Murder of a Botoxed Blonde

by Denise Swanson

  A bright flare of desire ran through her, but Skye realized that after talking to Simon she wouldn’t want to go immediately into Wally’s arms. “Can I have a rain check?”

  “Any time, any place.”

  “Then I’ll talk to you tomorrow, first thing.”

  “Bye, darlin’. You be careful tonight.”

  “I’m not the one staking out a possible murderer,” Skye reminded him.

  “No, you’re spending time alone with an ex-lover. That’s a hundred times more dangerous.”

  Once again, dinner was flavorless and meager. Afterward Margot produced board games and packs of cards and recruited people for various competitions. Trixie and Frannie chose Scrabble, and Bunny and May chose poker.

  Bridge attracted Skye. She hadn’t played since breaking up with Simon and missed the competition. Margot had set up a two-table progressive, which meant there would be seven rounds and each person would be partners with and play against all other players during the course of the evening.

  For the first round, Skye found herself partnered with Spike, against Whitney and Loretta. Skye knew Loretta played, as bridge had been a popular pastime at their sorority house, and she was not surprised that Spike played, since Simon was an avid player, but she was taken aback by Whitney’s presence at the table. Bridge took a mathematical and organized mind, not something Whitney had so far displayed.

  After the first hand was dealt, the bidding was completed at two no-trump, and Loretta had led a four of spades, Skye asked, “Have you been playing bridge long, Whitney?”

  “Since I was twelve.” The girl didn’t look up from her cards.

  “Wow, you were young.” Skye as dummy laid down her hand. “I didn’t learn until I went to college.”

  Spike played the six of spades from the board.

  Whitney frowned and laid down her nine. “My dad needed a partner for duplicate, and none of his women were smart enough, so he taught me.” She dug in her purse, producing a wallet, and flipped it open. “See, this is my dad and me at a tournament.”

  They all murmured appropriate words of appreciation, then Spike took the hand with a queen and led a seven of clubs.

  She looked at Whitney and said, “I thought you told me that your mom and dad divorced only a year ago.”

  Loretta played her king, and Spike overcame it with the ace from the board.

  Whitney threw in a three, her nostrils flaring. “True, but Mom refused to play with Dad because he gets mad when he doesn’t win, and, as I said, his girlfriends du jour were too dumb.”

  Skye made a mental note—Esmé’s new husband had a temper and had played around throughout his marriage—then asked, “Did your stepmother play?”

  After Spike won another hand with the queen of clubs from the board, and led a seven of diamonds, Whitney answered, “She claimed she did.”

  Loretta took that hand with her ace and led a two of spades before saying, “Did Esmé play in the duplicate tournaments with your dad?”

  Whitney glared at Loretta as Spike won the hand with the jack from the board. “That was a dumb move. You should have known the queen had already been played.”

  Loretta shrugged, not responding to the dig.

  Skye examined Whitney. She had underestimated the girl. Whitney was either a savant bridge player or a lot smarter than she let the world see.

  Spike led a two of clubs from the board and Whitney took the hand with an eight. For the first time, the girl smiled and answered Loretta’s previous question. “Esmé was an awful bridge player. My dad wouldn’t have gotten any masters points with her.” She led the ten of diamonds.

  Spike took the hand with the jack, led the king taking another hand, then led a nine of hearts taking a third hand. She needed one more to make the bid. “So, your dad didn’t play with her in the tournaments?” she asked before leading a four of clubs from the board.

  Whitney shook her head, then smiled triumphantly and took the hand with her jack, then led her king and queen of hearts in quick succession. She paused before laying down her last card, a queen of diamonds. If Spike took the hand she would make her bid; if Whitney and Loretta took it, they would set her.

  Grimly Spike threw in her ace of spades and the ten of clubs from the board. Loretta put down her king of spades and Whitney jubilantly pulled in the winning hand.

  Skye refused to think of this as a date. She and Simon were just getting together to discuss recent developments. Still, she wanted to look nice, and she had pretty much run out of wardrobe options. Her choices were the jeans she had worn to the spa, a dinner dress, or exercise clothes. A dress might suggest mat she considered their get-together more than just a chat, but she had no intention of meeting him in a sweat suit either.

  At eight thirty, she asked one of the Scumble River women to sit in for her during the rest of the bridge game, and went upstairs to get ready. After several minutes of agonizing, Skye finally shimmied into the jeans and pulled on a marmalade wrap sweater intended to be paired with a skirt.

  After spritzing her hair with water, she used the hot air brush to tame the curls into a smooth curtain. Although she wanted to make sure she was on time for Simon—she had told him to meet her around the side and not to come into the lobby where they might be ambushed by friends and relatives—she took a few minutes to reapply her bronzer and mascara and put on dangling topaz earrings. Marmalade slides with kitten heels added just the right touch of sophistication without looking like she had fussed.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she made it down the stairs and out the side door without being seen. This exit led to the gym and other new additions. Most of the recently constructed buildings were private cottages for those guests who didn’t want to mingle with the hoi polloi. The bungalows were scattered along a heavily landscaped pathway, trees and trellises strategically placed to maintain utmost privacy.

  As Skye made her way down the path she noticed several recently dug holes—clearly the murder and the security guards had not stopped the treasure hunter. The dense landscaping blocked out the moon, and the small lights edging the concrete sidewalk illuminated only to knee level.

  Suddenly Skye felt as if she were being followed. Reaching into her tote bag, she drew out the tiny can of pepper spray attached to her key chain, and whirled around. A small man was jogging toward her.

  His gaze fastened on the canister of pepper spray, and he threw his hands in the air. “I’m Jack Novak from Entertainment, what can you tell me about Esmé’s murder?”

  “No comment.” Skye aimed the pepper spray at the reporter’s eyes. “This is private property. Either leave or I’ll spray you.”

  “All I want to know is how she looked.” Novak took a step backward. “Did you see her?”

  “I’m spraying on three.” Skye followed him. “One.”

  “Is it true her eyes were gouged out of their sockets?”

  “Two.”

  “She was naked, right? Were her boobs fake?”

  “Three.”

  Skye pressed the button and Novak took off like a rabbit being chased by a greyhound. She nodded in satisfaction, and decided on their way out, she’d ask Simon to stop at the gate so she could tell the guard about the reporter.

  Speaking of Simon, where was he? She pressed the stem of her watch and the dial lit up. It was already ten after nine. The wake must have run long. Frowning, she took a few more steps down the path then stopped.

  Two of the VIP cottages had lights showing through their windows. They were supposed to be unoccupied during this trial weekend. Who was in them?

  All the guests, plus Margot and Dr. Burnett, were playing games, which left the staff. Could Frisco be seeing yet another woman before his eleven o’clock date? Was this where Ustelle went when she disappeared? Maybe it was another reporter or the spa vandal/treasure hunter.

  Or was it the murderer?

  CHAPTER 17

  Still Water Therapy Runs Deep

  Shit! Shit! Shit!
What should she do? It would be stupid to approach whoever was in the cottage by herself, not to mention it would be extremely difficult to check out both cottages without being discovered. She had not brought her emergency-equipped fanny pack, and she had emptied her tiny pepper spray on the reporter. But if she left to get help, there was nothing to prevent the people in the cottages from also leaving.

  Skye bit her lip. Okay. She would take just a little peek—first the cottage on her right, then the one on her left. No matter what she saw, she would not do anything to reveal her presence. She stepped off the paving stones and the mulch underfoot felt like a sponge. Someone must have just watered the area.

  Trying not to disturb any of the newly planted landscape, she tiptoed to one of the illuminated windows. The interior wooden shutters were half open, but tipped down. Drat. All she could see were two pair of feet. One was clad in expensive looking high-heeled sandals and the other in dirty generic tennis shoes. Evidently, Frisco’s tryst in the garage was not the only one going on at the spa that night. But who were these participants?

  This wasn’t getting her anywhere. Maybe one of the other windows would afford a better view. She squished her way around the cottage and peered into that window, but the shutters were completely closed.

  As she rounded the third side, she noticed the window was open a crack and over the faint strands of a golden oldie a female voice said, “See, isn’t this nicer than going to McDonald’s? We can be alone here, listen to good music, and I packed you a little snack.”

  An adolescent male voice answered, “This is mighty fine, but I want to take you out soes all my friends can see me with you.”

  “But, sweetie, I’ll be fired if Margot finds out about us. We already had one close call.”

  Skye bit her lip. Good grief! The male speaking was Elvis Doozier, and she was ninety-nine percent sure the female was Amber Ferguson. Did that mean that Amber had been lying about Elvis stalking her? Was the sophisticated technician really dating a country bumpkin?

  Skye took another step forward. She was nearly to the open window when a hand came down on her shoulder and she screamed. It was only one sharp squeal, but in the nanosecond it took for her to whirl around, identify the owner of the hand as Simon, and look back, the light in both cottages had been extinguished. Next she heard the music cut off in midbeat, two doors slam, and the sound of running footsteps.

  Skye tried to run after at least one of them but Simon grabbed her by the upper arms.

  She wiggled. “Let me go.”

  “First, tell me what’s going on.”

  Tilting her head to look at him, she said, “There were lights in these cottages, and they’re supposed to be unoccupied. I was trying to see who was using them.”

  “Why do you care?”

  She thought quickly, and lied, “It could be the vandal and/or treasure hunters.” She felt him relax and demanded, “Now, would you please take your hands off me, before they all get away?”

  Simon released her, and she ran in the direction one of the sets of footsteps had gone, following the disturbed earth until she came to the path where there was nothing left to track.

  She was stamping her feet, mostly to get the dirt off of them, but also in exasperation, when Simon caught up with her. “Sorry about that. I had no idea you were still investigating, since the murderer confessed.”

  This time she said, “Yeah, what with the murder and all, we sort of forgot the vandal/treasure hunter, but when I saw the lights on in cottages that were supposed to be empty, they reminded me.”

  “Don’t you think the protestors were probably behind the vandal’s activities?” Simon plucked a pine needle from Skye’s hair.

  “I haven’t really thought about it.” She shrugged. “Like I said, I forgot about the whole vandal/treasure hunter business until I saw the lights just now.” Skye glanced down and noticed that Simon’s pants legs were muddy. She pointed to them and asked, “How did you get so dirty? It couldn’t have been just following me off the path, because only your shoes would be soiled.”

  “Uh.” An embarrassed expression stole across Simon’s face. “Well, you see, I thought I had figured out the riddle, so since I got here a little early, I was looking for the hidden jewelry.”

  “Really? On private property?” Skye didn’t think that sounded like the Simon she knew.

  “I have Margot and Creighton’s permission, as long as I give them half of whatever I find.” Simon finished brushing off his pants legs and folded away his handkerchief. “They want the treasure found so that everyone will quit bothering them.”

  “I can understand their reasoning.” Skye finished scraping the muck from her shoes. “Did you find it?”

  “No,” Simon answered, then asked, “Do you still want to take a ride, or would you rather do this some other time?”

  “It’s better that we talk sooner rather than later. May is already jumping to conclusions, and Bunny’s hopping close behind. She tried to give me advice this afternoon concerning your various ‘appetites.”’ Skye looked around. “In fact, let’s get out of here before someone spots us.”

  They made it to Simon’s Lexus without being intercepted and Simon asked, “Is there any place special you want to go?”

  “Are you hungry?” Skye knew that Simon often didn’t eat before a funeral, preferring to have dinner after he finished work. “I’m starving, the food at the spa is awful, but it’s after ten o’clock and I can’t think of anywhere nearby that’s open this late.”

  “There’s that truck stop about ten miles north on I-55. Their restaurant is open twenty-four hours. Would that be okay?”

  “Fine.” Skye could already taste the homemade pie for which that restaurant was locally famous. “We shouldn’t run into anyone we know there.”

  “I wouldn’t think so.”

  Skye gazed at Simon’s handsome face, bathed in a golden glow by the moonlight pouring into the car window. She had no idea where to start the conversation they needed to have, and he seemed as much at a loss for words as she was. How had they ever become so estranged?

  Before they left, Skye asked Simon to stop at the gate so she could tell the security officers about the reporter and the lights in the cottages. The guards promised to send a patrol to look around the grounds, and Skye relaxed as they exited the estate.

  As they drove toward the diner, Skye thought of all that had happened since the summer. Suddenly she remembered the gift Simon had sent at the end of September and said, “Thank you for the book.”

  He glanced over at her. It was the most intimate action he had committed since picking her up. “You said Little Women was your favorite book as a child, so when I saw it in a used book store in California, I thought of you.”

  “That was sweet.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.” This time his glance lingered; but not long enough to make her uncomfortable. He was a master of the art of making his meaning clear without being direct. “Sweet doesn’t seem to be what you want anymore.”

  Skye didn’t respond, and neither of them said anything else until they arrived at the restaurant. Simon walked her to the door with his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. He was smooth, there were no rough edges on Simon, and just maybe that wasn’t a good thing either.

  Once they were seated, Skye was surprised to see a number of customers present despite the late hour. The waitress brought them menus, glasses of water, and poured coffee in the cups already on the table.

  She was a short woman in her late fifties or early sixties, nearly as wide as she was tall, but light on her feet. She had nut-brown, curly hair and wore a pink nylon uniform dress with masie embroidered above her left breast. She greeted many of the customers like regulars, and offered a friendly smile and pieces of pie to the others.

  After making the rounds, refilling water glasses and coffee cups, she came back to take their order, then Skye and Simon sat in silence.

  The stillness grew
to an uncomfortable length until finally they both couldn’t stand it and tried to talk at once. “Are you—?” “I wonder—”

  They both stopped and said, “You first.” “No, you.”

  Skye chuckled uneasily. “I insist. What were you about to say?”

  “I just wanted to ask if you were enjoying the spa, despite the murder, of course.”

  “Not really,” Skye confessed. “Some of the treatments are pleasant, and the people are fun, but I’m not really a spa kind of girl.”

  “This one sounds sort of regimented. Bunny was telling me about the enforced diet. You’d probably like the more resortlike spas better.”

  Skye nodded.

  “What were you going to say?”

  “I can’t remember.” Skye gave a nervous laugh. “As May would say, it must have been a lie.”

  Masie arrived just then with their Diet Cokes, toasted cheese sandwiches, and bowls of tomato soup.

  Skye gazed at the food, then at Simon, remembering that they often seemed to be on the same wavelength, ordering the same food at restaurants. She took a bite of her sandwich, hoping he would start the conversation.

  Simon cleared his throat, opened his mouth, then seemed to change his mind. “Pass the pepper, please.”

  She handed him the shaker and sighed, trying to weigh the whole structure of events and in spite of everything, came up with the same unanswered question. “What I still don’t understand is why you couldn’t just tell me Spike is your half sister.”

  “Because I promised her.” The corner of his mouth twisted in exasperation. “What’s so difficult to understand about that?”

  Skye felt a scream of frustration at the back of her throat, but swallowed it. “I’m a psychologist. I’m trained to keep secrets. I would never, ever break confidentiality. You could have told me.”

  His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “So you get to maintain confidentiality, whereas it’s okay for me to tell?” He was normally a careful man, but that veneer was starting to crack.

  “Yes.” Skye stared into his golden hazel eyes, trying to understand her perplexing gamut of emotions. “I’m not just anyone. At least I thought I wasn’t. I thought I was someone special—the other half of your whole. The one person you would never keep any secrets from.”