Murder of a Botoxed Blonde (17 page)

“California. How about all of you?”

“All of us, except for Bunny and Loretta, are from Scumble River,” Skye said.

“I grew up in a small town near here,” Bunny explained, “but I lived in Las Vegas for most of my adult life. I’ve only been back for a year. Are you a California native or were you born somewhere else?”

“Actually, I was born in Chicago. I didn’t move out west until after college.”

“Will you be able to visit your family while you’re here?” Trixie asked.

“Maybe some of my more distant relatives.” Nancy’s expression was odd. “I was an only child and my parents were killed in a car crash when I was sixteen. My grandfather and a few cousins live in Sacramento. Grandfather took care of me after my parents died, and moved with me when I got my first job out there. I wanted to work in California to be near my cousins.” After everyone expressed their sympathy, she continued, looking straight at Skye, “Since I have so little family, the relatives I do have mean a lot to me.”

Skye nodded, wondering why Nancy was making such a point of what she was saying about family. Before Skye could figure it out, she yawned, Trixie and Frannie quickly followed suit, and Skye said, “Looks like it’s time for bed.” She leaned forward and gathered the leftovers into her tote bag, consolidating the debris. She stood and dumped the garbage into the trash. “Anyone else coming?”

The others all got up, said good night, and moved as a group toward the door.

Nancy, last, put a hand on Skye’s arm, drawing her back a little from the others, and whispered, “I need to talk to you alone. Can we have breakfast in my room tomorrow at eight?”

Skye nodded, wondering what in the heck Nancy wanted to talk about.

“
O
h, my gosh! No!” Trixie’s shout penetrated the water pounding past Skye’s ears and sent adrenaline through her veins. Was the murderer about to kill Trixie?

Skye wrestled with the shower curtain, finally peeling it off her body and flinging it aside. As she leapt out of the tub, she slipped on the tile floor, and skidded into the vanity. A jolt of pain shot through her hip, but she barely noticed it as her mind raced. Maybe she and Wally were wrong. Maybe it was a random killer, and Esmé was only the first victim.

Wrapping a towel around herself as she ran, Skye burst into the room prepared to fight off Trixie’s attacker with her bare hands. Heart pounding, Skye’s gaze searched the area, only to see Trixie safe and sound, chatting on the telephone.

Dang! She had to stop rushing to the rescue when no one needed her help.

“Yes. Keep them in the lobby.” Trixie saw Skye and held up one finger. “No. Do not give out room numbers unless the women say it’s okay. We’ll be right down.” She threw the receiver onto its cradle and demanded, “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“What’s going on?” Skye stood dripping in the middle of the room, trying to figure out who was in the lobby and why it was her problem.

“We’re being invaded.”

“By the media?”

“By the men.”

“What?” Skye wrenched open a drawer and snatched up a pair of panties and a bra. “Why?” After donning the underwear, she jerked on a red T-shirt and black sweatpants and jacket.

“It seems they heard about the murder, and have come to rescue their womenfolk.”

“You’re kidding.” Skye ran back into the bathroom and grabbed her comb.

“No. None of us could call our husbands, boyfriends, et cetera, last night to explain what was happening, but fifteen minutes ago WGN News broke the story, so the rest of the media won’t be far behind.”

“Shit!” Skye pulled her hair back into a ponytail and slipped on a pair of flip-flops.

“So now the lobby is full of men demanding to see their women.” Trixie shook her head. “Margot wants us to do something.”

“When did we become her personal protection team?”

“We didn’t. She’s closed the gates and hired a security firm. They’re arriving via helicopter from Chicago so they should be here pretty soon.”

“Oh. That’s a good idea.”

“But the men are already here and she’s afraid all the women will leave.” Trixie finished tying her sneakers. “And she’s convinced if everyone stays and things go smoothly from now on, she can still get a good review from
Spa
magazine.”

“Damn. If the men make their women go home, it would ruin Wally’s plan. We have to stop them.”

“How?” Trixie stood with her hand on the knob.

“I have no idea.”

As they descended the main staircase, they saw Rudy, the groundskeeper, Bryan, the bellboy, and Frisco standing shoulder-to-shoulder across the bottom step. Skye and Trixie eased around them and faced the dozen or so men who had gathered in the lobby.

Skye gave a small sigh of semi-relief when she saw that
at least half of the throng were guys connected to her own group. Her father Jed and godfather “Uncle” Charlie Patukas were there to protect her and her mother—both would be relatively easy to persuade to go home. Owen, Trixie’s husband, would be no problem for Trixie. Xavier, Frannie’s father, and Justin, her boyfriend, were probably there for different reasons—Xavier to take the girl home, Justin to help her investigate the story, since he was the coeditor of the school newspaper.

And then there was Simon. In view of the fact that he was the coroner and had been in charge of removing the body, he knew about the murder yesterday, and Wally had, no doubt, informed him of the confession. So why was he here? To make sure his mother, Bunny, didn’t get into trouble—a talent she had demonstrated often in the past?

Still, Skye wished he’d go away. She hadn’t seen him since their fight in the bowling alley basement, hadn’t even acknowledged an “I’m sorry” gift he’d sent, and she certainly didn’t want to talk to him the day after she and Wally had made love for the first time.

Trixie interrupted Skye’s rumination by murmuring, “I’ll go talk to Owen.”

Skye nodded, refocused her thoughts to the problem at hand, and joined her father, the most sensible man in the room, and her Uncle Charlie, the most influential. “Dad, Uncle Charlie, what brings you to Scumble River Spa? I can recommend almost any of the treatments, except for the mud bath.”

Jed gave a slight shake of his head, indicating he did not think this was an appropriate time for Skye’s sense of humor, but before he could speak, Charlie boomed, “We’re here to take you and May home. This was a stupid idea to begin with. Why in blue heaven would you stay here after a murder was committed? Sometimes I wonder about you two.”

Charlie was a big man, six feet and over three hundred pounds. He owned the Up A Lazy River Motor Court, and sat on nearly every important town committee. He was in his
late seventies and although never married, had a reputation as quite a ladies’ man.

Skye glanced at the men standing around; they had all moved closer, figuratively and literally behind Charlie. Whatever Charlie decided, the rest of the men would go along with.

She raised her voice, speaking as much to the crowd as to her godfather. “Yes, there was a murder, but the killer confessed and is in custody. The victim wasn’t from here. She had nothing to do with Scumble River. Neither did the murderer. Just two outsiders bringing their problems to our small town.” Skye laid it on as thick as she dared, knowing that most Scumble Riverites had an “us versus them” mentality.

“But those protestors”—Charlie gestured with the unlit cigar he held between sausagelike fingers—”those Real Women. They want to run this place out of business. Who’s to say they won’t keep killing people until the spa closes?”

“Margot has increased security. No one will be able to get past the lobby without showing a key card.” Skye made eye contact with several of the men. “The security firm will be here any minute.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Charlie stuck the cigar in his mouth and talked around it. “Suppose those Real Women get past the guards?”

“The protestors are only interested in models and such. They want the publicity. Killing one of us won’t get them that.” Skye crossed her arms. “And by the way, Uncle Charlie, didn’t I hear they were staying at your motor court? Why don’t you kick them out? Maybe they’d go away if they didn’t have a place to stay.”

Charlie ran his fingers through his thick white hair, and his face turned red. Finally he said, “It’s easier to keep track of them if they’re at the motor court.”

“Fine. You keep track of them, and then we’ll all be safe here, right?”

Several women who had gathered applauded Skye’s speech.

Charlie nodded reluctantly. “Right.”

Trixie, May, and Frannie had joined Skye and now linked arms.

May said, “We’re staying. We’ll be fine.” She looked at the other Scumble River women. “Are you going to let a bunch of kooks ruin your weekend?”

“No!” they all shouted.

“Are you going to let your husbands and boyfriends tell you what to do?”

“No!”

“Do you want to stay and get all the massages and manicures and such, or go home and cook and clean?”

“Stay here!”

Most of the men retreated like snakes slithering back into their holes, but Xavier, Justin, and Simon stood their ground.

Xavier and Justin flanked Frannie, Xavier trying to persuade the girl to leave, and Justin shooting questions at her about the murder. Skye’s first instinct was to go to Frannie’s aid, but the memory of her recent superfluous attempts to rescue Trixie kept her rooted to the spot.

After a heated exchange, Xavier threw up his arms and stomped out. It was interesting seeing a teenage girl get the better of a Vietnam veteran, but Frannie had grown up without a mother, and she was her father’s daughter through and through—independent and strong willed.

Justin didn’t give up; instead he loped over to Skye and begged, “Ms. D., you gotta make them let me stay. It’s no fair that Frannie will get the story without me, just because she’s a girl.”

Frannie glared at her boyfriend. “And how many stories have you gotten just because you’re a guy?”

Justin had recently had a growth spurt and now topped six feet, but his weight had not caught up. His hair was military short and he hid his long-lashed brown eyes behind thick glasses.

Still, there was something about him that appealed to a certain type of teenage girl, and he now attempted to use that charm on Frannie. Justin took her hand and drew her a bit away from the others. A moment later Skye heard giggles and whispers.

Turning to leave, Skye spotted Simon having an intense discussion with his mother across the room. Skye edged closer. Even though she didn’t want to interact with Simon directly, she did want to hear what they were saying. Where Bunny was concerned, it was a good idea to be prepared.

The wooden staircase banister sat atop a solid marble panel, sweeping dramatically out into the lobby after the steps ended, and Skye concealed herself within that curve. Leaning against the cool stone, she thought of her ex. Simon was tall and lean, with auburn hair and golden hazel eyes. He wore expensive suits as if they were comfortable old blue jeans, and enjoyed the finer things in life. He and his mother had only recently begun to re-form a relationship that had been interrupted twenty years ago.

Although she couldn’t see the pair, Skye heard Simon say to Bunny, “If you leave, then Frannie has to go too, and surely you agree that she’d be better off at home than running wild around here.”

Skye edged closer and peeked around the banister, barely fitting between the staircase and a large round cherry pedestal table. Simon and Bunny were standing at the foot of the stairs. He was bending forward, trying to get his mother to see his logic. The contrast between his elegance and Bunny’s flamboyance was striking.

Bunny answered in her high-pitched voice, “She is not running wild. I’m keeping a close eye on her. She’s researching a story.” Bunny retied the lime and orange chiffon scarf holding her long red curls back from her face. “She’s perfectly safe here.”

“How can you say that?” Simon’s tone was low and persuasive. “A murder has been committed. Even if the chief thinks he’s found the culprit, he could be wrong.”

“Oh, poo.” Bunny ran a long red nail down the lapel of Simon’s taupe suit jacket. “You just want him to be wrong because Skye is dating him now.”

Simon’s normally pale gold complexion turned burnt orange, and his voice became clipped. “One has nothing to do with the other.” His tone forbade any questions or comments. “Skye and I have come to an impasse. I’m not explaining
myself to someone who doesn’t trust me. What she does now is her own business.”

Skye frowned. Clearly Simon’s stand hadn’t moved an inch since she’d last talked to him.

Simon turned as if to leave, but paused and spoke to someone descending the stairs. “Spike, what in the world are you doing here?”

Spike? Spike Yamaguchi? Simon’s college friend from California? The woman he’d had an affair with! From her hidden position, Skye couldn’t see whom Simon was addressing, but how many Spikes could Simon know? What in the world was she doing at the Scumble River Spa? Skye crept forward, determined to get a glimpse without revealing her presence; but it was no good. Worse yet, Simon and Spike moved away from the staircase, and now Skye couldn’t even hear them.