Murder of a Botoxed Blonde (9 page)

“Coffee! Muffins! Where did you get those? We follow a strict no caffeine or carbs diet here.”

“I always travel with my own coffee pot and I happened to buy some muffins yesterday from a wonderful bakery in town.” Nancy narrowed her eyes. “Is that a problem?”

“No. Of course not.” Margot blinked, perhaps remembering who she was talking to, and added soothingly, “It’s just that my husband designed the diet himself. The program is based on a thousand calories per day. Our aim is for our guests to leave us stress free and with a head start on a healthy eating plan.”

“Surely, since I’m not really here for that reason, you don’t mind if I supplement your menu for my own tastes?”

Margot shook her head. “But do please be discreet.”

“Discretion is my middle name.” Nancy pulled her chair closer to Skye’s. “Now tell me about the investigation you mentioned earlier.”

Skye looked at Margot, unsure how to answer.

Margot shook her head once, and said, “Yes, Skye, what investigation are you talking about?”

‘The treasure.”

Three pairs of eyes—blue, green, and brown—all turned toward Whitney, who had just spoken. This morning the young woman wore a white mini skirt that rode low on her hips with a white cami that ended just above her pierced belly button.

She handed Nancy a section of the
Scumble River Star
and pointed to the bottom of the page. “Look what that cute bellboy showed me this morning.”

Both Skye and Margot tried to talk, but the writer shushed them. “Let me read this first.”

Margot glared at Whitney, who stared back innocently.

Skye decided now was a good time to make her escape. She tried to stand, but Margot grabbed the leg of her chair and wouldn’t let her scoot back.

Fortunately, Nancy was a fast reader, and few minutes later she put down the newspaper. “Interesting.” She turned to Skye. “So you and the friend you mentioned last night are trying to find the treasure.”

Skye and Margot answered yes, at the same time Whitney said no.

Nancy cocked her head. “Which is it?”

“It’s yes and no,” Whitney blurted out. “Yes, they’re trying to find the treasure, but no, that’s not what they’re investigating.”

“Thanks, Whitney,” Skye said, “but since this is my story, you don’t mind if I tell it, do you?”

The young woman huffed, swishing her ponytail from side to side, but gestured with her hand for Skye to continue.

Skye forced herself to give Nancy a relaxed smile. “In a small town everything gets blown out of proportion.”

“Sure.”

Skye searched her mind for a plausible story.

“I’m guessing everyone wants to find the treasure,” Nancy said to Skye after she’d been silent for a while.

“Yes, and one particular one was bothering Margot, someone digging up the estate and so on, so my friend Trixie and I thought maybe we could find out who it was and put a stop to his or her messing around.”

“Except,” Whitney broke in, “they didn’t catch just one treasure hunter, they caught lots of them, and now they’re back to square one.”

“Right.” Skye nodded. “Which is why, while I spend Thanksgiving with my family this afternoon, Trixie will continue to investigate.”

“Maybe I can help,” Nancy offered.

“Well … sure.” Skye tried to figure out whether that would cause problems, but couldn’t think of any. “Now, if
you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment for a Miracle Mud bath in half an hour.”

Everyone walked off in different directions, and Skye returned to her room, where she read the instructions for the treatment. She was supposed to shower, and wearing only the spa robe, arrive at the treatment room five minutes early, where an attendant would work a deep conditioner into her wet hair. No makeup or jewelry was allowed. The guest was asked to consult with Dr. Burnett prior to the treatment if they wanted Botox injections while they had the mud bath.

Skye showered, and despite instructions to wear nothing underneath the spa robe, put on an old one-piece swimsuit. After twisting her wet hair into a towel and slipping on flip-flops, she headed to the Miracle Mud bath area of the spa, following the small map that had been included with the appointment’s instructions.

In order to reach the special suite Margot and Dr. Burnett had had constructed from the mansion’s basement, Skye was directed down a flight of stairs and through a tiled hallway. According to her directions, at the end of this passage was a room that contained two uniquely designed ceramic vats that heated the Miracle Mud and kept it at a constant temperature.

Skye emerged from the corridor and saw a pair of large windows with a river view. In fact, it almost looked as if the water was flowing straight into the spa. How had they done that? Skye summoned a picture of the mansion and realized it had been built into a hill, allowing for the back to be level with the shore, and making it easy to pipe in the Miracle Mud.

Finally, tearing her gaze from the view, Skye saw a small desk and chair near a doorway. The chair was empty and there was no sign of the attendant, but Skye could hear loud music coming from the treatment room beyond.

She hesitated, thinking maybe the woman was settling another guest into the bath, since the brochure indicated two tubs were available.

As she stood there, unsure of what to do, Skye looked around. Besides the desk and chair next to the door leading
into the mud bath room, there was a wall with several shower heads attached and drains along the floor, nearby a rolling cabinet of the special silvery colored towels that were the spa’s trademark, and a small alcove with a shampoo sink and chair.

Shoot. She hated waiting, but she didn’t want to have to walk all the way back to the main reception area. She tried calling out, “Miss, Miss. I’m here for my nine-thirty appointment.” Could the attendant hear her over the loud music? She moved closer to the closed treatment room door and raised her voice. “Anybody there?”

Still no answer.

She should turn on her heels and get Margot. No, that was silly. She’d just take a little peek. If the attendant was busy she’d wait; if no one was there, she’d leave.

Her flip-flops made a soft flapping sound as she crossed the small space. She nearly stepped on a wadded towel stained with greenish-brown steaks laying on the floor near the door. She reached for the knob, but hesitated before grabbing it because there were greenish-brown smears similar to those on the towel, coating the brass surface. She bent over and sniffed. It smelled herbal.

Taking a tissue from her robe pocket, she used it to release the door without getting her hands dirty, then laughed at herself for being so fastidious when in a few minutes her whole body would be covered in mud. She eased open the door and called out, “It’s now or never if you don’t want me to come in!”

Skye counted to ten, then swung the door wide, but didn’t cross the threshold. The room was a twelve by twelve tiled room with a mud vat on either side of the doorway. The music was even louder in here and Skye spotted a hot pink portable CD player on a shelf next to various bottles, bath brushes, and silvery towels. The song sounded familiar, and Skye caught herself humming, but she couldn’t quite come up with the words.

At first the room appeared empty, but then she noticed a pink and black silk kimono hanging from a hook near the door, and on the floor underneath matching satin slippers lay
on their sides. Skye stepped back, ready to close the door, when something stopped her. Where was the robe’s owner? Surely, no one would leave such an expensive garment and walk away nude.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she walked over to the vat on the right. It was about thigh high and there were steps to help get in and out. The contents radiated heat, and smelled soothing.

As Skye crossed over to the other side of the room, she turned off the CD player. The loud music grated on her nerves and seemed somehow wrong under the circumstances. Nearing the other bath, she noticed evidence that this one had already been used. There were greenish brown smears on the rim of the vat and on the steps. The odor seemed different, too. Skye leaned closer to sniff. Yech. Along with the smell of herbs, there was a stench of fresh feces.

Skye gagged and moved back, but not before she spotted the outline of a hand just beneath the mud’s surface. Had the Miracle Mud been transformed from the Fountain of Youth to the Cauldron of Death?

W
ait a minute. Skye stopped in midstep and turned back. Maybe whoever was in the mud bath wasn’t dead. Suddenly the training she’d received when she was hired as a consultant to the Scumble River Police Department kicked in. Her primary concern was the victim’s welfare, which meant getting the person out of the mud bath and clearing the nose and mouth so Skye could do CPR.

Skye shrugged out of her robe—thankful she had ignored the instructions to wear nothing under it—and climbed up the steps. Plunging her arms into the mud, she felt around until she found the victim’s shoulders, then worked her hands underneath the arms and clasped them over the upper chest.

With a mighty heave, Skye tugged the person into a sitting position. Once free of the sludge, it was clear the victim was female, but Skye couldn’t identify her since the mud obscured her features.

Grunting with effort, Skye tried to move the woman over the edge of the vat, but for every inch she pulled, the mud sucked the victim back two. As Skye took a deep breath, trying to figure out another way to get the person completely out of the tub, she heard a scream behind her. Her head shot around like a snapped rubber band, and she saw Kipp Gardner, the spa’s hairstylist, in the doorway.

“Kipp, thank God. Help me get her out of the tub,” Skye ordered, but the hairstylist kept screaming.

“Kipp. Pull yourself together.” Skye felt like screaming herself. “This could be a matter of life or death.”

He shook his head and sank to the ground, his screams turning into whimpers.

Giving up on his help, Skye’s thoughts raced. What to do? She propped the woman against the back of the bath and draped her arms over the side, hoping this would keep her above mud level. Once Skye released her, she felt for a pulse in the woman’s throat and her wrist. Nothing.

As she leaned forward to check for breathing, she heard a familiar accented voice, then a slap, and finally Kipp stopped sniveling. Ustelle stepped past the hairdresser, now kneeling silently in the doorway, and asked, stone-faced, “What’s wrong with Ms. Gates?”

“This is Esmé?”

“Ya. I think so. I put her in the bath half an hour ago.”

“Help me get her out,” Skye commanded. “I found her under the mud.”

Ustelle hurried forward and between her and Skye they lifted Esmé out and onto the floor. Skye checked again for a pulse or breathing, and found none.

“When you put her into the bath, did you get mud on your hands?” Skye asked Ustelle.

“No.” Ustelle bit her lip. “She said she didn’t need any help, she’d get in after I closed the door.”

“Did you stay in the next room for any length of time or leave right away? How long have you been gone?”

“I left as soon as Ms. Gates was settled.” Ustelle looked stricken. “The baths are a half hour, and I knew you’d be coming at nine thirty. I needed to make a quick call, and I didn’t want to be late for you again.”

“Are you supposed to stay while the guests are in the bath?” Skye asked.

“Yes,” Ustelle whispered. “Please don’t tell Ms. Margot or the doctor.”

“I won’t tell them directly.” Skye grimaced. “But you will
need to tell the police, so Margot and the doctor will probably find out.”

“The police!” Ustelle squealed.

“Yes, and right now.” Skye was sorry she had started asking the masseuse questions. She should have left that until later, but she had wanted to make sure of her theory before she said anything, and Ustelle’s absence had made her deduction more viable. “Go to the reception desk in the lobby. Call 911. Tell them someone’s dead, probably murdered, and we need the police.” Skye paused, thinking. “Oh, and don’t touch anything here or on your way to the lobby. Take Kipp with you, and stay there. I need to secure the scene.”

As soon as the masseuse and the hairstylist left, Skye took off the towel she had wrapped around her hair, intending to use it to cover poor Esmé, but stopped when she realized it was important not to contaminate the victim with transference. Instead she used the towel to wipe the worst of the mud from her arms and upper body, before putting on her robe and stepping out of the room.

She stationed herself in front of the stairway, determined not to let anyone else taint the scene. Unfortunately, news of the death traveled faster than the police, and Skye had to turn away several staff and guests who felt entitled to see the body.

Dr. Burnett was among the first to arrive. He was doing a type of run-walk the principals at Skye’s schools had perfected. It was meant to convey the message, that, yes, there is an emergency, but it’s being handled and everyone else should go back to work.

Skye crossed her arms and maintained her position. As soon as he was in earshot she asked, “Have the police been called?”