Murder of a Botoxed Blonde (29 page)

“She didn’t actually come to the clinic for that.” Dr. Burnett hesitated a beat, then said, “It was one of those cases where someone corners you at a cocktail party for advice. As a psychologist, you must get that sort of thing all the time.”

“Yes, I do.” Skye nodded, although she was more likely to be cornered in the produce department at Walter’s Supermarket than at a swanky party.

Dr. Burnett stood and Skye realized she couldn’t squeeze in many more questions before he showed her out the door. “Do you have any theories about who was vandalizing the spa before it opened?”

“It was just someone’s idea of a joke.” Dr. Burnett herded Skye toward the door. “Or more probably, someone looking for that damn treasure. We’re still getting fresh holes every day.”

That wasn’t what he had said when he demanded to see Esmé’s body, claiming he feared it was really Margot who had been killed. “How about all the missing items the guests are complaining about?”

“Probably the housekeepers. I’ve told them if the thefts don’t stop I’m firing them all.”

“Maybe the vandalism is connected to Esmé’s murder.”
Skye watched as the good doctor’s hand tightened on the knob.

“Of course not. The killer confessed. Unless you think those protestors were around before the opening day.”

“Couldn’t the vandalism and the treasure hunting be a cover for the real motive behind the murder?” Skye asked as the door opened.

“Anything’s possible.”

Burnett’s hand on the small of her back was gently but firmly propelling her out. She could fit in only one or two more questions; she’d better make them good ones. “Margot mentioned that Esmé had gotten Botox injections in the past. Were you still giving them to her?”

“No, she had a bad reaction to the last ones, so when she arrived for this weekend, I told her I couldn’t give her anymore.”

Ah, huh! She had just caught him in a lie. Skye gripped the door jamb to stop her forward motion. “But you just said Esmé wasn’t your patient, that you gave her diet advice at a cocktail party. So, when did you give her the shots?”

“My dear, you have obviously had little contact with the rich and famous.” Burnett’s tone was even, but his eyes indicated his irritation. “They do not go to clinics. Procedures such as Botox injections are given in their home or during a girls’ night out get-together.”

“Oh.” Skye stumbled a bit as Burnett succeeded in pushing her over the threshold. “When you refused to give her the shots this weekend, did she say she would go to someone else for them?”

“Yes. And no, she didn’t tell me who.” As he closed the door, he said, “The offer for the LifeWave Energy Patch is still open. You could drop twenty pounds in a week.”

Skye stopped herself from blowing a raspberry and forced herself to say, “No, but thanks for the offer.”

It was a few minutes after five, so Skye hurried past the stairway, through the lobby, and out the front entrance. Wally’s personal car, a blue Thunderbird convertible, was parked at the end of the sidewalk, and as soon as he spotted
her, he got out and hurried around to open the passenger side door.

Skye kissed him on the cheek, hopped in, and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

He closed her door, jogged around the hood, and slid in beside her. With a questioning look, he put the car in gear and drove away.

She sighed and leaned her head back, not speaking until they had cleared the front gate, which was still mobbed by reporters being held back by security. Finally, she said, “They are all crazy back there.”

Wally smiled and took her hand. “Tell me all about it.” He turned toward I-55 and added, “I thought you’d probably feel like taking a break and getting out of town, so I made a reservation at the country club for dinner, okay?”

“Sure. Are you a member?” Skye forced herself not to sound surprised. She associated Simon with martinis at the country club and Wally with a six-pack on the lake at the recreation club.

“Yep, but I don’t get there much.”

Mmm. Skye worried her bottom lip. First the fancy car, then the new furniture, a housekeeper, and now a membership at the country club. Wasn’t all that too much money for a cop’s salary? Could he be on the take? No! She had jumped to conclusions about Simon; she wouldn’t do the same with Wally. She knew the car was a gift from his father. Maybe the rest was, too.

Wally squeezed her hand. “You’re awfully quiet. I thought you were going to tell me about all the crazy people at the spa.”

“Just trying to get my thoughts in order. I know I got some good clues today, if I could separate them from the useless information.” She smiled at him and squeezed back. “One thing I am worried about is Justin. You won’t believe what he did.”

“I bet I would.”

After Skye finished describing her encounter with Justine, she said, “I meant to check and make sure he didn’t get into any trouble investigating, but I ran out of time.”

“No need to worry.” Wally chuckled. “I thought that was him dressed in drag being tossed out by the security guards when I pulled in the front gate.”

“Why didn’t you make sure he was okay?” Skye had visions of the guards beating him up.

“The boy’s got to learn the consequences of his actions. If he’s going to be a journalist, he’ll get thrown out of a lot of places.” Wally must have noticed Skye’s narrowed eyes because he added, “He was fine. His wig was hanging from his ear, he had lost a shoe, and I doubt the grass stains will come out of his skirt—which we hope he won’t be wearing again anyway. Otherwise he was intact.”

“Okay.” Skye sighed. “Now if I could just mink of what else I’ve forgotten.”

“Take your time.” Wally let go of her hand and turned on the CD player. “Maybe some music will help.”

Wally was a golden oldies fan, and Skye let the familiar melodies roll over her as she processed what she had learned. When a new song started her eyes popped open. “That’s it!” she shouted.

“You know who the murderer is?” Wally sounded incredulous.

“No, sorry, but I do know which song was playing on the CD when I found Esmé’s body.”

‘This one?”

“Yes, ‘The Great Pretender’.” Skye hit herself on the forehead. “And that reminds me, the CD player was hot pink. I remember thinking it clashed with the restful decor.”

“Which reminds me, I talked to the crime techs this afternoon,” Wally picked up from where Skye left off. “They fingerprinted the CD player at the murder scene, but didn’t collect it as evidence, so I came a little early tonight to pick it up. But it was gone.”

“Crap!” Skye massaged her temples. “We just can’t get a break.”

“Maybe not, or maybe this is our break.” Wally turned the car into the long drive that led to the country club. “Maybe the killer took it, not to get rid of it but because he—but I’m thinking now it’s probably a she since the
player is pink—feels safe enough to want it back. After all, no one but you and I know that the CD player was brought in by the murderer.”

“I bet you’re right. Now, we just need to check out everyone’s rooms.” Skye’s tone turned sour. “But no search warrant because they already have a confession, right?”

“True, but the player’s probably in plain sight so if someone happens to catch a glance …” He trailed off as he maneuvered the car into a tricky parking spot.

The clubhouse was cream-colored brick, and sported huge floor-to-ceiling windows. Inside, the golf shop and offices ran the length of the right wing; the opposite area consisted of several small rooms whose dividers could be opened to form one large space. Tonight the folding walls were all pushed back, and the restaurant was full.

Skye and Wally were shown to a table in a back corner against a window overlooking the eighteenth hole of the golf course. The hostess handed them menus, asked what they wanted to drink, and disappeared. A few minutes later, a waitress brought Wally his beer and Skye her frozen margarita, took their dinner order, and left them alone.

As soon as the server went away, Skye asked, “Did you ever find Rex Quinn?”

“Yes. You were right, he showed up at the spa looking for Whitney.”

“Anything?”

“It was a touching reunion.” Wally took a healthy swallow of beer. “A lot of crying, and Daddy telling Whitney she was his best girl, and it was just going to be the two of them from how on.”

“It doesn’t sound as if you believed their grief.”

“You were more upset the time Bingo disappeared than these two are over Esmé’s death. To be fair, Quinn seemed pretty broken up at first, but Whitney was faking it.”

Skye nodded, then asked, “Did Mr. Quinn have proof he’d been out of the country?”

“He showed me his airline ticket stubs and hotel receipt, and gave me the names of people who can vouch they were with him the day of the murder.”

“That’s what I figured. It wouldn’t make much sense for him to kill her. They’d been married only a year, and before that had been waiting for his divorce for a long time.” Skye rummaged in her purse for a sheaf of yellow papers. “Did he take Whitney home?”

“No. He said he was exhausted from traveling and was afraid he’d fall asleep at the wheel, and Whitney can’t drive a stick shift, so he got a room at the motor court and they’re leaving for Hinsdale tomorrow. He moved there from Kenilworth after his divorce.” The waitress served their salads and Wally speared a forkful of lettuce. “He said he’s got a business call at eleven a.m. so they’ll probably hit the road around one. He’s got a huge, fancy funeral all planned for the day after. I told him the ME may not have released the body in time for that.”

“I’ll bet he didn’t take that well.”

“He said his attorney would take care of it. I didn’t bother to argue. The ME won’t let the body go until he’s finished and no lawyer will change that.”

“Right.” She was used to the demands and threats of parents. It seemed as if everyone thought their attorneys could solve all their problems.

“Anything on your end?”

Skye scanned her notes, then filled Wally in on Amber’s seven-year contract, Kipp’s black-market business in forbidden foods, and the fact that Dr. Burnett claimed he hadn’t given Esmé any Botox injections since her arrival at the spa.

Wally finished the last of his salad before saying, “Interesting. So unless he’s lying, those injection sites the ME found were something else. Maybe some sort of sedative to cause her to lose consciousness and make her easier to hold under the mud.”

“But why would Esmé allow someone to repeatedly stick a needle between her eyes?” Skye asked, then answered her own question. “Because she thought it
was
Botox.”

“That makes sense.”

“I’ve read a little about Botox. Doctors are
supposed
to administer the injections, but they often merely supervise others. Which means, Esmé might not have thought there
was anything odd about a non-physician doing it, especially if she really wanted it and had been turned down by Dr. Burnett.”

Wally broke off a piece of roll and buttered it. “We’ll keep that in mind. Did you find out anything when you visited the Dooziers this morning?”

“Other than that they’re trying to get people to pay for a mud bath in a children’s swimming pool set up next to the lawn mower in their utility shed, you mean?”

He chuckled, popped the bread into his mouth, and made a go ahead gesture with his hand.

Skye started to say she hadn’t learned anything else, then stopped suddenly and snapped her fingers. “I just realized that the Dooziers, as the leaders of the Red Raggers, have a widespread network they can tap into for information. Think about it. The few Red Raggers who actually do work for a living work in the service industries—cleaning, waiting on tables, and cutting grass. And a lot of the guys, like Elvis, pick up jobs here and there with construction companies.”

“So?”

“So, that means they know about the treasure and there’s a good chance they’re the ones digging holes all over the place and causing all the vandalism. In fact, remember I mentioned seeing Elvis around the spa on several occasions?” Skye took a sip of her margarita. “Did I tell you they knew all about the mud bath treatment room, even down to the fact music was played?”

“No. But what’s that got to do with the murder? Do you think a Doozier killed Esmé because of the treasure?”

“A Doozier would scam you for the treasure but not kill for it. No.” Skye was silent for a minute, processing all the information, then nodded to herself. “What I do think is that for them to know something that only occurred during a short period of time, maybe an hour at most, there must be another way into that section of the spa.”

“Wouldn’t Margot or her husband have mentioned that? Unless you think one of them is the killer?”

“Not really. I can’t come up with a motive for either of them, and you’re right, they would have mentioned an
alternative entrance to Trixie and me when Margot first asked us to catch the spa vandal.”

“I’d forgotten she originally wanted you and Trixie to help her with that.” Wally ran his fingers through his hair. “So, yeah, I agree she would have told you about another entrance.”

‘The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that when the addition was built, the construction crew included several Red Raggers. We already know about Elvis, and mere were probably others I wouldn’t recognize. Together they added some sort of secret entrance into the main building without anyone knowing.” Skye tapped her finger on the table. “To them it would be like opening a bank account. As long as the spa attracted a wealthy clientele, they could make frequent withdrawals.”

She was silent for a moment, then added, “You know, now that we’re talking about it, I’ve heard about several missing items—Whitney’s cell phone, Bunny’s watch, Dr. Burnett’s cuff link, and another guest was complaining about losing a pair of earrings. Burnett blamed it on the housekeepers, but I bet it was the Dooziers.”

“Sounds like you’re on to something. Which means we need to convince the Dooziers to tell us where the entrance is and who else knows about it.” Wally chugged the rest of his beer and stared morosely at the bottom of the glass. “Shit. How am I going to get Earl to come clean?”