Murdered By Plastic Surgery

by Dianne Harman

  “Okay. Since I have no idea what she wants to talk to me about, I wanted to be sure in my mind what you wanted me to do before I met with her.”

  “There may be more to it than that, Marty. When I asked the lawyer if Mrs. Ramsey would be inheriting his estate, he was very vague. I know Dr. Ramsey has a son and a daughter by a prior marriage. If the present Mrs. Ramsey thinks she’s going to inherit it all, she may be in for a surprise. The lawyer didn’t say that directly to me, but I just had a sense there was more involved with the estate than just putting a value on it.”

  “Well, if I find out anything after I talk to her, I’ll let you know.”

  “Marty, when do you think you can have the appraisal ready for the attorney?”

  “It’s going to take me a little while, Dick. Those items are really unique. I know I’m going to have to spend a lot of time looking at auction sale records for comparable pieces. I should probably have it completed within, say, two to three weeks.”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem. By the way, your client is now the estate, not Dr. Ramsey, so send your bill to the attorney. I’ll email you with his information.”

  “Dick, why am I getting the feeling this could get ugly?”

  “Probably because I share the same feeling. Either way, give me a call tomorrow after your meeting with the widow. I’ve only met her once, but she sure didn’t leave me with the feeling my life wouldn’t be complete unless I saw her again. Good luck.”

  “Swell, that’s just what I needed to hear. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  Marty spent the next few minutes looking up the telephone number for Brett Joseph’s salon. When she Googled his name, the name of his salon came up. It was very simply named “Brett.” She called the number after looking at several photographs that had been put up on the salon’s website. Having appraised so many offices and homes over the years, whenever there was artwork in niches with special lighting on them, she knew whatever they sold there was going to be expensive. She noticed that no price menu for the salon’s services was posted on the website. Marty decided she better take a couple of credit cards with her when she went to her appointment if she was lucky enough to get one.

  “Brett’s Salon,” the female voice said in a heavy French accent. “May I help you?”

  “Yes, I’d like to make an appointment with Brett for a cut and possibly adding some highlights.”

  “Have you been to the salon before?”

  “No, but he came highly recommended. When do you have an opening?” Marty asked, certain that she’d made a mistake in calling. From the imperious tone of voice the receptionist had, she figured there was no way the high and mighty Brett would have an opening for the next month or two. She’d about decided to cancel her request, since the murder investigation would have been solved long before then.

  “I know this is very short notice, but a woman just called and cancelled her standing monthly appointment for tomorrow afternoon, because she’s ill,” the snooty voice said. “Is there any chance you could come then? Brett doesn’t like it when he has free time during his day, and as in demand as he is, that’s pretty rare.”

  “Yes, that would be wonderful. What time would you like me there?”

  “We like our clients to arrive here about fifteen minutes before their appointments, so they can put on a gown and get comfortable. His assistant will wash your hair before he sees you. Your appointment will be at 1:00, so be here at 12:45. Come with a clear idea of what you want him to do, because he doesn’t like to waste time while a client tries to make up her mind about what she wants done.”

  “Thank you, and I’ll see you then,” Marty said, wondering what this person Brett would be like. Based on her phone call with his receptionist and the photographs she’d seen of the salon, she pictured Brett as being a very imposing tall French man with icy blue eyes and a condescending manner. She sincerely hoped if she was going to spend the kind of money she figured it was going to cost, that she was wrong.

  CHAPTER 13

  One by one, the residents of the compound drifted into the courtyard after they’d changed out of their work clothes, returned phone calls, and did whatever else needed to be done before they could take time to relax and enjoy one of John’s fabulous dinners.

  When everyone was seated around the big outdoor table, Laura turned to Marty and said, “Did you find out who the woman was in the photograph I found in the doctor’s office?”

  “You found a photograph in his office?” Jeff asked as he turned to her. When he’d arrived at the compound, he’d told the others he had to go back to work after dinner, but that he needed a break, so he’d come home for dinner before his meeting at eight that evening with his investigative team.

  “Well, your wife was very persuasive about me going to the doctor’s office with her this morning,” Laura said. “She wanted to know if I’d pretend to be her assistant, but what she really wanted to know was if I could pick up any psychic vibes while I was there.”

  “And did you?” Jeff asked.

  “Well, yes and no. I did find a photograph of a woman underneath a telephone list in his desk…”

  Jeff interrupted her. “What are you talking about? My people carefully inspected that desk and everything else in the room.”

  Laura told him she’d had a feeling about the telephone list that was taped to the bottom of one of the drawers, and when she’d lifted the paper up, she’d found a photograph beneath it.

  “I can’t believe you found something,” Jeff said. “You know with each of my cases you get involved in, you’re making me believe more and more in this psychic stuff. Okay, I’ll bite. What did the photograph show?”

  “It was of a woman, quite a beautiful woman, as a matter of fact, but I had to leave after that, so I never did find out who she was. Marty, what happened after I left? Were you able to get any information about her?”

  Marty told them about how Carl had been able to identify her and how she’d seen the same woman in a newspaper article in a scrapbook Carl had shown her. “She was Dr. Ramsey’s second wife, Lisbeth, and according to his administrative assistant, the love of his life.”

  “Whoa, Marty, back up. How did the administrative assistant become involved in this?” Jeff asked. “I thought you were talking about Carl.”

  She told them about her spur-of-the-moment decision to invite Sybil to lunch and the conversation she’d had with Sybil.

  “That explains a lot,” Laura said. “Poor thing. I feel sorry for her. It must have killed her each time he got married. I wonder what will happen to her now. Did she mention if she’d be working for Dr. Thurman?”

  “No. I don’t know why, but I got the sense he wasn’t her favorite person. Maybe I’m reading a lot more into it than is there, but it was very clear her loyalty was to Dr. Ramsey. She mentioned a couple of things, kind of in passing, which I thought were odd.”

  “Marty, you know everything can be fodder when a murder case is involved, and you know how much I need to solve this one. Whatever she said could be relevant. What were the couple of things?”

  “A yacht and a diary,” Marty answered.

  Jeff was quiet as he tried to figure out what they could mean, and then he said, “Tell me, as best you can, exactly what she said about both of those things.”

  Marty thought for a moment and then reiterated that part of her conversation with Sybil. “Jeff, I really doubt that a yacht or a diary has anything to do with Dr. Ramsey’s murder. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. The more I think about it, the more sure I am it means absolutely nothing.”

  Laura put her hand up, indicating she wanted to speak. “Guys, I know you trust my instincts, so I’m going to tell you what I’m feeling. As soon as Marty mentioned the diary, every psychic alarm bell I have in my body went off. Maybe I was a dog in a former life, because the hair on the nape of my neck stood on end, sort of like what happens to a dog when it’s alarmed about something.” She turned to Jeff and sai
d, “If you don’t do anything else tomorrow, talk to the doctor and find out what you can about that diary. The secret to the crime is there.”

  “Swell, Laura. Do I just walk up to him and say, ‘Dr. Thurman, a friend of mine who’s a psychic, said I need you to tell me about the diary you keep?’ That should really get his attention,” he said with a sense of frustration in his voice.

  Duke had been lying underneath the table in his customary place, waiting for them to eat dinner and hoping that one of them would slip him a bite or two. He sensed the change in Jeff’s manner, moved out from under the table, and put his head and one paw in Jeff’s lap, silently acknowledging Jeff’s frustration.

  Jeff looked down at him and said, “Duke? This is a first. I think we’re having a serious bonding moment.” He gently petted the dog on his head and scratched his ears. “It’s okay, Duke, honest, but I appreciate your concern for me.”

  Duke seemed to understand and returned to his place under the table.

  “Okay, with that I think we need to take a break and have some dinner. Are you all ready?” John asked as he stood up and motioned for Max, his assistant, to do the same.

  “We’re always ready for your dinners, John. What’s on the menu tonight?” Marty asked.

  “Well, you know how I’m always looking for things I can make on the weekends and freeze. I saw a recipe recently for Swedish meatballs.” He paused and looked at Les. “I see that grimace, Les, and I bet you’re thinking of the way they used to be served years ago with grape jelly or ketchup on them. Trust me, these are a hundred percent better, and I’m serving them the way they were meant to be served, with a cream sauce over noodles. I know I’m going out on a limb here, but I can practically guarantee you’re going to love them.”

  “Okay, I’m putty in your hands, John. I totally entrust my taste buds to you. What else is on the menu?” Les asked.

  “Traditional Swedish side dishes of roasted baby red potatoes and carrots glazed with butter and fresh dill. Sound acceptable?”

  “You had me at the roasted baby red potatoes. Sounds great. I mean it, John. Actually, I should give you a list of all the horrible foods my mother made me eat as a child. I know in your foodie hands you probably could make all of them desirable, not things I still have nightmares about,” Les said laughing.

  “Les, you never told me your mother made you eat horrible foods,” Laura said.

  “I kinda thought you’d be able to intuit it with your psychic abilities. No, I’m kidding. Let’s just say not everyone had the Brady Bunch lifestyle growing up that you and Marty did. My mother worked two jobs after my dad split, and food was not a priority of hers. Also, she was one of the first flower children, and tofu was her main staple. Fried, baked, sautéed, scrambled, yuck! That’s something I still have unpleasant dreams about, and yes, once she served me Swedish meatballs made with tofu.”

  “Well, in that case, it’s probably a very good thing we have a resident chef here to cater to your porn food fantasies,” Laura said.

  “I never said I had porn food fantasies,” Les protested.

  “You didn’t need to. I’m psychic, remember?”

  “On that note, Max and I will leave to do our magic in the kitchen. We’ll be back in a few minutes,” John said

  *****

  “These are fabulous, John. I honestly didn’t know you could make Swedish meatballs with something other than tofu. I apologize for my snarky look and what I was thinking a while ago, but given my history with tofu Swedish meatballs and grape jelly, I’m sure you can understand.”

  “No problem, Les. Since I’m seeing everyone nod in agreement, think I’ll put this on the menu at the Red Pony, but maybe I should call them something else. You might not be the only one with bad memories of Swedish meatballs. I’m thinking maybe, Mama’s meatballs. It gives it a homey feel. Anyway, I want to change the subject and get back to Jeff’s investigation. Did I miss anything when I was in the kitchen? Jeff, have you decided what to do about the doctor and his diary?”

  “I have no idea what to do. I’m sure something will come to me. Ironically enough, I have an interview with him tomorrow. He was tied up in surgery all day today, and I knew he’d be exhausted afterwards, so I told him to clear a little time for me in the afternoon. I’ll see what he says then. Maybe there’s a logical explanation for it, like it’s his calendar or something.”

  “It’s not,” Laura said. “Trust me on this one. Wish I knew more, but I don’t.”

  “That’s okay, Sis. You can’t be expected to know everything,” Marty said. “Jeff, I haven’t had a chance to tell you that Dr. Ramsey’s widow called me this afternoon and wants to talk to me about the appraisal of her husband’s Shaker collection. I talked to Dick about what values I should use in the appraisal, and he hinted that he’d talked to Dr. Ramsey’s attorney, and his widow may not be inheriting the estate.”

  “Do you know the name of his attorney?” Jeff asked.

  “No, but it’s probably on my computer. Dick was going to send me the lawyer’s name and pertinent contact information, so I could send my report and bill to him when I’m finished.”

  “I’d like you to see if he’s sent it when we go inside. I need to talk to the attorney and find out what I can from him. The doctor’s widow might have found out that she wasn’t going to inherit his estate when he died, although she seems to have enough money in her own right.”

  “Some people can never have enough money, and don’t forget what Sybil said about hearing her yell at the doctor about her facelift. Anyway, I’m meeting her in the morning, and then in the afternoon I’m getting my hair done by the stylist who does the hair for one of the women who looks like the doctor’s second wife. I’m thinking both of those women could be persons of interest.”

  “I agree, Marty, and I also think another person of interest could be Sybil. After all, she told you she was in love with the doctor and even told you she gave her life up for him. Maybe she just got fed up and realized he was never going to see her as anything other than as an administrative assistant.”

  “I know that’s one scenario, Jeff, but I’d hate to think that about her. She really seemed completely shattered by his death. Don’t forget she mentioned something about that husband who was upset about the way his wife’s facelift turned out and said she didn’t look like herself. Maybe he was angry enough to do something.

  “What’s his name, Marty? I’ll give it to one of my men at the meeting tonight. He can check him out.”

  “Sybil didn’t mention his name, but his wife’s name is Missy Donaldson. You could probably get his name from Sybil.”

  “I’m sure I could, but I prefer that the less anyone knows, particularly when they might be a person of interest, the better it is. Everybody, I’m whipped, but I’ve got to go back to the station for that meeting. I’m still running on adrenalin, so I might as well work some of it off. I doubt if I could sleep. John, my compliments to the chef as always. Matter of fact, that’s the first time I’ve ever had Swedish meatballs or Mama’s meatballs, so I didn’t have any bad memories I had to overcome,” he said grinning at Les as he stood up.

  “Right behind you Jeff. I’ll walk Duke and see you in a few minutes,” Marty said as she stood up from the table. Duke heard his name mentioned and walked over to Jeff. “I knew it. I just knew it was a matter of time until he forgot about me. Looks like you have a new best friend, Jeff,” Marty said laughing.

  Jeff looked down at the big black Lab who was wagging his tail and looking up at him. “Okay, Duke. I probably have enough gas in my tank to take you for a quick commune with nature before I have to head back to the station. Marty, would you see if Dick wrote you and if he did, I’d like the contact information for the attorney before I leave. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. Come on, Duke, let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Marty carefully swung her legs over the edge of the bed the next morning as quietly as she could, but the movement caused Jeff
to wake up anyway. “I’m sorry, Jeff. I know you didn’t get in until late last night. I turned off the alarm, and I was trying so hard not to wake you.”

  “No problem, sweetheart. I need to get to work anyway. This case is going nowhere, and I think my future as the head of the Palm Springs detectives is about there as well.”

  “Jeff, it’s way too early to be that pessimistic. I’m sure today will be a breakthrough day for you. Any luck having one of your people get information on Missy Donaldson’s husband?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. His name is Paul Donaldson, and he’s a dealer at the big Native American casino just off Interstate 10, south of Palm Springs. You’ve probably driven by it a hundred times. He works the noon to eight shift, and I’m hoping to get an appointment with his pit boss. I’m going to call him first thing this morning. I’ll let you know what happens with that. You mentioned last night you have an appointment with Ashley Ramsey today. What time is it?”

  “I have to be there at 10:00 this morning, and I have no idea what she wants to talk to me about. Now that my client is Dr. Ramsey’s lawyer, and the appraisal is part of an estate of a deceased person, I have a confidentiality issue if she wants to know something like that.”

  “Yeah, I guess that could be dicey. Have you ever had to deal with that kind of a situation before?”

  “Never, and truth be told, I’m dreading the meeting.”

  “Marty, just go with your instincts. You’ll be fine. I mean, what’s the worst thing she can do to you?”

  “I could start with murder. After all, I think she is on your list of persons of interest, and I have no desire to become the victim of a person of interest.”