Murder of a Botoxed Blonde (15 page)

As soon as he disappeared into the foyer, Skye grabbed her underwear and pulled it on. She yanked her skirt up and popped her shell over her head. She was brushing her hair when he came back a few minutes later.

His tone was accusatory. “You moved.”

“Uh. Well. You see …” Skye felt her face redden. “It’s just that…”

“You’re still not completely comfortable with me.”

“No, it’s not you. It’s me. I’m not comfortable with being naked.”

Wally’s expression was thoughtful. “We’ll have to work on that.”

“I’d like that.” Skye looked up at him through her lashes. “That was the most amazing experience I’ve ever had. I didn’t know it could be like that.”

“Me, either.” He took her in his arms, cuddling her into
his embrace. “I’ve waited years for you, and it was worth every second.”

“Thank you.” She kissed the underside of his jaw. “You are the sweetest man ever.”

He harrumphed, but held her tighter, smoothing her hair, his breathing coming in a contented cadence.

After a moment, Skye sighed. The mood was broken and she had to ask, “Who was at the door?”

“Jeff. I told him and Anthony not to use the radio—I’m hoping we can avoid tipping off the media for a while longer. He said he tried my cell phone but couldn’t get a signal.”

“I swear, there are more dead zones in Scumble River than in the cemetery.” Skye resisted spending the money on a cell for just that reason. “Why didn’t he call your home phone?”

“Said he couldn’t remember the number and thought it would be quicker to stop by, but I think someone put him up to coming over here to see what we were up to.”

“Gee. I wonder who that could be.” Skye ran her fingers over the muscles on his chest, loving the way they felt. “I’m putting my money on May.”

He caught her hands in his. “If you want to stay dressed, stop that.”

“Sorry.” Her cheeks reddened even more. She couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him. “Of course, Trixie is also high on the list of nosey people.”

“We do seem to attract a lot of interest in this town. At least the Bunco Woman didn’t show up with her camera.” They both laughed at Wally’s reference to their first date, when the mother of one of Skye’s former students was taking bets on the progress of their relationship.

Skye had another idea of who might be snooping on them—Veronica Vail—but kept that one to herself. Instead she asked, “So what did Jeff want?”

Wally kissed Skye on the nose and let her go. “They found the protestors staying at the Up A Lazy River Motor Court, and the leader confessed to the murder.”

Skye was speechless as Wally headed into his bedroom
and added over his shoulder, “They brought her to the station, so I’ve got to get over there.”

As Wally put on his uniform, Skye found her jacket and shoes and applied a fresh coat of lipstick. By the time he was ready, she was standing by the door with her purse in hand. “I know you usually call in a female correctional officer from the county when you need to interrogate a woman. Do you want me to sit in since we’re on the outs with the sheriff’s office?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Wally locked the door behind them and led Skye to the squad car. As they drove toward the police station, he said, “The more I think about it, the more I like it. It really does fit into the job description we wrote for the position when we hired you as a consultant.”

“Right.”

“Of course, we’d only use you for serious cases, murder, rape, assault.” Wally winked, and added, “We couldn’t afford your services for every little traffic violation and misdemeanor.”

Skye rolled her eyes. She could make more flipping burgers at McDonald’s than what they paid her to consult, but it wouldn’t be as much fun.

Wally made a left, and the Scumble River police station came into view. The department was housed in a two-story redbrick structure bisected by a massive double-deep three-door garage. Accessible from two streets, the police department occupied half the main floor, with the jail and the chief’s office above. The city hall took up the other side of the building and the town library the second floor of that half. The space was too small for the growing town, but no one wanted to spend the money to expand.

When Skye and Wally arrived, shortly after nine thirty, the city hall/library part of the building was dark. A white Buick Regal, an old Dodge pickup, a blue Chevy Cavalier, and a shiny black Miata were the only vehicles in the parking lot. Skye knew that the dented Cavalier belonged to Thea Jones, the police dispatcher, and she suspected the Regal and the truck belonged to the part-time officers, which left
the Miata. She wondered who owned it. Surely, the protestor hadn’t been allowed to drive her own car to the station.

Wally and Skye headed directly for the coffee/interrogation area. Anthony and the leader of the Real Women sat at a long rectangular table, staring at each other in silence.

As soon as Wally entered, Anthony jumped to his feet, not quite saluting. “Chief.”

Wally tipped his head at the officer, then asked, “Has she been read her rights?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did she sign the acknowledgment form?”

“Yes, sir.”

He turned to the woman. “Do you wish to have a lawyer present during questioning?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’m Chief Boyd. What’s your name, ma’am?”

She flicked a glance at Skye. “What’s she doing here?”

Wally introduced Skye and explained her status as consultant, adding, “Ms. Denison will be sitting in on your interview.”

“Gee, I hope she doesn’t have to miss her manicure because of little old me.”

Skye opened her mouth but closed it, realizing there was nothing she could say to convince this woman she wasn’t one of them—the Botoxed beauties whom the protester associated with spas.

Wally ignored the woman’s dig, and asked again, “What’s your name?”

She looked down at the table and mumbled something.

“What?” Wally’s voice reflected his growing impatience and when she mumbled again, he snapped, “Anthony, what’s her name?”

The young officer snickered, then blushed under Wally’s censorious glare. He attempted to answer, but another guffaw escaped his lips. Finally, he reached into the manila packet he’d been holding and took out a black wallet. He flipped it open, withdrew a driver’s license, and handed it to Wally, who read it and silently handed it over to Skye.

Skye glanced at the laminated rectangle, then rechecked
what she had read. Yes, the woman’s name really was Rose Blossom. Skye bit the inside of her cheek to stop a giggle. She handed the license back to Wally without meeting his eyes.

He cleared his throat, told Anthony he could leave, and pulled out a chair, then said, “Now that we’ve established your identity, Ms. Blossom, let’s hear how you killed Esmé’ Gates.”

“I drowned her in a mud bath.”

“How did you manage to get into the spa without being seen?” Wally asked.

There was a slight hesitation, then she answered, “I dressed as a delivery person. No one ever questions you if you’re in a UPS uniform.”

Wally raised an eyebrow at Skye, who shrugged. It sounded like something that would work. After all, the spa wasn’t a prison, and they weren’t on lockdown.

“Why did you kill her?”

“She represented the type of woman that is ruining it for the rest of us.” Rose’s face turned a splotchy red. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to be taken seriously in a boardroom if the other women in the company are all tarted up like hookers, wearing miniskirts and stilettos?” Rose’s eyes slitted. “Nearly all the work of the women’s liberation movement in the seventies has been eroded. The young girls now don’t know how it was and don’t seem to see that they’re destroying what little equality we’ve accomplished. Last Friday, one of my so-called associates actually obeyed her boss’s order to get him coffee.”

This time when Wally looked to Skye she nodded. She could understand the rage that an experience like that day after day could produce.

“But Esmé Gates had never done anything to you?” Wally clarified.

“No. I didn’t even know her name. I first saw her when she checked in wearing that dead animal on her back and with enough luggage to clothe an entire African village.”

Wally made a note, then asked, “You didn’t know she was an ex-model?”

“No. But I’m not surprised. She had that useless vacant look.”

Wally asked several more questions, but Rose stuck to her story. She had killed Esmé Gates because of what she represented.

Finally, he got up and said to Skye, “Time for a break.” He motioned her through the door and called for Anthony to sit with the prisoner.

Silently they climbed the stairs to his office. Only after they were seated with the door closed did Skye ask, “Do you think she really did it?”

“My gut says no, but why would she admit to a murder she didn’t commit? Is she protecting someone?”

“I doubt it. My guess is she wants the publicity for her cause, and her one phone call went to the media.” Skye paused. “She’s just using this opportunity to get air and ink time.”

“I can see that. And it would be relatively easy for her to have heard about the mud bath. We haven’t released that information, but I’m sure everyone at the spa knows that detail.” Wally rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “I stopped all outgoing calls and tried to collect all cell phones, but no doubt several people didn’t turn their phones in, and someone told someone else, and somehow the protestor heard that Esmé was drowned in a mud bath.”

“You’re probably right,” Skye agreed. “Not to mention all of the people who were at the spa after the murder—the EMTs, the nonresidential workers, the crime techs.” Skye narrowed her eyes. “But I do know a way to test Ms. Rose Blossom, which none of those people would know.”

“Ask her to describe the treatment room?”

“That, and tell us what was playing on the CD player.”

“Brilliant.” Wally had been sitting on the edge of his desk facing Skye, who was sitting in the visitor’s chair. Now, he leaned forward and kissed her. “Only you and the murderer know that fact.” He got up and started for the door. “What was playing?”

“It was familiar, but I can’t think of the title,” Skye admitted.
“But the CD should still be in the player so we can find out.”

“Right, and if Rose doesn’t know those details, she’s lying about killing Esmé.” Wally hesitated, then said, “But if that’s the case, we’re not telling anyone that Rose is innocent. We’ll let everyone think the killer’s been caught. That way the spa will go back to normal and we’ll have three days to find the real killer before all the guests go home.”

T
here was no one in the lobby when Skye entered the spa. As she passed the reception desk, she noticed that all the lines were lit up and the light on the answering machine was blinking like a string of short-circuited Christmas tree lights. No doubt, all the messages were reporters trying to get the story.

Rose had confirmed Skye’s guess that her one call had been to WGN, a Chicago TV station, not to an attorney, but when Wally had asked her to describe the mud bath treatment room and name the song that had been playing she had remained silent.

Both her refusal to describe the murder scene and the fact that she had called a television station rather than a lawyer had convinced Wally and Skye that Rose’s confession was a fake.

Wally cautioned Skye not to confide their doubts to anyone, however. Even his own officers might slip and say something to a family member or friend. Scumble River was too small for that kind of information to be kept secret. He had already contacted Special Agent Vail and Margot and told them about the confession, informing Vail she could go home and Margot that the need for twenty-four-hour police presence at the spa no longer existed.

Skye hadn’t asked what the spa owner’s or the special agent’s responses were,
just nodded as Wally mentioned his call. He had continued to explain his plan to Skye as he drove her back to the spa. He would covertly investigate—do background checks, study the autopsy results and the trace evidence gathered—and Skye would try to get the spa staff and guests to talk and keep an eye out for anything unusual.

She had agreed to his plan, except for one part. She had to tell Trixie that Rose wasn’t really the killer. After some arguing, Wally had grudgingly agreed Skye could tell Trixie their suspicions, but no one else.

Now, equipped with the police radio and a can of mace Wally had provided, as well as the bag of contraband food Skye had gathered when they made a quick stop at her house, she crept up the main staircase. As she reached the top, a grandfather clock started to sound, making Skye jump. The bongs were still sounding when she reached her room. On the twelfth bong, Skye pulled the key card out of the lock and the tiny light flashed green.

She took one last look down either side of the hallway, afraid the spa’s food police would catch her smuggling the forbidden groceries and confiscate her goodies, then slipped inside. She felt like Cinderella, but hoped she hadn’t left any clues on the stairs.