Murder of a Botoxed Blonde (28 page)

“Welcome to a woman’s world.” Skye put her finger to her lips and directed Justin toward the empty gym. “I take it you’re here dressed like Doris Day in order to get a story for the newspaper?”

“Who’s Doris Day?”

“A nineteen-fifties movie star best known for her renewable virginity.”

“Huh?” Justin jumped as if poked by an electric cattle prod, his face turned red, and he tested the gym door to make sure it was closed.

“Never mind.” Skye shook her head. Justin and Frannie never failed to amaze her. He had the guts to dress as a girl and sneak into a spa, but the word virginity freaked him out. “Are you here for a story, or have you just discovered your true sexuality?”

“Ms. D! Don’t even kid about that.” Justin frowned. “You know I couldn’t let Frannie scoop me on the hidden treasure story. She’d never let me forget it.”

“Granted, but you do realize someone from town is bound to notice you? Most of the ladies here for the
weekend live in Scumble River and have kids your age. If you stick around looking like that, I’ll give you odds that someone snaps a picture of you, which will go through school faster than a flu germ.”

He blanched, but remained stubbornly silent, staring at her as only a teenager could.

Skye was unfazed. She’d been dealing with Justin since he was in eighth grade, and had learned that he used silence like a weapon. “Why did you have Kipp do your makeup, of all things?”

“He was the only one willing to break the rules and take a day appointment.” Justin gave her an “are you stupid” look and said, “My other choice was to have him do my hair, and I figured he’d notice I was wearing a wig.”

Skye nodded. “So you’re not booked anywhere else?”

“No. That was just to get past the guards. Now I’m going to take a look around.”

Skye knew she should stop him, but how? Tie him up with his pink and green silk scarf? She had already made Kipp wait fifteen minutes; making him wait any longer would be just too rude. “Justin, be careful. There’s already been one murder. Let’s not add another to the list.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. D. I’m not investigating the murder. I just want to write a story about the treasure.”

Skye walked back into the salon, troubled by Justin’s reassurance. It sounded like the famous last words spoken in every teen movie, just before the villain’s ax came down on the speaker’s head.

Kipp was sitting in the client chair reading a copy of
W
when Skye reentered. He was a short, slim man of indeterminate age—somewhere between thirty and fifty. His face was unwrinkled, his hands baby smooth, but both his attitude and his eyes seemed to indicate he was older.

His khaki pants were perfectly pressed, and the spa’s regulation silvery green polo shirt with his name stitched discreetly above the breast pocket was neatly tucked in. His tasseled loafers were polished, but he wore no socks.

As soon as he noticed Skye, he closed the magazine and got up. “All ready?”

“Yes. Thank you so much for your patience.”

“No problem. I assume you straightened out our friend Justin.”

“You knew she was really a he?” Skye wasn’t surprised. Justin did not make a believable girl.

“Yep. The Adam’s apple always gives them away.”

“Them?” Skye sat down in the styling chair.

“Transvestites.” Kipp whipped a cape around her neck. “Though I’m a little surprised to see one so young out in public in such a small town.”

Skye smirked. “Oh, we’re pretty open-minded in Scumble River.” She couldn’t wait to tell Justin that Kipp not only saw through his disguise, but thought the boy was a cross-dresser.

“Well, that’s a relief.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “Now, what would you like done?”

“I’d like to go blond.”

“No.”

“Why?” Skye was surprised. She’d always wanted to see what it would be like to be blond, plus it would take a while, giving her a chance to pump Kipp for information.

“Wrong complexion.” Kipp wound a strand of her chestnut hair around his finger. “Besides, this is a beautiful color.”

“How about some highlights?”

“That would work, especially with a new style.” Kipp stepped back and studied her. “We should take off about two inches, do a side part, and just a hint of bangs.”

“No bangs and only an inch off.” Skye wore her hair all one length, just past her shoulders. She liked to keep it long enough to put in a ponytail or braid. “Let’s try the side part.”

“I’ll dry it straight and use the flatiron to turn the ends under just a smidgeon.”

“Perfect.” Skye beamed. “So, how did you end up in Scumble River?”

An hour later, Skye hadn’t learned anything new, but her hair looked terrific. Kipp stuck to his story. He grew up as an army brat, living all over the world. When he graduated from hair styling school he worked in various salons, day
spas, and cruise ships. This was his first experience at an overnight spa.

Kipp handed Skye a mirror and twirled her around so she could look at the back of her hair.

“It’s perfect.” Skye got up and as she watched Kipp sweep up the bits of hair littering the floor, she said, “It must be hard to be stuck in Scumble River after traveling the world.”

“For days off, Chicago’s only an hour away.” Kipp kept sweeping. “Otherwise we aren’t supposed to leave the spa grounds.”

“That sounds confining.”

“It’s the same as if I were working on a ship.” Kipp still didn’t look up.

“But at least when you get a day off on a ship, you’re at some exciting port like St. Thomas or Acapulco. Here you’re always at Scumble River.”

“Sometimes it’s nice to have a little bit of the same old, same old.”

“True.” She gathered her things and walked to the door. “Sorry I made you wait.”

“Not a problem.” Kipp waved good-bye.

As Skye walked down the brick path, she considered what she had learned from the hairstylist. Putting it all together, she was beginning to believe he really didn’t know anyone at the spa before interviewing for the job. Still, there was something furtive about him. She had a feeling he was hiding something.

Lost in thought, it wasn’t until she got to her room and reached for her key card that she discovered she had left her tote bag at the hair salon. Turning on her heel she hurried back, hoping Kipp hadn’t locked up and left already.

The salon was dark when she reached it, the door closed and the lights off. Still, Skye thought she could hear something, so she knocked on the glass. Nothing. Maybe there was a storeroom in back where the hairstylist was working. She walked around the side and saw a door propped open. Good. Kipp must still be around.

Skye listened intently. She could hear music playing and
a rustling sound. She raised her hand to knock, and as soon as her knuckles touched the steel door it swung open on well-oiled hinges.

On a lounge chair that he’d obviously “borrowed” from the pool, one hand thrust deeply into a bag of nachos and the other holding a full margarita glass, sat Kipp Gardner. He was surrounded by shelves filled with bags of snacks, boxes of cookies, and sacks of candy.

Skye had stumbled on the Scumble River Spa black market. Had Esmé discovered the same illicit activity and threatened to expose Kipp? Would someone kill over a chocolate bar?

“
S
o then he says, ‘Five days a week my body is a temple. The other two, it’s Disneyland.”’ Skye finished putting on her makeup. She had a half hour before meeting with Dr. Burnett, and she wanted to look good for her appointment.

Trixie laughed so hard she fell off her bed. Still giggling, she picked herself up and asked, “What did you say?”

“What could I say? It’s not like I exactly follow the FDA-approved food pyramid myself.”

“Did Kipp admit to selling the forbidden food to the staff and clients?”

“Sort of. It was almost as if he thought I was taping him.” Skye held up a pink tweed jacket with fringe trim and raised a questioning eyebrow at Trixie.

“That would look great with that pink long-sleeve T you just bought—the one with the lace around the bottom.” Trixie peeled off her sweat suit. “Do you think Kipp killed Esmé because she discovered his undercover business?” She disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the door open so they could continue their conversation.

“No.” Skye pulled on a pair of black slacks. “He didn’t seem all that upset that I had discovered his secret.” She slipped the T-shirt over her head, careful not to mess up her new hairstyle. “If he killed her for finding out, he would have tried to kill me too.”

“So we can cross him off the suspect list.” Trixie’s voice rose above the sound of her shower. “How about the list of suspected treasure hunters?”

“He’s still on that.” Skye put on gold and pink chandelier earrings. “He admitted to Justin, AKA Justine, that he had looked for the jewelry, and obviously he likes making money.”

Trixie came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and whistled. “You look terrific. I really like the highlights Kipp put in your hair. I wonder if I can get an appointment with him tomorrow before we leave.”

“Go for it.” Skye stepped into black loafers and grabbed her fanny pack. “Okay. I’m off to ‘consult’ with Dr. Burnett, then I’m meeting Wally so we can exchange information.”

“Right. Exchange body fluids, maybe.”

“Trixie!”

“And you’d better be careful with Dr. Frankenstein or you’ll end up with a new nose, or humongous breasts, or lips so full of collagen you’ll look like a blowfish.”

“Mmm. Maybe he can get rid of this wrinkle between my eyebrows,” Skye teased as she walked out and closed the door behind her.

Dr. Burnett’s office was in a part of the mansion Skye hadn’t yet visited, located just before the private suite of rooms he and Margot occupied.

Skye arrived precisely on time and knocked on the massive carved oak door.

An intercom buzzed to life. “Yes?”

“Hi. I have a four o’clock appointment with Dr. Burnett. It’s Skye Denison.”

“Come in.”

A lock clicked open and she turned the knob. It felt like she was entering the Wizard of Oz’s castle. The doctor sat behind an enormous desk. A gorgeous Tiffany lamp provided soft lighting—no harsh fluorescents in this doctor’s office.

The room was huge, and a couch and two chairs formed a sitting area separate from the desk. Classical music was playing, and the aroma of sugar cookies floated in the air.

Skye took a big sniff. “Wow. It smells heavenly in here. Just like my grandmother’s kitchen when she’s baking.”

“Aroma-Oxygen.” Dr. Burnett got up and walked over to the sitting area, indicating Skye should follow him. She sat on the burgundy leather sofa and he chose a matching wing chair. “It takes away cravings for the real food.”

Skye didn’t comment, thinking the only thing that would substitute for a real sugar cookie would be a chocolate chip cookie or maybe a brownie.

After they were settled, Dr. Burnett asked, “What don’t you like about yourself, my dear?” He reached out and gripped her chin with his thumb and index finger, then turned it first to the right, then to the left. “Mmm. Good skin tone, no acne scarring or deep wrinkles. No bags under the eyes.”

“Thank you.” Skye ignored his question and asked one of her own. “How long have you been a plastic surgeon?”

“Well, I’m not a plastic surgeon, per se.” He fingered his silver mustache. “How would you like to try something brand new, a LifeWave Energy Patch?”

“A what?”

“It’s like a nicotine patch, but instead of helping you to stop smoking, it revs up your body’s flow of energy, which helps burn fat.”

“No, I’m not really one to test products out.” Skye tried to steer the conversation back to what she wanted to find out. “If you’re not a plastic surgeon, what is your specialty?”

Dr. Burnett’s answer was clipped. “Nutrition.” His tall, lean body tightened and his smile was forced. “I know what would be perfect for you. How about a cell invigoration treatment? No medication or surgery required. You just lie in an infrared capsule.”

“Sorry, I’ll have to pass on that, too.” Skye had heard of nutritionists, but never heard of a medical doctor specializing in nutrition. “Where did you practice before opening your spa?”

“Chicago.” Dr. Burnett’s long, thin fingers drummed on the arm of the chair. “Permanent eyeliner. The tattooing only
takes moments, and saves you lots of time the rest of your life. I have hundreds of colors to choose from.”

“Gee. That sounds terrific. But I have so many allergies, I’d be afraid of the dye.” Skye answered in a rush, half afraid he would whip a needle from the pocket of his Italian silk suit. “Did you work from a hospital or your own office in Chicago?”

“I had my own clinic.” Irritation was starting to crack Dr. Burnett’s smooth façade. “I’m afraid I don’t do the more involved surgery such as liposuction or tummy tucks, but I could recommend a colleague.”

“Uh, no, thanks.” Skye knew she was running out of time. “Was Esmé one of your patients at your Chicago clinic?”

“No.”

“Oh, that first night at dinner, I thought she said that you had saved her by helping her with her diet.”