“Point well taken. I’d tell you to take your gun with you, but that might be overkill at this point, pardon my pun.”
She made a face at him. “Agreed, and I’d really feel uncomfortable with it in my purse. No, I’ll just go to her house and see what she wants. I need to get on the computer and do a little research before I meet with her. There’s bagels with all the fixings in the kitchen, and I’ll put on a pot of coffee. Good luck, today,” she said as she kissed him, put on her robe, and headed for the kitchen to make the coffee.
*****
Later that morning Marty pulled her car into the circular driveway in front of the Ramsey’s low-slung Mid-Century Modern style house and parked. Palm Springs was a mecca for this type of architecture consisting of one story homes with a lot of glass, clean lines, and an outdoor-indoor feel. She hadn’t really appreciated the architectural style when she’d conducted her appraisal at the Ramsey house, because she’d been so focused on the appraisal. Since a number of her appraisals had been in homes of that type, she’d become curious about it, and yesterday afternoon she’d spent some time researching the style.
Her research had indicated that many of the most noted architects of the mid-20th century had designed homes in the Coachella Valley. She recalled that all of the homes she’d been in which were built in that style had consisted of wings in an L or U shape, usually with a pool in the center, and floor to ceiling windows which looked out at a pool, a desert landscape, or a golf course. With that type of flowing design, the homes were well-suited to entertaining, something the wealthy residents of Palm Springs were very good at.
She took a deep breath, opened her car door, walked up to the blue door, and rang the doorbell. A moment later, Lucille Jenkins, the Ramsey’s housekeeper she had met during the home appraisal, opened the door and said, “It’s good to see you again. Mrs. Ramsey is in the living room. May I get you some coffee?”
“No thanks, Lucille. I think I’ve had my quota for the day. You don’t need to show me to the living room. I’m familiar with the house.”
She walked down the hall to the large living room with exposed high wooden beams and glass walls that looked out at the pool and the desert hills beyond it. Ashley Ramsey was sitting in a large chair upholstered in a checkered pattern of cream, tan, and beige. Marty walked over to her, aware that Mrs. Ramsey was not going to stand up and greet her. She and Laura had once talked about a seminar Laura had taken on effective management. One of the things she’d told Marty was that the person who remained seated and waited for the other person to come to them became the dominant person in the relationship. Obviously, Mrs. Ramsey wanted to be the alpha dog in this relationship.
“Mrs. Ramsey, I’d like to express my condolences on the death of your husband. I know this must be a very difficult time for you, and if there’s anything I can do to help you, I’d be happy to.”
“Marty, I feel like I know you, so I hope you don’t mind if I call you Marty,” Ashley Ramsey said. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’d like to talk to you about the appraisal you were doing for my husband.”
“Feel free to call me Marty. Actually, I’d like to ask you a question about your husband’s antique collection. What caused him to collect Shaker items? It seems quite strange to see a collection like that out here in the California desert area.”
Marty was telling the truth. She had been curious about the background of Dr. Ramsey’s collection, but she also felt she needed a little time to ground herself before she had to tell Mrs. Ramsey that she couldn’t discuss the monetary value of the collection, if that was why she’d asked Marty to come to her home.
“That’s a fair question, and it’s kind of an interesting story. His father grew up in Maine at a Shaker village. Since the Shakers were celibate, their children came to them through indenture or as foundlings. Keith’s father was a foundling, but there was one little problem. When he was a young adult, he fell in love with a woman in a nearby village, and decided that he was not going to spend his life as a celibate. He and the woman left the village and came to California. Shortly after that Keith was born, their only child.
“Keith’s father was very intelligent and realized that the farming he’d done while he’d lived at the Shaker village was not going to provide much of a life for his family, and that was all he knew how to do. He got a college degree and then he applied to medical school and was accepted. He scored high enough on his tests that he was given a full scholarship and several years later the family moved to Palm Springs. It was about the time that Palm Springs became the ‘in place’ for the very wealthy. He was one of the first plastic surgeons in the area, and he had no trouble establishing a thriving practice
“I never met his father, but Keith told me his father had always felt guilty about turning his back on the Shaker community and their way of life. He decided that Keith needed to be aware of his father’s heritage, at least what he knew about it, and so he started to collect Shaker items. From what Keith told me, when his father began to collect the items, they were quite inexpensive, almost throwaway items. It was only later that a market developed for them. Keith told me that his father used the term ‘the items changed from outliving their utilitarian roots to items which were very desired by high-end collectors’ to describe his collection. Fortunately, by that time, his father had the disposable income to become one of those high-end collectors.”
“It’s a stunning collection. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“From what Keith told me, it’s rare enough that you probably never will. When his father died, Keith inherited the collection. His mother predeceased his father and Keith was an only child, so it all went to him. Obviously, he continued to add to the collection over the years. I think it was his way of paying homage to his father after he died, and Keith took over his lucrative medical practice.”
“I’ve very much enjoyed having the chance to see the items in his collection. It felt like I was in my own private museum while I was doing the appraisal,” Marty said.
“Well, I certainly hope that whoever I sell the collection to has the same feeling. Personally, the collection never did that much for me. I think it’s pretty cold, you know, kind of sterile. So, the reason I asked you here this morning is to find out what the collection is worth. Since I’ll be inheriting Keith’s estate, I need to start making some preparations.” She looked expectantly at Marty who felt sick to her stomach.
“Mrs. Ramsey, I haven’t set a value on the collection yet. I need to do quite a bit of research, because the items are so rare and valuable.”
“When do you think you’ll have a value for it?” she asked.
“I hope to have it finished within two weeks, but there is a little problem.”
“What’s that?” Mrs. Reynolds asked.
“I’ve been informed that the appraisal is now the property of the estate.” Marty took a deep breath and continued, “Since it is the property of the estate, Dr. Ramsey’s attorney has instructed me to turn over the appraisal to him when I’m finished. Ethically, since the estate is my client, I can’t discuss the value of the appraisal with anyone else.”
“Are you insinuating that I should not be told what my husband’s collection is worth? Is that what I’m understanding you to say?”
“Yes, Mrs. Ramsey, I’m afraid it is.”
She was quiet for a moment, and Marty saw the mounting fury in her eyes and the telling tic of the throbbing muscle in her temple as she struggled to contain her anger. “Look, Marty, you must have some idea what it’s worth. You can tell me that, since it won’t be the exact figure that’s used on the appraisal report, so that’s not unethical. As a matter of fact, I could make it worth your trouble. How does $5,000 sound to you? No one needs to ever know about it.”
“It sounds wonderful, Mrs. Reynolds,” Marty said in all honesty as she stood up and slung her purse over her shoulder, “but I’d know about it, and I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in
the mirror. It was nice talking to you.”
As she left the room she heard Mrs. Reynolds yell, “Okay, you drive a hard bargain. I’ll give you $25,000.” Marty walked down the hall and let herself out the door. When she got in her car, she took a deep breath, knowing she had not only just made a powerful enemy, but that the enemy could also be a murderer.
CHAPTER 15
Marty’s hands were shaking as she pulled out of the circular driveway after her meeting with Mrs. Ramsey. She looked at the clock on the dashboard and realized she had quite a bit of time before her appointment at the salon with Brett. She was trying to figure out where she should have lunch when she remembered that John had told her where the Red Pony food truck would be at lunchtime, and if she had a little time, to stop by and see him while she was in Palm Springs. She drove to the street he’d mentioned and easily saw it.
She stood in the long line of people who were ordering food at the Red Pony for quite a while, checking the messages on her phone as she waited. When her turn came, John looked out at her and said, “Marty, I don’t think you’ve ever eaten at the Pony. Glad I told you where I’d be today when we were both leaving this morning. What can I get for you?”
“Surprise me, John. Whatever you serve me, I’m sure it will make my stomach happy.”
“You’re putting a lot of pressure on me. Let’s see. Okay, I’ve got it. How does lasagna with some garlic bread sound? I made a couple of pans of it. It’s almost gone, but there’s enough left for you. Sound okay?”
“Sounds better than okay. No wonder there’s such a long line waiting to eat here.” She turned around and saw that the line behind her was as long as the one in front of her had been when she arrived. A few moments later John handed her a large paper plate with a steaming serving of lasagna with garlic bread.
“Looks delicious. Thanks.” She handed him a five dollar bill and said, “Put the change in the tip jar, and thanks.”
“Thank you. I hate to take your money, but there might be a riot on my hands if someone saw that I didn’t take money from you, but I was taking money from everyone else.”
“Thanks again, John. See you tonight.” Marty took her food over to one of the portable picnic tables John had set out in front of the Pony. She spent the next few minutes thoroughly enjoying her lunch and congratulating herself for having thought to eat lunch at the popular food truck. Since she still had some time on her hands before her hair appointment, she decided to call Sybil and see how she was doing.
“You’ve reached the offices of Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Thurston. May I help you?” the voice that answered the phone asked.
“Yes, I’d like to speak with Sybil. Please tell her Marty Morgan-Combs is on the line.”
The voice put her on hold, and a few moments later she heard Sybil’s voice. “Marty, how nice of you to call. I assume you’re not asking me to Armando’s for lunch, since it’s a little after the lunch hour.”
“That’s very true, and I’m glad to hear what sounds like a little smile in your voice today. I was just calling to see how you’re doing. I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Much better, thank you for caring. The initial shock is over, and now I’m trying to juggle patients, appointments, and surgeries. I wish I could tell you that everyone was gracious about things being cancelled, but that wouldn’t be true. It seems that a lot of people thought that having a facelift or some other type of procedure would change their life, and they don’t want to put that change on hold. I can’t tell you how many people have asked for Dr. Thurston to do their surgery.”
“I’ve heard that most plastic surgeons kind of do a little psychological counseling, if you will, regarding the fact that plastic surgery won’t change their lives. I think I remember reading something about that in a magazine.”
“I’m sure you did,” Sybil said. “Dr. Ramsey always spent time with each patient trying to determine the reason they wanted the surgery. He was very ethical, and I know of two cases where he told the women he would not operate on them because he felt they wanted the surgery for the wrong reason.”
“Wow, that is ethical. I’m impressed. How is Dr. Thurston standing up to the increased workload?”
“He’s doing well. Actually, I think he’s happy to have the extra business. Dr. Ramsey was always more in demand than he was. I always wondered if Dr. Thurston was a little jealous of him. I do have some good news. Dr. Thurston talked to me this morning and asked what my plans were for the future. I told him I hadn’t made any decisions yet. He asked me if I would consider being his administrative assistant, since he would be taking over so many of Dr. Ramsey’s patients.”
“I thought you were the administrative assistant for the office, and that would include Dr. Thurston. Am I wrong?”
“Not really. I was, I guess I still am, the main administrative assistant for the office, but it was very clear that I was first and foremost Dr. Ramsey’s employee. When I had free time, I helped Dr. Thurston, but usually other staff members did whatever he wanted.”
“Do you think you could work with him?”
“I think so, even though they each had their own lifestyles. I believe I told you that Dr. Ramsey had been married several times. Dr. Thurston is a confirmed bachelor. His boat is his wife, and if he gets a larger one with all of the extra business he’s going to have, I imagine that will be his priority. Can you hold, Marty? Denise just handed me a note that a caller says it’s urgent that she speak with me.”
“Of course, take your time.”
The line was quiet for several moments and then Sybil came back on the line. “You are not going to believe this. That was Dr. Ramsey’s wife. She told me she’s hired a moving van to come to the office and remove Dr. Ramsey’s Shaker collection. I told her Dr. Ramsey’s attorney had called me this morning and told me that nothing was to be removed from the office. Actually, your husband said pretty much the same thing when I talked to him earlier today. He told me if I had any problems to give him a call. I don’t think she’ll send the moving van over this very minute, but I think I’ll call your husband and tell him what she said.”
“You absolutely should do that. Jeff can advise you on how to handle it. I don’t know what’s done in a case like that, but it shouldn’t be your responsibility. I’ll say goodbye for now, and I’ll talk to you in a few days. You have my number. Please call me if I can help in any way. One last thing. Could you give me Lisbeth Ramsey’s address?”
“Sure, here it is. Thanks for calling, Marty. I’ll give your husband a call right now. Mrs. Ramsey sounded mad enough that she just might do something immediately. Good-bye.”
Dr. Ramsey may have married her for her money, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a decision he regretted, if my meeting with her and Sybil’s phone call are indications of how much she cared for him.
Marty threw her napkin and paper plate in the trash barrel next to the Pony, waved to John, and walked over to her car, curious as to what the salon experience would be like.
CHAPTER 16
When Marty pulled into the parking lot behind Brett Joseph’s salon, she experienced a moment of panic. Almost every parking space in the lot was occupied, and a number of them contained limousines with uniformed drivers waiting for their rich employers. Most of the other spaces contained Bentleys, Mercedes Benzes, BMW’s, and Ferraris. As she pulled into one of the few available empty spaces, she decided she’d been very smart to put all of her credit cards in her purse, convinced her initial thought that this appointment was going to be pricey was right.
She walked up the canopy-lined brick path that led to the salon and opened the door which had a stained glass inset of a woman’s profile with her long hair flowing in the wind. A stunningly beautiful redhead sat behind what looked to Marty to be an authentic 18th century French Louis XV kidney shaped ladies writing table with a telephone and computer on it.
Marty looked around the salon and could hardly believe what she was seeing. The décor was in the mid
-18th century French style, but to Marty’s trained eye, she realized that everything she was looking at was authentic, from the furniture to the carefully chosen decorative items. About the only things that were contemporary were the items necessary to do business in a very high-end salon.
“May I help you?” the beautiful redhead asked in a voice thick with a French accent.
“Yes. My name is Marty Morgan-Combs, and I have an appointment with Brett Joseph.”
The woman spent a moment looking at her computer, smiled up at Marty, stood up and said, “Please, follow me.” She walked across the large room where there were a number of stations, all with beautiful and handsome men and women seated in chairs, as more beautiful women and handsome men did their magic on their clients.
“The changing room is over there. I’ll introduce you to Brett’s assistant, Claudia, and when you’ve changed, she’ll shampoo your hair.” She stopped at a basin outside of a room with a beveled glass door. A lovely young woman looked up and smiled at Marty.
“Bon jour, you must be Marty. I am Claudia. Please change into a gown, and I’ll prepare you for Monsieur Joseph. His salon is through that door.”
Never in my life have I been in a beauty salon where someone who was the owner or who worked in the salon had their own private room. This is simply unbelievable. I wonder if this is how it’s done in France.
A few minutes later, after she’d put on her designer smock, thinking this was another first, she walked over to where Claudia was waiting for her. A woman stepped in front of Marty and put a number of what looked like dollar bills in Claudia’s pocket. Claudia smiled at the woman and thanked her.
Swell. It never occurred to me that I’d have to tip someone who washed my hair. I hope I have some cash in my wallet, and I hope even more those were dollar bills and not five, ten, or twenty dollar bills the woman gave her. I am so out of my comfort zone here. I just hope it doesn’t show.
Murdered By Plastic Surgery Page 7
