Murder of a Botoxed Blonde (27 page)

“No.” Skye shook her head.

Frannie’s expression was unreadable. “I thought you liked Miss Bunny.”

“Bunny’s good at a lot of things, but subtlety is not one of them.”

“Maybe being open is better.” Frannie seemed unwilling to let go of the subject.

“Sometimes it is.” Skye suddenly became conscious that Frannie wasn’t relating to her the way she usually did.

“Like if Simon had told you the truth about Spike right away?”

“Right.” Skye wasn’t naïve enough to ask Frannie how she knew about Skye’s personal life. Somehow everyone in town had heard the story almost as soon as Simon returned from California last August. And since Frannie and Bunny were rooming together, no doubt Bunny had immediately shared the whole Spike revelation with Frannie.

“Why aren’t you taking Simon back, since you know Spike’s his sister?” The teen’s words rushed out in a single breath.

Skye was momentarily surprised that Frannie knew she wasn’t getting back together with Simon, but she quickly figured out that Simon had probably told his mother, and Bunny had told Frannie. Now the only question was how much of her personal life was appropriate to share with the teen. Finally, she said, “It’s just too late.”

“Why?”

She knew Frannie was extremely close to Simon—her dad worked for him and Simon treated Frannie like a little sister—so she didn’t want to say anything negative about him. “There are some junctures in our lives when everything has to be right. The right person, the right time, the right place, and if one of those pieces doesn’t fit, the moment passes. When Simon didn’t explain about Spike to me right away, our moment—the one when we could have been together—moved on.”

Frannie was silent for quite a while, then she asked, “Can you ever get to that moment again?”

Skye shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

“I like Chief Boyd.”

“Good,” Skye answered cautiously, leery of where Frannie might be going with the conversation.

“But he’s not the right guy for you.”

“Why?”

Frannie shrugged. “I just know.”

Relieved to let the subject drop, Skye nodded, then said, “So, how’s your story coming along?”

Frannie glanced at the door. There was still no sign of the manicurist. “I’m not telling anyone that I’m the coeditor of the school newspaper, so please don’t say anything.”

Skye put up her hand in the traditional Girl Scout pledge. “I swear.” She nudged Frannie. “Now you swear to come to me right away if you find something. No investigating anything dangerous by yourself.”

“Okay.” Frannie held her middle three fingers together and promised. “Besides, the killer is in jail. I’m just trying to figure out where the treasure’s hidden.”

Skye felt bad letting everyone think the murderer had confessed. She’d be happy once the weekend was over and she could tell them the truth. And she’d be really happy if she could figure out the true killer’s identity before then.

“What’s your take on Amber and Whitney?” Skye asked. “Are they friends, or not? Whitney seems to think Amber isn’t rich enough to be her friend anymore, but isn’t her dad giving her presents again?”

“Yeah, but an occasional pair of designer jeans or even a car is not the same as a trust fund or a twenty-thousand-dollar-a-month allowance.” Frannie twirled a strand of hair. “Plus when Amber’s father left, and she and her mom had to move, Amber and Whitney didn’t keep in touch.”

“Right, four years apart is a long time.”

“That’s just it.” Frannie leaned down and patted her toenails. When no polish came off on her finger she got up. “They just got back in contact over the Internet a few months ago. Now they meet again in person, and instead of being equals, one is an employee.”

“Right.”

“But Amber seems to have the upper hand. Isn’t that weird?”

“It could be that Amber’s been on her own, and feels more like an adult than Whitney, who still lives at home,” Skye offered. “Or maybe she has something on Whitney that she’s holding over the girl.”

“What girl?” Amber dashed into the treatment room, flushed, frenetic, and much chattier than before she left. “What are we talking about?”

“A girl in my class who seems to be able to make everyone do what she wants,” Frannie blurted out.

“Ah, a queen bee, like I was.” As she finished Frannie’s
pedicure, Amber talked about her high school triumphs. “I had the cutest little BMW convertible. I only let the cool girls ride in it. If I wore something, then everyone wanted it, but I made sure whatever I picked was really expensive and hard to find.”

Frannie’s face was expressionless, but her gaze kept searching out Skye, asking silently what was up. Finally she blurted, “Didn’t you care that you were hurting other girls’ feelings?”

“Nope.” Amber shook her head. “High school was the best time in my life.”

Skye requested Razzle Dazzle Rose for both her fingernails and toenails, and while Amber was working on her asked, “How long have you been doing this?”

“Not long.” Amber stroked a second coat of polish on Skye’s toenails. “My dad refused to pay my college tuition. Would you believe he suggested I go to junior college? But I said I’d rather flip burgers at McDonalds.”

“What did you do?” Skye asked.

“This and that. I finally found a job as a go-fer. My employer knew Miss Margot and asked her to help me. She arranged for me to take the classes I needed to become a makeup artist, which, if I had to work, I thought would at least be a cool job.”

“That was nice of her,” Frannie commented.

“She didn’t do it out of the goodness of her heart.” Amber stripped the terrycloth gloves from Skye’s hands and worked lotion into them. “I had to sign a contract that says I’ll work here for seven years.”

“Seven years!” Frannie exclaimed. “That’s forever.”

“Yes, it is. I’ll be old by then, nearly thirty.”

Skye forced herself not to slap the girl. Imagine thinking thirty was old. Instead she asked, “So you do makeup, waxing, manicures, and pedicures? That seems like a lot.”

“Well, Kipp also does makeup, and Ustelle also does waxes, so we can help each other out, but then we all have something only we do. I’m the only one who does manis and pedis. No one but Kipp does hair, and only Ustelle does the wraps and massages.”

“How do you like working here so far?” Skye asked.

“It’s okay. But what I really want to do is work with models and actresses.”

“Margot hopes to attract those sorts of people to the spa, doesn’t she?” Skye said.

“Maybe.” Amber shrugged. “But I can’t see really famous people coming here. Just the has-beens like Esmé.”

“What happens if the spa doesn’t make it and they close down?” Skye asked.

“Then my contract is null and void, and I’m free.”

Skye glanced at Frannie, who lifted an eyebrow. Amber had a lot to gain if the spa went bust. Could she be behind the pre-opening vandalism? Was she trying to shut down the business? Had she gotten desperate when that didn’t work, and tried to gain her freedom by killing the owner, only to murder poor Esmé by mistake?

D
ue to Amber’s mysterious fifteen-minute disappearance, Skye was late for her hair appointment with Kipp Gardner. Of the spa’s professional staff, he was the one she’d had the least contact with. She had seen him only once—the day Esmé was murdered, when all he could do was scream.

The salon was located in one of the new buildings next to the gym, and built to look like a stand-alone hair salon. Picture windows bracketed the glass door and a silver green awning jutted over the front entrance.

Hating to be late, Skye approached the salon at a jog, then skidded to a stop when she heard voices. The door was propped open—it was another surprisingly warm day for November—and she paused to listen, thinking how easy it was to eavesdrop around the spa. People didn’t bother to lower their voices or close their doors. Inhibitions seemed to peel away like exfoliated skin.

She cocked her head. Who was in there with Kipp? The high-pitched voice sounded somehow false. The conversation seemed strangely similar to the ones she’d been having with the other professional employees.

“Where did you work before coming here?”

Kipp’s tenor answered, “Here, there, and everywhere. I don’t like to be tied down, that is unless there’s a bed and a whip involved.”

“Oh, you naughty boy.” The voice sounded almost like an alto trying to speak like a soprano. “Did you know Margot and her husband before coming here?”

“No. One of my clients was a friend of hers and recommended me.” Kipp paused, then said, “Look up. I want to get your bottom lashes.”

“I heard that there were quite a few problems that might have delayed the spa’s opening. Who do you think was behind them?”

“This is an old building. There are bound to be spirits who aren’t happy with new occupants.” Kipp’s answer sounded rehearsed.

“Do you think there really is a hidden treasure?”

“I’ve had a look and didn’t find anything, but I was never very good at riddles,” Kipp answered, then directed, “Okay, close your eyes, and I’ll give you a quick spritz of setting spray so your makeup will last longer.”

“Phew. It’s so hot in here, I think it’ll melt off before I even leave.”

“Sorry. The heat is on and I can’t get it off. Margot assures me they’re working on it. Just one of those glitches. Shall I open the door wider?”

Skye took that as her cue to go in. As she stepped over the threshold she gasped. She was looking straight into the eye-shadowed and mascaraed gaze of Justin Boward, Frannie’s boyfriend and the coeditor of the high school newspaper. Skye knew he was a relentless reporter, but she would have never guessed he would go as far as putting on a dress to pursue a story.

Justin sat in the slightly reclined salon chair, holding on to the arms as if he were about to be shot into space. He was wearing a shoulder-length blond wig, pink silk blouse, and a pink and green paisley skirt. On his feet were the biggest pair of pink ballet flats Skye had ever seen, and she wore size nine herself.

Before Skye could react, Kipp turned and asked, “Do you two know each other?”

Skye hastily found her voice. “I thought so at first, but I must have been mistaken.” She held out her hand. “Hi,
I’m Ms. Denison. I work at Scumble River High. Do you attend?”

“Yes. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Justine, Justin Boward’s sister. He’s told me how nice and understanding you are.”

“How sweet of Justin to say so. He’s usually not so full of compliments.” Skye bit her lip to stop the giggles that were threatening to burst out. “I haven’t seen you around the spa this weekend, Justine. Are you a guest?”

“Uh, not exactly. But my friend, Frannie, told me how wonderful everything was, and I decided to see if I could get an appointment.” Justin stared at Skye, daring her to comment. “I have a special date and I wanted to have my makeup done by an expert.”

“Right,” Kipp interrupted. “And since I had an opening, the receptionist snuck her in. Don’t tell Margot. She doesn’t want to accept day appointments. But I think it’s better than sitting around with nothing to do.”

“No problem.” Skye winked at Kipp, then turned to Justin/Justine. “By the way, I just love your skirt. Liz Claiborne?”

“No.” Justin look startled. “It’s mine. I bought it at Sears.” He adjusted the ruffle down the front of his blouse. “This, too. The saleswoman said they were an outfit.”

Justin had clearly gone overboard in his pursuit of breasts, and the ruffle nearly met his chin as it stretched between the two huge mounds. What in the heck had he used for his fake boobs? Coconuts? He looked as if he had just gotten off the set of
South Pacific.

Skye turned her giggles into a coughing fit, and determinedly did not meet the eyes of either Kipp or Justin. Once she regained control, she said to Kipp, “Are you all finished with Justine?”

Kipp nodded and held out his hand. “All but…”

Justin picked up a dainty pink purse from the floor and clumsily undid the gold clasp. He reached inside, pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, and handed it to Kipp.

“Thanks.” Kipp stuck it in his pocket and started to straighten the makeup tray.

Justin stood with his hand out, clearly expecting change, but Kipp was just as obviously well practiced at not noticing.

Before Justin could say anything, Skye stepped over to him and gripped his arm. “I need to have a word with you, outside.”

His expression said no way did he want to talk to Skye alone, but he answered, “Yes, ma’am.”

They started out the salon, Justin’s six feet towering over Skye’s five-seven, but Skye turned back to Kipp and said, “I won’t be long.”

“Sure. You’re my last appointment. I’ll start cleaning up while I wait for you.”

As soon as they were outside, Justin said, “He didn’t give me my change. It was supposed to cost forty-two dollars.”

“He probably thought the remaining eight was his tip, since it’s close to twenty percent.”

“Tip! He gets a tip after charging over forty bucks for half an hour’s work?” Justin scowled. “Man, what a rip-off.”