Murder of a Botoxed Blonde (12 page)

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s 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?”