There were four women sitting at the bar, and it was obvious from the raised decibel levels of their voices they were easily on their second or third round of margaritas, although one of them appeared to be drinking a coke. They were all about the same age, in their mid-40’s, dressed in yoga pants and lightweight designer tee shirts, and all of them wore designer running shoes. Marty estimated the combined value of the large diamonds they were wearing on their ears and fingers would easily match the cost of providing housing for several families. It was obvious these were women of means who didn’t have to work to afford the baubles that adorned them.
“Okay, girls,” the one Marty had referred to earlier said, “I’d like you to quit ignoring the elephant in the room. Today’s the first day I’ve had the courage to show my face in public since Dr. Ramsey butchered me. I noticed everyone in yoga class stealing looks at me and from what I could see, they had pity in their eyes. So, Chelsea, Olivia, Tracie, what do you think?” She took a big sip of her margarita and sat back on her bar stool in a defiant manner.
The three other women exchanged quick glances, and then one of them began to speak. “Brandy, I’m sure you’re being overly sensitive. You look fine, honest. I’m sure you’re worried about your lips, but look at the movie stars. All of them have big lips. Anyway, you always have been your harshest critic.”
Marty noticed that the woman who was speaking had deftly put one hand behind her back, crossed her fingers, and wiggled them so the woman sitting next to her could see what she was doing.
“I may be my own worst enemy, Olivia, but right now I’d give anything to look like I did before I went to that butcher. Mitch stopped by last night to bring me my monthly alimony check rather than mailing it. I’d be willing to bet he just wanted the satisfaction of seeing me look like this, considering it’s the first time he’s ever delivered it to me in person. It didn’t make me feel very good, I can tell you that.”
The woman she’d referred to as Olivia said, “Brandy, sure, your lips are big, but that’s what’s in style now. Lots of women are getting their lips done, just so they’ll look like a movie star. Think of it as being fashionable.”
“Olivia’s right,” one of the other women said. “It’s no big deal. I’ll bet most of the women in Palm Springs have had a little work done, and in some cases, a lot of work done.”
“I don’t mind that people can tell I’ve had some work done, but what bothers me is that I look like a freak. I just wish there was some way I could make that smug rich doctor feel like I do. I’ve thought about suing him, and I even made an appointment with an attorney, but he told me I didn’t have a case, because I still look good. What he doesn’t realize is that I don’t look like the old me. It’s as if the doctor was conducting some kind of an experiment and wanted to make me look like somebody else."
She continued, “From the way the doctor looks, I’m sure he’s had some major work done on his own face. I hope the next time he goes under the scalpel, it slips, and he winds up looking like I feel. Actually, death might be too good of a thing to wish on him.”
“Brandy, be careful. That’s not something you want people to overhear. You don’t look the least bit freakish, and like your lawyer told you, you still look great, and from what you’re always telling us, men have never been a problem for you. As good as you look now, I doubt that it ever will be a problem. Speaking of which, how is that guy you’ve been seeing?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had the courage to let him see me since the surgery. I’m supposed to meet him for a drink this evening at Tommy Bahamas, you know, the one down the street from here. We usually meet at a hotel and then, well I don’t need to fill in the gaps, but given what I look like, that may no longer be an option.”
“Brandy, the men you see don’t really want a granddaughter. A daughter is enough for them, and you still look like every man’s dream of a daughter.”
“Thanks. I know Richard is pretty old, but I hope you’re right,” she said in a loud voice. “Actually, I think we’ve all had enough to eat and drink for today. We could probably use a little nap before the cocktail hour, wherever any of us plan on spending it. Chelsea, you’re still our designated driver, thank heavens. Are you about ready to leave?”
“Yes,” she said looking at her watch. “I’ve got an appointment with my attorney in an hour. Gabe’s making noises about going to court to get my alimony reduced. Fat chance he’ll have of doing that, considering I know the numbers of all of the secret bank accounts he keeps in the Cayman Islands. I haven’t played that card yet, but I sure will if it means I can keep my present alimony payments. In any event, thought I better meet with my lawyer just in case something goes wrong.”
She looked at the bartender and said, “Ricardo, please put this on our tab, and we’ll settle with you at the end of the month, like usual. Okay?”
“No hay problema, Senora. See you manana.” The four women got off their bar stools and headed towards the front door, designer sunglasses firmly in place.
CHAPTER 3
After the four women had left, Laura and Marty looked at each other, speechless. Marty was the first to speak. “Laura, you’re the psychic, what did you make of all that?”
Laura was quiet for several moments, deep in thought, then she picked up her glass of iced tea and rolled it around in her hands. “First of all, I think it points up the main risk when someone has a facelift or some other type of plastic surgery. A lot of people are simply not happy with how it turns out. Secondly, I have a bad feeling about Dr. Ramsey. I can’t give you anything specific, but something’s swirling around the doctor, and it isn’t good. I can’t tell you exactly what it is, but something is going to happen and rather soon. Did you pick up on anything when you were in his house?”
“I wish I had some of your psychic powers and then maybe I would have picked up on something, but other than what I told you earlier about his wife, I can’t think of anything.”
“Marty, I just thought of something, but I have no idea if it means anything. One of our wealthiest insureds came into the office yesterday to talk to Dick. She’s inherited her parents’ estate and from what she told Dick, and which he shared with me, her parents were long-time antique and art collectors. They’d bought ten acres of land in La Quinta many years ago, when it was pretty cheap.
“Evidently the land had been a citrus orchard. They cleared enough space to build a home and then more when their daughter was married, so they could live near each other, but each in a very large home. From what she told Dick there were several small houses located on the outskirts of the property for the orchard workers and the people who worked in the houses. Dick mentioned he was going to refer you to handle the appraisal. That’s why he wanted to know how far along you were with the Ramsey appraisal.”
“Sure, tell him to call me. I’m going to the doctor’s office tomorrow morning to appraise the furniture and a few pieces of what’s called ‘visionary images.’ There were several of them in his home, and he told me he has more in his office. They’re really rare, so I’m looking forward to it. When I’m finished in his office, I will have seen his entire collection.”
“Okay. I have no idea what a visionary image is, and I doubt anyone at the compound does, either. Since we all learn about antiques from you, I won’t make you tell me now, but I would like you to tell all of us tonight. Anyway, back to the woman I was talking about. I really don’t know what to make of it, but the woman who came in the office to talk to Dick looked a lot like that woman, Brandy, who was sitting at the bar and just left. It was very apparent she’d had a facelift.” Laura sat back in her chair and waited for Marty’s response.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Laura. Are you saying that because of the facelift your insurance client looked like Brandy? Or are you saying that she just looked similar to Brandy? Since both of them live in the greater Palm Springs area, maybe they’re related or even sisters.”
“I don’t think so. The w
oman said she was an only child, and there were no other family members other than her husband and their daughter’s family. This is a bizarre thought, but do you remember the term ‘Stepford Wife?’ It actually came from a movie where the wives living in Stepford, Connecticut, were replaced with robots, but now it’s kind of loosely referred to as women who look alike or act alike. I have no idea if Brandy and this woman act alike, but they sure do look alike.”
“Do you know who your client’s plastic surgeon was?” Marty asked.
“No, and there’s no way I could ask her, because I’d be insinuating that I thought she’d had a facelift, which is generally the last thing people who have had one want other people to think. They want everyone to believe they took a vacation or went to a spa, and that’s why they look so good, not that they spent a bundle of money getting a facelift or some other kind of plastic surgery. That’s not even mentioning the apoplectic fit Dick would have if I asked.”
“I suppose you’re right, but it sure is a coincidence. Maybe plastic surgeons are taught in school that there’s an ideal look for a woman who’s had plastic surgery.”
“Could be, but I have no idea. The only thing I’m sure of at the moment is that I need to get this chimichanga body back to my office before Dick fires me.”
“I don’t see that happening, Laura,” Marty said, taking out her credit card and handing it to the waiter who had appeared with the bill. “I need to visit a couple of antique shops in Palm Springs to see if they have any Shaker items or quilts, since the good doctor had a lot of those, and they looked pretty good against the starkness of the furniture. I’d like to see if I can find some retail values for them, although based on how rare I think the pieces Dr. Ramsey has, that probably isn’t going to happen. At least I will have done my due diligence before I start using the Internet and assigning values. I’m glad you could join me for lunch, and for what I’m charging for this appraisal, lunch is on me. See you at home tonight.”
CHAPTER 4
After she left Armando’s restaurant, Marty drove to the Palm Springs Antique Shoppe in downtown Palm Springs and once again thanked the parking fairy who had been sitting on her shoulder when she was trying to find a place to park at Armando’s and now here. She easily pulled into an empty space in front of Carl Mitchell’s shop.
When she opened the door of the small shop, a bell rang, alerting Carl he had a customer. He walked out of the back room and grinned broadly. “Marty, to what do I owe the pleasure of having you visit my shop?”
“It’s probably a longshot, Carl, but I’m wondering if you have any Shaker furniture, baskets, or anything else that’s Shaker or even some quilts? If you have any of the visionary art that was popular during that time frame, that would even be better.”
“Seriously, Marty? Shaker items are about as rare as Russian Faberge eggs. No, I have absolutely nothing like that, and I sold the last quilt I had yesterday. Sorry, and may I ask why?”
“Yes, I’m finishing up an appraisal on quilts, Shaker furniture, and some other decorative arts of that period, and I need to come up with some comps. Looks like I’ll have to resort to the auction records and the Internet.”
“Funny you should ask. I have a long-time client that was in the other day. I haven’t seen her for a while, and she mentioned she’d gotten married since I’d last seen her, and that her husband collected Shaker pieces. She was curious as to the value of his collection. I told her the same thing I’ll tell you. Native American, Southwest Art, jewelry, and even some European antiques I can help with, but Shaker, no, and quilts from that time, only once in a while.”
“Carl, you have the best memory in the world. I can’t believe there would be two people in the Palm Springs area who collect Shaker items. Do you remember her name, by chance? I wonder if it’s the wife of the man whose collection I’m appraising.”
“Thanks for the compliment. Of course I remember because she’s visited the shop on a number of occasions over the years, but she’s only bought a few things, and usually as gifts. Her name is Ashley Ramsey now, although she was Ashley Morrison when I first met her. Her deceased husband was very, very wealthy. I understand he made his money trading on Wall Street and decided to come out here to the Palm Springs area and retire at a relatively young age. Unfortunately, he didn’t retire soon enough, because he had a massive heart attack on the golf course one day and left a fortune to Ashley, who is still quite young, like in her mid-30’s. She has a lot of money, but she wasn’t all that attractive during her first marriage. I guess it’s what they say sometimes, that her first husband must have loved her for her personality.”
“You say she wasn’t all that attractive then. By that do you mean she is now?” Marty asked.
“Well, yes and no. I guess it all depends on how you look at it. When she inherited her husband’s fortune, she decided to have some plastic surgery done, specifically a facelift, to enhance her looks. She wasn’t ugly by any means, just not all that attractive. The plastic surgeon who operated on her became her husband and changed her looks dramatically. He’s the one with the Shaker collection. She’s quite attractive now, but she sure doesn’t look like the woman I knew before.”
“That’s weird. I met her the first morning I was at the house to do the appraisal. It never occurred to me she hadn’t looked like that originally.”
“Ashley told me once that she resented what her husband had done to her face. She said every time she looked in the mirror she felt he must have thought she was unattractive, and that he’d needed to change her to make her acceptable to him. You know, Marty, a lot of the wealthy people in the Palm Springs area come in my shop from time to time and like to talk.”
And I know how much you like to listen to gossip and then pass on the more relevant parts, but in this case, I’m glad you do, she thought.
“I know over the years you’ve built up a very good clientele of the elite of the area, Carl. So, what have you heard?”
He looked around to see if the two customers who were picking up different glass and china pieces to look at the marks on the bottom to make sure they were authentic, were listening to him. He decided they weren’t.
“Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but the word is, by someone who knows what she’s talking about, that the doctor thought Ashley was ugly, at least by his standards, and he told her he could really enhance her looks. What happened is that he completely changed her looks.”
Carl sat back, clearly pleased he’d been able to pass on that tidbit of gossip. He waited to see what Marty’s reaction was and when he gauged that she’d accepted what he’d told her, he leaned forward and said, “Marty, there’s more, and I think it’s the best part. My source knew the doctor’s second wife left him for their pool boy or rather, man. Anyway, my source says the doctor tried to make Ashley look like his ex-wife, but he botched the surgery. My source also said she’s seen a few other women in the Palm Springs area who kind of look like his ex-wife, and every time she sees one she wonders if Dr. Ramsey was the one who operated on her.”
“You’re kidding, right? I think that’s really sick. If that’s true, I wonder how the other women feel about how they look. I’ve never heard of anything like that.”
“Me neither, but it sure would make a good movie. I can see it now. All those women would kind of look alike. Yep, bet that would be a hit. Marty, my customer over there is trying to get my attention, so I’ve got to go. Thanks for stopping by, and if I run into any Shaker furniture or anything else related to Shaker, I’ll give you a call.”
“Thanks, Carl. Actually, if you run into any other women who look alike, let me know. That is one of the most bizarre things I’ve ever heard. Glad I’ve decided not to go under the scalpel.”
“Good decision, although you may be the only one in this area who hasn’t.”
Well, Carl, does that mean you have?
CHAPTER 5
On her way home Marty decided to stop by the Hi-Lo Drugstore and give Lucy,
the lovable but eccentric photo clerk, the disc of the photographs she’d taken of the items she’d appraised that morning. Usually she sent them to Lucy by way of her computer, but she hadn’t seen Lucy since Lucy had gotten a puppy, and Marty was curious how she and her husband were adapting to the new addition to their family.
She opened the door and spotted Lucy behind the counter, looking at photographs with a customer. Marty walked up to the counter and stood a few feet away, so it wouldn’t seem like she was listening to their conversation. After a few minutes the customer left, and Lucy turned to Marty.
“Ain’t seen you in a coon’s age, girl. Got them purty pictures you’ve been sendin’ over fer the last couple of days. Was jes’ waitin’ fer you to come by and pick ‘em up.” She reached under the counter and handed Marty a large envelope. “Got any more or was that the last of ‘em? Ya’ know, I ain’t never seen nuthin’ like those things. What kinda art stuff are they, anyway?”
“They’re called Shaker items. All the things that were in the photos like the furniture, baskets, clocks, artwork, quilts, all of it, is almost two hundred years old. To say those pieces are rare would be the understatement of the year. I’ve only seen a couple in all of the years that I’ve been appraising, and to have a collection like this person has is amazing. I want to talk to my client and find out how he became interested in them. He gave me a notebook he said contained information about where he’d gotten them and what he paid for them, but there must be more to it than that.”
“One thing kinda leaped out at me. Don’t seem like the kind of stuff I’d be comfortable havin’ in my home. If you ask me it’s pretty bare bones. I mean, sittin’ on some piece of plain old wood? My old man wouldn’t like that, fer sure. Matter of fact, don’t think I would either.”
“Speaking of your old man, I want to hear how the two of you are doing with your new puppy. Is the puppy house trained yet?”
Murdered By Plastic Surgery Page 2
