Murder of a Botoxed Blonde (14 page)

“My maternal grandmother. Dad gave them to me when my mom passed away.”

“How long ago was that?” Skye lay her hand briefly over his. “You never talk about your family, which makes me feel like I don’t know you very well.”

Skye could see the war in Wally’s eyes. They went from warm to cold to vulnerable. Finally, he said, “There’s not much to say. Mom died the year I graduated from college. My father and I were never close, and with her gone it seemed as if there was nothing for us to say to each other.”

“You must keep in touch, though.” Skye buttered a piece of roll. “You told me he bought you that wonderful car for your birthday.” Last September, on their first date, Skye had been surprised when Wally had picked her up in a brand new Thunderbird convertible.

“I call him once a month and we exchange birthday and Christmas cards.” Wally took a gulp of coffee. “When I decided to go to the police academy instead of graduate school, he pretty much lost interest in me.”

“But the car?”

“I have no idea why he suddenly decided to buy me a car.” Wally looked down at his plate and mumbled, “Hell, I have no idea why I accepted it.”

Skye knew she had pushed him as far as she could, probably farther than she should have when both of them were worn out and preoccupied. After a moment she asked, “Ready for some pie?”

Wally looked at her questioningly, then gave her a relieved smile. “I’m stuffed. How about taking our coffee into the living room and letting dinner digest, then we can really enjoy dessert?”

“Sounds good.” Skye got to her feet. “Why don’t you go ahead while I clean up a little?”

“Dorothy will do that in the morning.”

“I know. I’m just going to put away the leftovers and rinse the dishes—these shouldn’t go in the dishwasher.”

Wally pushed back from the table and got up. “I should do that, not you. It’s my house.”

“Yep, and next time I’ll expect you to.” Skye waved him
away. “But just this once we’ll pretend it’s nineteen-fifty and I’ll let you rest.”

“Okay.” Wally picked up both their coffee cups and headed toward the living room. “But I warn you. I could get used to this.”

His goofy grin as he disappeared through the door made up for the dishpan hands Skye had just let herself in for.

Fifteen minutes later the leftovers were wrapped and in the fridge, the dishes washed and draining on the counter, and the tablecloth shaken and replaced. Skye had found a tray in the cupboard and loaded it with a thermal coffee pot, cups, and two slices of pie with whipped cream.

Carrying the tray into the living room, she was stunned at how much better it looked now than it had when she’d seen it before. On her previous visit it’d had a neglected air, but the shag carpeting had been traded for hardwood flooring and the tweed sofa and chair were replaced by cream leather furniture. The walls had been painted a deep taupe, and a mushroom, cream, and rust area rug occupied the center of the room. Arts and Crafts style bookcases and tables took the place of the fake Early American ones that Skye remembered.

“Wow! You’ve redecorated since the last time I was here.” Skye put the tray down on the coffee table. “It looks wonderful.”

“Thanks. When Darleen left and took everything, I just bought some second-hand stuff. Then after she tried to get back together, I finally realized it was time to move on, I didn’t have to live like a poor college student.” Wally patted the sofa cushion next to him. “Have a seat. The couch is really comfortable.” Wally clicked the TV off as Skye sat down. He gestured to the set and said, “Nothing on the local news so far, but I’m guessing our luck won’t hold for long. Not with our victim being a famous model.”

“Mmm. This
is
nice.” Skye wiggled into the buttery soft leather. “You’re probably right about the media. Even though Esmé’s an ex-model, once you’re in the limelight, it seems as if you’re never a private citizen again—especially if you’re either the victim or perpetrator of a juicy crime.”

“I hate cases where celebrities are involved. So far we’ve only dealt with minor ones—local TV stars—but Esmé Gates was on magazine covers around the world.”

“Hopefully we can solve the case before the buzzards get a whiff of it.” Skye turned sideways on the sofa so she could look at Wally without straining her neck. “Do you want to talk about the interviews, or are you too tired?”

For an instant a wistful expression stole across his face, but then he took a deep breath and said, “I’m fine, and it’s probably better if we go over things while they’re fresh in both our minds.”

“Okay. Let me get my notes.”

“I’ll grab mine too.”

Soon they were both resettled on the couch, one on each end with their backs against the opposite armrests and their legs intertwined. The soft denim of his jeans against her bare skin was curiously sensual.

Skye took a deep breath, ordered herself to focus, then said to him, “You go first. You had the most likely suspects.”

Wally raised an eyebrow but flipped open his notepad and said, “I saw Dr. Burnett first. He claimed to be working on his book,
Even You Can Be Beautiful
, and had no alibi. He said he only knew Esmé through Margot. When they were together, they mostly talked about her diet and beauty regime.”

“I can believe that. She seemed extremely narcissistic the couple of times I saw her.” Skye tapped her fingers on her legal pad. “We should check out Dr. Burnett. There’s something about him I don’t trust. Maybe he killed Esmé by accident—you know, some youth injection gone wrong—then made it look like she drowned in the mud.”

“I agree we should check him out, but would he really make it look like his own spa was at fault?”

“Good point.” Skye chewed on the cap of her pen. “Okay, how about Margot? Any alibi or motive for her?”

“No to both. She was alone during the crucial eight thirty to nine thirty time period, but she and Esmé appear to have been good friends for many years and she doesn’t gain anything
by her death. It’s not as if they were both competing for the same modeling jobs anymore.”

“How about Kipp Gardner? Why was he even at the mud bath treatment room?”

“He’s the hairdresser, right?” Wally flipped through his notes. “He was there to rinse out the deep conditioner Esmé had put on just before taking the bath. And as for an alibi, he was in and out of the hair salon restocking supplies, so it’s hard to account for him, but he claims to have never met Esmé before this weekend.”

“Mmm.” Skye curled a piece of hair around her finger. “We should check into Kipp’s background and I’ll make an appointment to have my hair done. Maybe I can get him to chat and trip him up somehow.” Skye made a note. “Which brings us to Ustelle, who never seems to be around when she’s needed.”

“What do you mean?”

Skye gave Wally a slightly modified version of her attempt to save Trixie.

“Trixie mentioned that, although,” Wally hid his grin, “her account was much more detailed. Something about foil and you looking like a giant hot dog hopping to the rescue.”

“Trixie exaggerates. You should know better than to believe everything she says.”

“Of course, my little frankfurter. I knew you wouldn’t relish the thought of that story getting out. Too many people would roll with it.”

Skye threw a pillow at Wally. “That’s not funny and I don’t want to hear anything more about it.” She picked up the plate with the pie on it and held it threateningly. “Understand?” When he nodded, still fighting a smile, she asked, “So, how about Ustelle and her disappearing acts?”

“Since she claims she was on the phone, I’ve got the dispatcher checking the phone company records. She also says she didn’t know Esmé.”

“Another background check we should run. I’m not getting another seaweed wrap, but I guess I could get a facial. I’ll tell Ustelle that I’m afraid to be alone because of the murder, and ask her to stay with me and get her to chat.”

“What if she’s the murderer and tries her luck with a second victim?” Wally wrinkled his brow in concern.

“I’ll get Trixie or Loretta to watch from the other room or take some other precaution.” Skye studied her notes. “How about the stepdaughter?”

“Whitney. Is she some kind of nut job or what?”

“Probably.” Skye related her encounter in the solarium with the young woman. “I still have no idea why she ran away. Me in my underwear can’t be that scary.”

“Maybe we should test that out.” Wally gave her a lecherous look. “You could take off all your clothes and I’ll see if I’m afraid.”

“Right.” Skye snickered, then got back to business. “There certainly didn’t seem to be any love lost between Whitney and her stepmother.”

“True, but if that were a motive for murder, half the blended families would be minus a parent.”

“Any alibi?” Skye asked.

“She claims to have been swimming. Said the personal trainer saw her there.”

“Frisco said the same thing.”

“So they alibi each other.” Wally jotted down a note. “Now go over your interviews with me.”

Skye complied, finishing with, “Amber doesn’t have an alibi, and Frisco did admit to knowing Esmé before this weekend, saying that her new husband is the jealous type.”

“Interesting.”

“Amber is a school friend of Whitney’s and said their moms knew each other. Also she claims Elvis Doozier is stalking her.” Skye shook her head. “We should probably talk to him about that.”

“Probably.” Wally picked up one of Skye’s feet, running a fingertip along the smooth peach polish on her toenails. “But unless we find some indication that he was involved with the murder I think we should let sleeping Dooziers lie.”

Skye nodded absently, intent on the feeling of his strong hands massaging her foot.

“We have a lot to look into in the morning. It’s going to
be a busy day.” His voice deepened. “But it’s too late to do anything about the murder now.”

“Yes, nine o’clock on Thanksgiving night might be a difficult time to reach most people,” Skye agreed, then sighed with pleasure as Wally’s thumb pressed into the ball of her foot.

“It’s a good thing I can think of something to do to keep us from getting bored until then.” Wally’s talented fingers moved up and started kneading her calf. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Ah, yes. That feels wonderful.” Skye relaxed into the soft sofa. So far, what Wally was doing felt much better than any treatment she’d had at the spa. His hands were far more talented than those of any professional masseuse.

She sighed with pleasure. She just needed to stop him before they went too far. She wanted their first time to be special, not when they were both tired and with a murder to solve hanging over their heads.

“How does this feel?” Wally’s hand had moved up under her skirt and was caressing her inner thigh.

“Mmm.” Then again, maybe it was already too late to stop.

U
nlike Whitney, Wally certainly didn’t seem frightened as he gazed at Skye wearing only lace panties. Unless, of course, the uneven breathing she felt on her cheek as she lay draped across him was caused by fear. However, since he was holding her close and caressing her, she didn’t think so.

His shirt and jeans were layered among her skirt, shell, and jacket. Her peach bra looked almost like a bow on top of the stack. A series of slow, shivery kisses had accompanied the removal of each garment, smothering any resistance she attempted to muster. And now Skye could feel her defenses weakening even further as his lips seared a path down her neck to her shoulder.

His palms explored the hollows of her back, and her skin tingled where he touched her. She knew she should prevent him from going any farther. Another of his hungry kisses and she’d forget her resolve to wait for a better time. The heady sensation of his lips pressing kisses down her body set her aflame and when his mouth brushed first one breast, then the other, she suddenly couldn’t remember why she had wanted to stop him.

Somehow her peach panties and his white Jockeys were added to the clothing pile and Wally took her hands, encouraging her to explore. Her fingertips skimmed his shoulders,
his chest, down his stomach, then even lower. His body was so smooth and hard, so perfect.

Perfect. She froze. Her own body was far from perfect. This was the first time he had seen so much of it without clothing. What must he think?

As if reading her mind, Wally paused to kiss her, whispering his love for each part of her in between each brush of their lips. He continued to kiss her as his hands searched for her pleasure points.

She was hypnotized by his touch and purring her approval of his actions. Why had she ever thought they should wait? This was amazing. Wally was amazing.

When he lowered his body over hers, her senses reeled as if short-circuited, and then they were one.

Skye struggled to recognize the annoying noise intruding on her consciousness. A split second later, she felt Wally jerk awake, and she sighed. Neither one of them could ignore a ringing doorbell.

He growled into her neck, “That was incredible,” then gently moved her off his body and onto the sofa cushions. As he zipped up his jeans, he said, “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”