Skye didn’t want to embarrass Frannie in front of everyone, but she did plan to speak to the girl later, alone. Instead, she asked Bunny, “What about the bowling alley?”
Bunny shrugged. “Thanksgiving weekend is slow, so I closed it down.”
Skye opened her mouth to ask if Simon knew about that, since he was the bowling alley owner, but then remembered he wasn’t her concern.
“Isn’t this great, Ms. D?” When it became clear that Skye wouldn’t challenge her claim to be writing a newspaper story, Frannie regained her usual bouncy personality and tugged on Skye’s arm. “It’s just us girls. Remember our pontoon trip last summer? I’ll bet this will be even more fun.”
Skye remembered the outing very well. Frannie had accidentally made Skye fall into the water, then May and Trixie had refused to let her get back on the boat—grilling Skye like a toasted cheese sandwich until she revealed her then-boyfriend Simon’s faults.
Trixie grinned. “Yep, I think we’ll have a ball.”
May linked arms with Loretta and added, “We can really bond and become good friends.”
Bunny grabbed May’s other arm, ignoring her effort to jerk it away. “That’s right. Just us girls. We’ll have the best time ever.”
Skye scowled at the women. Last time, they nearly drowned her. What would they do this time? Smother her in moisturizer?
A few minutes later, Margot came out of the main building. She announced that the police had been called and the protestors would be arrested for trespassing if they didn’t get off her property. After a hurried conference, the demonstrators moved to just outside the main gates. The remaining women gathered their luggage, and Margot led Skye and her group inside.
In the lobby, Margot announced, “Please leave your bags here. They will be delivered to your rooms shortly.” She flashed her professional smile. “The other guests have not yet arrived. There will be twenty of you in all, unless Spa magazine sends someone to write about us. So far they haven’t RSVPed.”
“How about lunch?” May asked.
Before the spa owner could reply, everyone’s attention was diverted to the front door. A tall, thin woman swept in. Oversized sunglasses hid most of her face and a silk scarf concealed her hair. She was trailed by a young man pushing a cart overflowing with luggage.
Margot murmured, “Excuse me,” to Skye’s group and hurried over to the new guest. “Esmé”, darling, welcome.”
After watching the two women exchange air kisses, Skye strained to hear their conversation. “God-forsaken” and “hick town” were the only snatches she could make out. Her guess was that the new arrival did not like having to leave civilization to come to the spa. Finally, Margot pointed to the stairway and motioned to the bellboy.
As she brushed past Margot, the woman dropped her fur coat at the spa owner’s feet, and Skye clearly heard her say, “Darling, have someone bring that to my room. It’s so hot in here, I can’t bear wearing it for another moment.”
Margot waited until the woman was out of sight, then picked up the fur, deposited it on the reception desk, and scribbled a note. Turning back to Skye’s group, Margot resumed her welcome speech. “You were asking about lunch. There’s a healthy buffet set out in the dining room. I’ll show you all to your rooms right now, then please help yourself to the food whenever you’re ready. Treatments have been arranged for you this afternoon—there’s an appointment card in your room—and at six we’ll regroup for a wonderful dinner.”
“Will there be a choice of menu or is all the food healthy?” Skye asked. Visions of tofu and celery danced in her head. Why hadn’t she considered this predicament and packed accordingly?
“There is a choice,” Margot reassured Skye. “But it’s all healthy.”
Four days of wheat germ and alfalfa sprouts. Skye bit her tongue, nearly gagging. This was already turning into a weekend in hell. She could kill Trixie for talking her into it.
CHAPTER 4
It’s to Diet For
The rest of the afternoon had gone quickly. After Margot’s promised healthy lunch, everyone had separated for the spa treatments that had been planned for them. Skye had been scheduled for a seaweed wrap, during which she made a fool of herself trying to rescue Trixie, and that brought her to the present time.
Thud!
Skye’s eyes flew open as her stroll down memory lane came to an abrupt end with the sound of something rattling against the solarium windows. At first she thought it was hail. The sky had darkened, and now it was difficult to see outside.
Splat!
She squinted, finally focusing as a mound of dirt clattered against the pane. Someone was throwing soil. “Stop that,” she yelled, struggling to free herself from the clutches of the wicker rocker’s soft cushions and sit up. When she heard the next broadside she shouted again, “Stop that! You’ll break the window.”
Why would anyone throw dirt at a window? Could it be the protestors?
As Skye finally managed to stand up, she heard what sounded like a shotgun blast. She leapt back, gasping as she saw one of the windows shatter, exploding inward. She froze as she was showered with splinters. It took her a few seconds to take in that it hadn’t been a gunshot, just a rock thrown through the window, and she wasn’t hurt. She had been far enough back that the glass had lost its momentum by the time it reached her. But as she stood immobilized, she began to feel hundreds of tiny pricks, galvanizing her into action.
At first she tried to pluck off the shards before they cut her, but she soon realized that it would be better to disrobe and shake out her clothes. She had just managed to get her sweater off without turning it inside out and was shaking the glass off it when the hair on the back of her neck rose. She stiffened; it didn’t feel as if she was alone anymore.
Holding the sweater to her chest, Skye pivoted slowly. When her gaze reached the doorway, she caught her breath.
Poised just beyond the threshold stood a young woman Skye recognized as the technician who had been giving Trixie the Brazilian wax earlier that afternoon. Ustelle had called her Amber, and it was a fitting name; her strawberry blond hair and aqua eyes glowed with good health. She had changed from her spa uniform into Ralph Lauren jeans that rode low on her hips and an embellished purple satin cami with sequined straps.
They stared at each other until Skye asked, “How long have you been standing there?”
Amber shrugged, then turned to go, apparently not interested enough to even ask what was going on.
“Wait.” Initially, Skye had pegged the girl’s age as early twenties, but now she wondered if she were closer to eighteen or just extremely immature. “This was just thrown through the window.” Skye pointed to the grapefruit-size stone laying between her and the broken pane. “Did you see anything?”
Amber shrugged again and strolled away.
Skye shook her head, hating to see such rudeness, especially in someone so young. Heaving a sigh, she put her sweater aside and carefully removed her jeans. She had just managed to ease them over her tennis shoes when once again she knew she wasn’t alone.
The young woman hovering in the doorway this time seemed ethereal in comparison to the first girl. Long platinum hair veiled half her face, and loose, white crop pants and a white silk halter top hung on her emaciated frame. Double rows of ruffles cascaded down her chest, delineating her nonexistent cleavage.
Her skin was oddly translucent, and for a moment Skye was sure she was seeing a ghost.
The wraith looked Skye up and down, giggled, and sauntered away.
Skye’s cheeks reddened, and she was relieved that the solarium was isolated from the rest of the house. All she would have needed would be Margot’s snooty friend Esmé seeing her half naked and hopping around. Come to think of it, she was lucky that most of the guests were getting ready for dinner, or she might have had a larger audience for her striptease act.
Putting the two unpleasant encounters behind her, Skye focused on finding out who had thrown the stone. T
rying to avoid getting cut, she picked her way over to one of the unbroken windows, cupped her hands around her face, and peered through the glass. As she suspected, it was too dark outside to see anything.
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 al
so 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.”
Murder of a Botoxed Blonde Page 4