Murder of a Botoxed Blonde (26 page)

“Very funny.” Skye punched her lightly on the arm, plopped herself in a chair, and reached into her bag. “In case you’ve missed it, a lot’s been happening in my life.”

“A lot is always happening in your life. That’s what makes you interesting.” Loretta snatched the loaf of fresh bakery bread before Skye even got it onto the table. “Where and when did you get this?”

“From the local grocery store, this morning just before coming here.”

Loretta used the knife Skye produced to cut off four pieces and gave Skye two. “Why were you in town?”

“I needed clothes, food, and to check out the Dooziers.” Skye took out a plastic squeeze bottle of mustard and a package of deli ham from the thermal bag.

“I bet you saw Wally, too.”

“Well…” Skye bit into her sandwich and chewed, giving herself a little time to think before replying. She couldn’t
claim to be working with him on the investigation since the murderer had already confessed. Maybe Wally was right. It was time to stop trying to hide their relationship. “You’d win that wager.”

“Spill.” Loretta wiped her fingers and added, “I never got to talk to you after the big Spike revelation, but I want to hear now.”

Skye filled her in, up to the moment at the truck stop when she had refused to let Simon drive her home.

“How did you get back?” Loretta took a sip from her can of Coke. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“No offense, but you’re sharing a room with my mother. You would have been the last person I called.” Skye ate a chip. “And don’t you dare tell her any of this.”

“I swear.” Loretta crossed her heart. “Believe me, I don’t want to be the one to inform May that you are turning down Mr. Perfect for Mr. Hot. That is what’s happening, isn’t it?”

“That’s how it seems, but I just don’t know.” Without thinking, Skye unwrapped a Hostess Ding Dong from Loretta’s stash. She never ate so much junk food at home. Great! She would be the only one in history who went to a spa and gained weight. “Up until last night, I thought maybe Simon and I could get back what we had, but his stance hasn’t changed one iota. He was so arrogant and stubborn, and still insisting I should just trust him.”

“And let’s face it, the sexual chemistry between you and Wally is off the charts.”

“I thought it was just physical attraction between, us, too, but now that I’m spending more time with Wally, there’s a lot more to it.” Skye popped open a can of Diet Coke and poured it into the glass of ice she had prepared in her room. “I like not having to be
so
smart and
so
sophisticated all the time. And I like that Wally considers me an intellectual equal, and that he isn’t always perfect.”

“Sounds a lot like what I love about Vince.” Loretta peeled open a Kit Kat bar and broke off a piece. “He’s easy to be with. I can relax. He knows I’m smart, so I don’t have to always be proving it. And …”

Skye lifted an eyebrow. “And?”

“And he’s fantastic in bed.”

Skye put her fingers in her ears. “I don’t want to hear about my brother having sex.”

“Okay.” Loretta licked the chocolate from the wafer. “Then tell me about you and Wally having sex.”

“No. Some things are not meant to be shared.”

“Then you
have
been to bed with him. Trixie was right.”

Skye wrinkled her brow. “Since when did you and Trixie become such good friends?”

“Since you haven’t been around this weekend. What did you think we were going to do? Sit in our rooms and contemplate our navels?” Loretta looked at her watch and started to pack up the food. “I like Trixie and Frannie.”

“Really?” Skye asked. “And have you bonded with May? How about Bunny?”

“May is great as long as the topic of weddings and grandchildren can be avoided. And Bunny is a hoot.”

“So Scumble Riverites aren’t as bad as you thought they’d be?” Skye remembered when she had first discovered that her brother and Loretta were dating, but keeping it a secret because Loretta was convinced the town would never accept a biracial relationship.

“Well …” Loretta finished putting the food away and started wiping the tabletop with a napkin. “I’m sure not everyone will be as nice as your friends.”

“That’s true anywhere. Admit it. You were wrong.”

“Maybe.” As the two women finished cleaning up their trash, Loretta asked, “Don’t you find it odd that the staff doesn’t seem to be lacking energy, if they’re eating only the spa sanctioned food?”

“I noticed that.” Skye thought about it some more. “I did hear a couple of them complaining that someone was gauging them and they were sick of forking over so much money. Maybe someone’s selling Little Debbie snack cakes.”

“There is definitely something odd going on around here.” Loretta got up and deposited the debris into a trash can. “I was scheduled for a seaweed wrap like the one you got the first day, and Ustelle was so late I went looking for her.”

“And I bet she was on the phone.”

“Yes, she was having a whispered conversation in Spanish, yet earlier, I heard her tell Frisco she doesn’t speak the language.”

“Well, she could have said that just to get rid of Frisco.” Skye wiped crumbs off the table with a paper napkin. “I know he’s a hunk, but he flirts with anything that moves, and I’ll bet that can get pretty tiresome if you’re a fellow employee and stuck around him all the time.”

“Someone needs to smack him upside the head.” Loretta shook her head, then asked, “So, who do you think Ustelle was talking to?”

“I’d say the media, but she was making mysterious calls even before the murder, and since she was speaking Spanish, it was probably Carlos.”

As they both started toward the door, Loretta said, “So how did you get back to the spa last night?”

“The waitress ended up giving me a ride. And as it turned out, I’m glad I waited around because I heard two out-of-towners talking about Magic Mud.”

“Miracle Mud,” Loretta corrected.

“Nope. Magic. And guess who’s selling it?”

Loretta tapped her chin with a perfectly manicured fingernail, then shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“The Dooziers.”

“The Dooziers?”

Skye understood Loretta wasn’t asking who they were—the attorney was well acquainted with the clan—so she explained about the mud, then described her visit to their mud bath and how the shed was arranged. She ended with, “So Glenda sticks her fake boobs in my face and says, ‘Except for those stupid silver towels, we got everything that fancy pants spa has, even music.’ And she points to an eight-track player.” Skye was laughing so hard it took her a few minutes to notice that Loretta had her attorney face on. “What? You don’t think that was funny?”

“Yeah. Hysterical. But how did the Dooziers know enough about the spa’s mud bath treatment room to duplicate it… even in their own oddball style?”

Skye opened her mouth to reply, but realized she had no idea. Even if Elvis had worked on the construction of the room, how would he know about the silvery towels? They had to be one of the last touches Margot put out just before the guests arrived.

S
kye mulled over Loretta’s observation as she walked to her next treatment. Not only did the Dooziers know about the towels, they also knew about the music. Ustelle had been emphatic that the CD player was not a regular feature of that room, which meant it had been put out only minutes before the murder was committed.

It wasn’t that Skye didn’t believe one of the Doozier clan could kill someone; she just thought they’d do it in a much less subtle fashion. A blast from a shotgun would be more their style.

When Skye neared Amber’s treatment room, she heard Amber’s shrill soprano followed by Frannie’s deeper alto. Skye frowned. She had been worried about Frannie hanging out with Whitney, but she didn’t think Amber was any better. She definitely had to speak to Frannie about hanging around with either of those two. She hoped Frannie was just spending time with both Amber and Whitney in order to investigate her story for the school newspaper, but she needed to make sure.

As Skye paused, thinking about Frannie’s motives, she heard Amber talking. “So I get this really cool La Perla bra, and I put it on and say to her, ‘How does it look?’ And she says, ‘Just like it did on the hanger.”’

Frannie’s reply was full of sympathy. “No matter how
you look, someone always manages to say something mean.”

“Why did I even ask my stepmother’s opinion?” Amber’s tone was angry. “I knew what she was like.”

“I guess you hoped you were wrong.”

There was a silence, and Skye decided it was a good time to go in. Amber was sitting slumped on a black leather director’s chair. This treatment room was a bit larger than the others Skye had been in—more the size of a spacious bedroom than a walk-in closet. Two chairs with foot basins were positioned side by side, and two with small glass tables in front of them were located across the room. One entire wall was covered with shelving that contained small bottles filled with every imaginable color, from the palest cream to the darkest black.

Sitting in one of the pedicure chairs, her legs calf-deep in water, was Frannie.

She waved when Skye came in and said, “Amber, this is Ms. D., my
counselor.
The one I was telling you about.”

Amber swished her strawberry blond ponytail and said with a small huff, “I know Miss Denison, Frannie. She interviewed me after Esmé was murdered.”

“Hi, Frannie, Amber.” Skye looked between both girls, wondering what was going on. Why had Frannie emphasized that Skye was her counselor? And wasn’t it interesting that Amber was so competitive that she had to claim knowing Skye even as a murder suspect, rather than letting Frannie be one up on her?

Amber pointed to the other pedicure chair. “Ma’am, if you’ll take a seat, I’ll get you started soaking while I do Frannie’s polish.”

“Sure.” Skye climbed carefully into the slightly elevated seat and eased her feet into the hot, soapy water. “Ah, this feels heavenly.”

“Yes, a lot of the ladies have said this is the best part of the spa.” Amber pulled up a low stool until she sat directly in front of Skye, dipped her hand into a jar, and worked the lime salt wash into her feet and up to her knees.

The smell was delicious, and Skye joked, “This makes me want a margarita.”

Amber’s tongue swept her lips. “Too bad there’s no alcohol allowed at the spa.”

“Among other things.” Skye laughed. “Like chocolate and bread and soda and coffee.”

Frannie shot Skye a glance that clearly said, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“Don’t forget sex.” Amber giggled. “It’s banned, too, except during the coed weekends, and then it’s allowed only among the guests.”

Skye almost reminded Amber of her own tryst with Elvis the night before, but decided it was none of her business. She had spoken to Earl, and the Elvis/Amber situation was now in his hands.

Amber rinsed Skye’s feet and legs, rolled her stool back, and took a pair of terrycloth booties from a steam cabinet. She slid Skye’s foot into a bootie. “Is that too hot?”

“No, it feels great.” After the second bootie was put on, Skye leaned back and closed her eyes, hoping the girls would forget she was there and talk freely.

Beneath her lashes, Skye saw Amber wheel her stool over to Frannie and take the teen’s feet from the water. She quickly dried them and put them on a rolled towel, then got up to empty the basin of water.

Skye felt a light touch on her hand and looked down. Frannie had slipped a tiny piece of paper into her palm. She checked out Amber’s location—the manicurist was washing out the tub—so Skye opened the small square. On it Frannie had printed:

Don’t mention the school newspaper.

Skye slipped the paper into her pocket and nodded slightly to Frannie. She felt a bit relieved. She had figured that Frannie was investigating her story, going undercover rather than actually befriending Amber or Whitney, but it was good to know for sure.

Amber turned from the sink and pointed to the wall of polish. “Have you decided on a color?”

“I was thinking Ballet Pink.”

Amber shrugged. “That’s so yesterday.”

“What would you pick?”

“Bahamas Mama is hot right now.” Amber held up a small bottle of orangey red.

“Okay. I’ll take that one.”

“Good choice.” Amber nodded approvingly. “Men love this one.”

“Uh, good.” Frannie’s tone was doubtful.

Skye tried to imagine Frannie’s boyfriend Justin noticing what color the girl’s toenails were, but couldn’t quite tune in that picture. She watched as Amber expertly painted three of Frannie’s toenails, then jump slightly when the wall phone buzzed. Amber jerked to her feet and hurried to pick it up. “Yes?”

Her voice and mannerisms changed from brash to apprehensive. “No. I can’t. No. No. Well, okay, but only for a few minutes.” She turned back to Frannie and Skye. “Sorry, I’ll be right back.”

After she left, Skye said, “I sure wish I knew who she was meeting.” If Amber hadn’t appeared so uneasy, Skye would have thought the call was from Elvis.

“Yeah, it’s not as if either one of us could follow her without leaving a trail.” Frannie scrunched up her face. “I could see if Miss Bunny is in our room. If she is, she could try and find Amber.”