as if she had just enjoyed the services of the spa’s hair stylist and makeup artist.

Skye made an attempt to smooth her French braid as Margot said, “I’m disappointed you didn’t catch anyone last night.”

“Technically, we caught too many people,” Skye joked.

“What’s your next plan?”

Skye shrugged. “The only thing I can think of is to solve the riddle and find the darn treasure.” She popped a grape in her mouth. “I’ll be seeing the police chief this afternoon. Maybe he can point me in another direction.”

“What?”
Margot swallowed wrong and started to choke. “This is a girls-only weekend. The police chief can’t come here.”

“He’s picking me up out front. Remember when I agreed to do this, I told you I had to be gone Thanksgiving afternoon?”

“Sort of.” Margot’s collagen-enhanced lips thinned. “I thought since you failed last night, maybe you’d cancel your fun.”

“Sorry. This is a family thing.” Skye added to herself: not
to mention a “new boyfriend thing” she didn’t want to mess up. “Trixie will still be here investigating.”

“Investigating what?” Nancy Kimbrough pulled out a chair. “Mind if I join you two?” The
Spa
magazine writer was dressed in black yoga pants and a white tank top, her long black hair held back with a coated rubber band.

“Not at all.” Margot popped up from her seat. “Can I get you something to eat? Maybe a cup of herbal tea?”

“No, thanks, I already had coffee and muffins in my room.” Nancy waved the spa owner back into her chair.