Murdered By Plastic Surgery

by Dianne Harman

  MURDERED BY PLASTIC SURGERY

  By

  Dianne Harman

  (A High Desert Cozy Mystery - Book 5)

  Copyright © 2017 Dianne Harman

  www.dianneharman.com

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1548350918

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To You, My Readers:

  To the four women who were sitting at the bar in Armando’s restaurant in Palm Desert: Thanks for being the inspiration for this book and prompting me to let my imagination run wild!

  To my readers: I so value you, and I thank you for your continued support, your feedback, and your ideas for future books.

  To Vivek: Thanks for always making sure that my book covers are so visually appealing, my books are well-formatted, and all the other technical things that you do so seamlessly, and which, quite frankly, are beyond my technical abilities!

  And lastly, but certainly not least, To Tom: Thanks for always being there with encouraging words, ideas, and thoughts that help make each of my books as good as it can be!

  Free Paperbacks

  I'm giving away FREE Paperbacks. Find out more at www.dianneharman.com/freepaperback.html

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  EPILOGUE

  RECIPES

  ABOUT DIANNE

  PROLOGUE

  The neatly framed sign hanging on the wall in the reception room of Dr. Keith Ramsey was a quote attributed to Diane Gerber, a well-respected plastic surgeon in Chicago.

  “No one can or should tell you why you should consider plastic surgery for aesthetic reasons. You should be able to clearly define your desire to improve aging or to enhance facial or body appearance. Others may support you in your decision, but the decision to have plastic surgery should be yours alone.”

  Dr. Keith Ramsey was one of the leading plastic surgeons in the Palm Springs area, and that was saying a lot in a city that was known as a mecca for people who wanted that type of surgery. Although the sign hanging on the wall in his reception room said the decision to have surgery was solely that of the patient, he didn’t completely subscribe to that line of thought. Instead, he often urged his patients to agree to the surgical operations he recommended, after promising the patients it would greatly enhance their beauty.

  The enormous sums of money he reaped from performing such optional surgeries helped pay for the alimony and child support payments the court had levied against him in his second divorce.

  He’d said good night to his administrative assistant, Sybil, the last person to leave the office suite in the upscale section of Palm Desert with shops that rivaled those located on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. The handsome middle-aged plastic surgeon sat at his desk in the early evening twilight and looked out the window at the desert hills as they turned from pinks to dark blues. He knew he was looking for excuses not to go home, so he delayed it a little while longer, checking the daily schedule for the upcoming week on his computer.

  He never heard the door to his office being quietly opened or the swish of the scalpel as it was shoved with great force between his shoulder blades. The single deep stab wound was fatal, and he died almost instantly. His perfectly chiseled features were without expression, as he slumped over on his desk. The six women scheduled for surgeries the following day would have to find a new plastic surgeon. Dr. Ramsey’s operating days had come to an end – an untimely end.

  CHAPTER 1

  Marty Morgan-Combs called her sister and said, “Laura, I just finished the appraisal of the Shaker furniture collection Dr. Ramsey has in his home. I’ll meet you at Armando’s restaurant in twenty minutes.”

  “Perfect. I’ll leave the office now and meet you there.”

  Twenty minutes later as Marty approached Armando’s, she marveled at how the City of Palm Desert had succeeded in creating its own version of a Beverly Hills Rodeo Drive, with shops such as Escada and Baccarat, to name just a few. Given the sky-high cost to rent a shop in the area, Marty figured that as unpretentious as Armando’s was, it must have been there long before the city fathers had wooed the prestigious shops which now lined the street. Trying to find a place to park on El Paseo Boulevard was a nightmare. “Woo Hoo!” she shouted involuntarily a few minutes later as she pulled into a parking place directly in front of the popular restaurant.

  I’m taking this spot, and Laura will just have to use her psychic ability to find a spot as good as this one. May not be a very sisterly thought, but when it comes to finding a parking place on El Paseo as good as this one, it’s every woman for herself.

  To look at Marty’s sister, Laura, no one would guess she’d been part of a study many years earlier at the University of California for people believed to have psychic abilities. The study had confirmed that Laura definitely possessed extrasensory powers which allowed her to innately know things other people didn’t.

  Laura was attractive and dressed as any other insurance executive dressed – no fortune teller turban for her. She wasn’t the least bit surprised that the study by medical experts had confirmed what her family had known since she was a small child, that she possessed some type of psychic ability which she often used to predict the outcome of future events. Marty had learned long ago that if Laura said she shouldn’t drive down a certain street, she’d be well advised to take another route.

  Laura lived in one of the four houses she owned that were located in the hills above Palm Springs. The houses surrounded a central courtyard where the residents gathered in the early evening to share the events of the day as well as communal meals. After Marty’s divorce, she moved to California and rented one of the houses from Laura. She’d recently remarried and her husband of several months, Detective Jeff Combs, now lived with her along with her loveable, but sometimes neurotic black Labrador dog, Duke. One of the other houses was occupied by Laura’s longtime significant other, Les, and the fourth house was occupied by John, who operated a business called the Red Pony Food Truck. John was a highly talented cook and he generally prepared all the evening meals for the residents of the compound, so he could use them as guinea pigs to try out new recipes he wanted to serve in his food truck.

  *****

  Marty opened the door of Armando’s and quickly scanned the seating area for an open table. There was only one table available, and it was towards the back of the room. The bartender looked over at her and said, “If you want to eat, you better take it. That’s the last one there is. We’ve got a full house today.”

  “Thanks,” Marty said as she walked by the bar, noticing that every bar stool there was occupied as well.

&
nbsp; So much for the doom and gloom economy the talking heads on television keep stressing, she thought. Maybe the word hasn’t gotten out to the people who like to eat good Mexican food at a fair price.

  She’d just sat down and picked up the menu when the front door opened, and Laura walked in. Marty stood up and waved to her. Laura joined her a moment later. “Are they giving away free food today or what? I’ve never seen Armando’s this busy. I was really lucky to find a parking place, although it looks like you didn’t have any trouble finding one.”

  “I have to admit the parking fairy was sitting on my shoulder when I found the one out in front. As to why it’s so busy in here today, I have no idea,” Marty said, “but I think we’re lucky to get this table, even if it is in the bar area. I’ve only been here a couple of minutes, and I know I could have sold it several times over to people who wanted to eat here and were told there would be a wait.”

  “Well, considering how I’ve been fantasizing about one of Armando’s chimichangas ever since you called me, I never would have forgiven you,” Laura said laughing.

  A few moments later chips and salsa were placed on their table. “Have you decided what you’d like to order?” the handsome young waiter asked in a lilting Spanish accent.

  True to her word, Laura answered, “Yes. I want a chimichanga and a glass of iced tea.”

  “I’ll have two beef tacos, and a glass of iced tea as well,” Marty said, handing the waiter her menu.

  “Your orders will be out in just a few minutes. I’ll bring your drinks now.”

  “I wanted to tell him to ask the cook to hurry it up, since I’m starving,” Laura said, “but I figured with this crowd it probably wouldn’t make any difference. I imagine the kitchen staff is working at maximum capacity as it is. So, how is the doctor’s appraisal coming along? I told Dick I was having lunch with you, and since he referred the doctor to you he’s curious as to the status of the appraisal.”

  Over a year ago, Laura had insisted that Marty move to her compound in High Desert, California, when Marty told her she was getting divorced after finding out that her husband, Scott, had been having an affair with his secretary and wanted to marry her. Laura had told Marty she was certain Marty could make a go of her antique appraisal business in the Palm Springs area, particularly since Laura worked in the division of an insurance company which oversaw the insurance needs of wealthy people. Since wealthy people often wanted to let people know they were rich and tended to make their homes showcases to that effect, there was no lack of high-end items that needed to be appraised for insurance purposes in the greater Palm Springs area.

  Laura’s boss, Dick, was the one who decided whether or not a customer’s household furnishings needed to be appraised before the company would issue an insurance policy to them. Often, antique collections were a part of an appraisal, as was the case with Dr. Ramsey’s appraisal. Fortunately, Dick and Marty had hit it off, and he had given her as many appraisals as she could comfortably handle.

  “The doctor has an incredible collection of Shaker furniture and other decorative items. I’ve seen a few Shaker pieces here and there, but I’ve never seen a home completely furnished with authentic Shaker furniture. I haven’t had a chance to research the values yet, but anytime you have an authenticated piece by Isaac N. Youngs, you know it’s worth a lot of money. I’m just curious what led the doctor to start collecting Shaker items. I could understand it a little better if he lived on the East Coast, but why here in the California desert?”

  “I take it you haven’t asked him.”

  “No, he’s been all business the few times I’ve been with him, and I also get a sense things aren’t terrific between the doctor and his wife. It’s nothing I can put my finger on. I’ve only met her once, and it was very briefly. She came into the room the first morning I was there, and the doctor introduced me to her, but I had the feeling they weren’t very happy together.”

  Marty stopped talking and took a bite of the taco the waiter had placed in front of her, at the same time looking at the large chimichanga on Laura’s plate. “My dear sister, if you eat that whole thing, I would imagine the insurance company will not be getting any work out of you this afternoon, plus I think you’re going to end up taking a long nap on the couch in your office as soon as you get back to work. Don’t think Dick would approve of that, although if the chimichanga is half as good as this taco is, I’d understand.”

  “It is, and I hope Dick understands,” Laura answered. “The gastronomic dreams I’ve been having this morning have just been fully realized. Now I have to convince John he needs to serve this at The Red Pony, so that way he’ll try it out on us at the compound. Maybe I could say it needs this and that, and then he’d feel like he had to make it several times to get it right.”

  “Laura, that is really cold and conniving of you. John’s cooking is the best, and if you said something like that to him, he’d probably end up in therapy.”

  “You’re right. It was a momentary fantasy and certainly no reflection on his cooking. I was just trying to figure out a way I could have a chimichanga like this on a weekly basis.”

  “Well, considering Armando’s has been around for a long time and probably will continue to be, you can always get one here.” With that, they both became quiet while they enjoyed their meals.

  A few moments later, Laura said, “So you’re having thoughts about plastic surgery. Would I be right?”

  Marty put down her taco and looked at her. “What makes you think that?”

  “Well, I wish I could say it was my psychic abilities, but actually I had to sign for that expensive eye cream and neck moisturizer the FedEx delivery truck brought to the compound yesterday. I figured you were having some sort of mid-life crisis.” She looked expectantly at Marty to see what her response would be.

  Marty looked over at the bar and at the other diners sitting in the room, as she tried to avoid meeting her sister’s eyes. Finally, she turned to Laura and said, “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I’m scared. I mean Jeff is the most wonderful husband any woman could ever want, and that’s the problem. Let’s face it, I’m middle-aged, I look it, and Jeff is very attractive. I’ve seen how other women look at him, and I worry about what would happen if he decides he’d be better off with a younger woman, someone who didn’t have wrinkles around their eyes and on their neck? All you have to do to find a beautiful young woman in this town is take five steps in any direction.” She looked expectantly at Laura to see what her response would be. Laura noticed that Marty’s eyes were shiny, and she seemed to be close to tears.

  Laura took a sip of her iced tea and began to speak, “Marty, it’s been my experience that one of the most attractive things a woman can have is self-confidence in her looks and an acceptance of just who she is. At this stage of the game, you might as well own those lines, because they’ve made you into the person who attracted Jeff in the first place. If you start being afraid because you’re getting older, what message do you think you’re sending to him? I’ll tell you what that message is. It’s almost as if you’re telling him it’s not acceptable if he gets a little middle-aged paunch or grey hair. It’s like you’re negating the man he is because you won’t accept where you are in life. Does that make any sense?”

  Marty thought for several long moments and then said, “I guess you’re right. I’d never thought about it like that. I imagine it comes from doing this appraisal for a plastic surgeon. I mean, the man has two floor to ceiling bookcases full of pictures and books of beautiful women. It’s been a little intimidating, to say the least.”

  “I’m sure it has, but fortunately you’re beautiful in your own right. You don’t need to go under the knife to try and regain what you looked like when you were twenty years old. All you need to do is look around you. I’ve heard there are more plastic surgeons in the Palm Springs area than anywhere else in the United States, and based on some of the disastrous results I’ve seen, it looks to me like some of those doctors did
n’t really excel in medical school or in their residency.”

  CHAPTER 2

  As she continued with her conversation regarding plastic surgery and how she’d observed that some operations were less than successful, Laura said, “If you doubt what I’m saying, take a look at the woman sitting at the bar with those three other women. Her lips look like the ones I recently saw in some television documentary about rural tribes in Africa. Some of the women in those tribes use something called a lip plate to make their lips really big, particularly their lower lip. Evidently the bigger the size of the lip, the bigger the dowry a bride can expect to receive on her wedding day. In some tribes, the larger the lip, the greater number of cows the bride’s father can demand for his daughter’s dowry.”

  “Laura, although that sounds really weird, I’ll bet some men like that look.”

  “Maybe, but I bet the father of that woman sitting at the bar could demand a whole herd of cattle and get it if this was Africa, and not Palm Springs.”

  “That’s a little harsh, even for you, Laura, but I do have to say she looks like the poster child for a facelift that may not be quite what she intended. I remember one time Scott and I were at the airport in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, on our way home after some R and R in the sun, and an older woman walked into the terminal. I felt sorry for her, because it was obvious she’d recently had a really bad facelift. As taut as the skin was on her face, I couldn’t figure out how she could possibly close her eyes or her lips. Sleeping at night must have been a real challenge. Poor thing. I guess in some cases having a facelift not turn out to be quite what you’d envisioned would be really depressing.”

  The two of them resumed eating while the conversations from diners and those at the bar swirled around them.

  “Laura, listen,” Marty said, “the woman at the bar you were talking about just mentioned Dr. Ramsey. See if you can pick up what she’s saying.”