Leave No Stone Massage Unturned
As soon as Wally finished questioning the spa owner, and he and Skye were alone, Skye said, “When Margot mentioned enemies, it reminded me of something. Did anyone tell you about the protestors?”
“No.” Wally stood up. “What in blue blazes are they protesting?”
“When Trixie and I arrived yesterday afternoon, the spa’s entrance was blocked by a group who called themselves Real Women. They believe that the spa is another example of women being told they can’t be beautiful unless they fit into a certain mold.” Skye repeated what she could remember of the Real Women’s doctrine. “Margot got them to leave the property by saying she had called the police, but I don’t know if she really did telephone.”
“She must have been bluffing. There wasn’t anything about a protest march in yesterday’s report.” Wally scratched his head. “And no sign of them today.”
“That would mean either they gave up really easily, although they didn’t strike me as quitters, or they’re staying somewhere nearby waiting for their next chance to cause trouble.”
“That narrows it down to the campgrounds over in Brooklyn or the Up A Lazy River Motor Court here.” Wally made a note on his pad. “I’ll have someone check into it as soon as I can shake an officer loose.”
“Good.” Skye searched for anything else she should tell him. “Let’s see, you know about the spa vandal and/or treasure hunter, and that Trixie and I were trying to find the nuisance maker—no luck on that by the way. But did anyone mention the rock someone tossed through the window yesterday?”
When Wally shook his head, Skye described the incident, concluding with, “I think the dirt splattering against the window must have been caused by someone digging for that darned treasure. I must have scared whoever it was, and they threw the rock to give themselves time to get away before I could look outside.”
Wally nodded slowly, then asked, “Anything else you can think of I should know?”
“Let me see.” Skye chewed her lip. “No. The food’s terrible, last night we were forced to listen to Wagner arias, and some sadist thinks it’s possible to start the day without caffeine.”
Wally chuckled. “Sounds awful.”
“It is,” Skye agreed, then said, “Sorry, I didn’t think of the protestors and the broken window sooner.”
“Sweetheart, you’ve done a great job.” He put his hands on her waist and drew her to him. “You did everything right. Even the crime techs were impressed with how wide a perimeter you were able to provide when you sealed the scene.”
“Really? That’s so good to hear.” Skye felt herself relax a little.
“Really.” His lips brushed hers as he spoke. “The second smartest thing I ever did was to hire you as a police consultant.”
His kiss left her mourn burning, but she managed to ask, “What was the first smartest thing you ever did?”
He tightened his arms around her. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Mmm. I can hardly wait.” Skye snuggled against him for another minute, then reluctantly said, “Special Agent Vail seemed to think everything I did was wrong, and I was beginning to believe her.”
“There’s something odd about that woman. When I have a minute, I need to call her superior and ask him for the scoop.”
“Good idea. I’m getting weird vibes from her, too.” Skye smiled, relieved that she and Wally were in agreement. “Do you have a list of who you want me to interview?”
“Yes.” Wally tore a page from the back of his notepad. “And here’s a list of questions, too, but feel free to add any that you think might be important.”
“Okay.” Skye glanced at the paper and nodded to herself. “Next door, right?”
“Right.” Wally put his hand on the knob but before he turned it, he said, “I’ve asked Dr. Burnett and Ms. Avanti to keep the spa open. I think we’ll have a better chance of catching the killer if everyone stays here, rather than scattering. I’ll have a police officer here twenty-four/seven to protect the guests and staff, but my gut tells me no one else is in danger. Esmé’s murder just doesn’t fit the pattern of a random killer.”
“That’s good to hear.” Skye walked out the door Wally held open, then turned back. “You know, Margot and Esmé’ look a lot alike, especially from the back.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Wally stepped back into his room.
When Skye entered the room next door, she was relieved to see it had two normal chairs and a desk. Judging by the posters and the huge scale in the corner, she surmised that it must be where the body analysis took place. She was staring at what appeared to be a pair of giant pointy tongs hanging from a hook on the wall, trying to figure out their use, when a knock interrupted her.
Immediately she sat down, positioned the pad and pen Wally had given her on the desktop, and called out, “Come in.”
The door was flung open and an olive-skinned man with a mane of blue-black hair swept into the room. He wore tight knit jogging shorts that emphasized his muscular thighs and slim hips, and a tank top that strained to cover his powerful chest.
He tipped his head in a slight bow. “Frisco Indelicato, personal trainer, at your service.”
Skye made a note on her pad. This was the guy Margot had reprimanded Amber about dating. “Hi. I’m Skye Denison, psychological consultant to the Scumble River Police Department. Have a seat.” Just her luck, she was the one assigned to interrogate the trainer. His job required him to be the most judgmental member of the staff. Nervously she pulled down her skirt and adjusted her jacket, only narrowly resisting the urge to suck in her stomach and thrust out her chest. She refused to even contemplate what he must think of her less-than-perfect body.
“Why haven’t I seen you at any of my classes yet this weekend?” he demanded, straddling the chair opposite Skye.
“I prefer to work out on my own.”
“Where?”
“In the privacy of my own imagination.”
He gave her a startled look and his mouth opened, but before he could think of a response, she seized control of the interview, starting with the standard questions. “So, Mr. Indelicato, where were you from eight thirty until nine thirty this morning?”
“I was supposed to be leading a water aerobics class, but no one but Whitney showed up.” His dark eyes flashed. “These people do not seem to realize that my time is valuable. I told Margot not to offer a cut-priced weekend, that the peasants would never appreciate what they were being given.”
Skye kept her face expressionless even as he insulted her and her town. “Have you known Margot long?”
“Yes, I have been the personal trainer for many of the top models of the past twenty years.”
Interesting. Skye would have guessed him to be in his thirties, but he must be older. “Were you Esmé’s trainer, as well?”
“For a while.” He sniffed. “But her boyfriend became jealous and didn’t want her to be alone with such a handsome man as myself.”
“Oh, I see.” Skye had to bite the inside of her cheek not to giggle at Frisco’s egotistical view of the world. “Who was this boyfriend?”
“Rex Quinn.”
“Her current husband?”
When Frisco nodded, Skye jotted down that information, making sure the trainer didn’t see how surprised she was. “That must have made you angry, losing a client that way.”
“Why would it? The waiting list for my services is thicker than the Chicago phone book.” Frisco made a gesture as if he were shooing away a fly. “Models come and go; someone with Frisco’s talent is always in demand.”
After a few more routine questions, Skye said, “That’s all for now, Mr. Indelicate Please don’t discuss anything we’ve talked about with anyone else.”
He bounded to his feet, but didn’t head toward the door. Towering over Skye, he said, “I understand the spa will remain open for the weekend.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You should
make an appointment with me. You have such a pretty face. It’s a shame to see it wasted on such an overweight body.”
It took Skye a moment to control all the different emotions that raced through her, but finally she could answer him without bursting out crying or slugging him. “I am not overweight, I am a nutritional overachiever.” With mat she got up, stalked to the door, and threw it open. “Now, get out.”
After he left, she sank back into her seat, and barely had time to recover before there was another knock on the door. This one was impatient.
Skye had barely said, “Come in,” when Amber marched over the threshold, not stopping until she was nearly stepping on Skye’s feet. There was a petulant expression on her beautiful face and a querulous line between her perfectly plucked eyebrows. Today she wore another pair of designer jeans and a Roberto Cavalli blouse. She stood silently scowling until Skye said, “State your full name please.”
“Don’t you have a list?” The girl blew out a puff of exasperation. “Amber Ferguson.”
Skye ignored the taunt. “Take a seat. I’m Ms. Denison, the psychological consultant for the police.” This would be a tough one. It was hard enough interviewing strangers, let alone someone who had seen you masquerading as a foil wrapped taco and in your underwear shaking your sweater as if it were a tambourine.
“Could you hurry this up?” Amber threw herself in the chair across from Skye’s and crossed her arms. “Bernard’s picking me up for dinner in an hour and I’ve been waiting forever.”
“Who is Bernard?”
“My father. Don’t you people know anything?”
Skye ground her teeth, determined to ignore the girl’s rudeness. “Please describe your job.”
“I’m the makeup artist, but we all do other things, too. Like manicures, pedicures, and waxing.”
Skye cringed inwardly. If Amber was going to mention Skye’s previous embarrassing performances, this was the time she would bring it up. When she didn’t, Skye realized that the girl was so focused on herself, the waxing and underwear incidents had barely registered with her.
After a moment, Skye asked, “Where were you this morning between eight thirty and nine thirty?”
“I was sleeping. I did Margot’s makeup at seven. I have to do her makeup every morning,” Amber grumbled. “Then I go back to bed.”
“Alone?”
The young woman blew a bubble with the gum she was chewing, then said, “Margot’s rule number five hundred and twenty-seven—thou shalt not have sex on spa grounds.”
“Bummer.” Skye continued to ignore the girl’s ill temper. “But you don’t always follow that rule, do you? Last night I overheard Margot lecturing you about sleeping with Frisco.”
“That’s ancient history. And the spa wasn’t even open yet. Who knew we had to follow Margot’s stupid rules when there weren’t even guests present.”
“So, now you’re hooking up with Elvis Doozier?”
‘That freak? Please.” Amber tossed her head. “Like I told Margot, he’s stalking me.”
Skye shook her head. If Elvis was really stalking Amber, he’d do it with a shotgun or a bear trap. Amber just didn’t recognize the Doozier courting ritual. Skye opened her mouth to enlighten the young woman, then realized the futility of trying to explain the Dooziers to an outsider, and instead asked, “Did you know Esmé Gates before she arrived at the spa?”
“Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
Amber’s expression was hard to read. “I didn’t like know her, know her. Just what Whitney mentioned in her e-mails.”
“How do you know Whitney?” Skye remembered Margot’s explanation from dinner the previous night, but wanted to see if Amber’s account matched.
“We went to the same schools and our mothers hung out together.”
Skye hadn’t known about the mothers being friends and it took her a moment to process the information and come up with her next question. “Your mom was a friend of Esmé’s?”
“Duh. Esmé” was Whitney’s stepmother. Her real mother, Christine, and my real mother, Pamela, were friends back when Whitney and I were in school, before both our fathers traded in our mothers for newer models.”
“Oh.” Skye was trying to keep Amber’s history straight.
“How long ago did your parents get a divorce, and your father remarry?”
Amber’s aqua blue eyes clouded and she twisted her strawberry blond hair into a ponytail that she immediately released. “Four years ago.”
“But Whitney’s dad remarried just a year ago, right?” There was something important here, but Skye wasn’t quite grasping it.
“Right. Whitney’s lucky. At least she was finished with college when her father didn’t renew her mother’s option.” Amber’s mouth formed a bitter line. “Bernard left us when I was a senior in high school. I went from being treated like his princess to Cinderella without the fairy godmother.”
“Your father left you as well as your mother?” Skye struggled to understand.
“Yes. It wasn’t too bad at first, but then his new wife, Sheila, got pregnant last year and suddenly I didn’t exist to Bernard anymore.”
Skye finally put two and two together. “He cut you off without a penny, and since you were over eighteen, you suddenly had to support yourself. That’s why you’re working here.” Skye frowned, remembering Amber’s earlier statement. “But didn’t you just say your dad was picking you up for dinner?”
“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.”
Murder of a Botoxed Blonde Page 9