“Why, of course, regular, vegetarian, and vegan,” Dr. Burnett said. “Would you prefer one of the others?”
“No, but, um, I’m not really here for your diet, so couldn’t I have a normal meal?”
“I’m afraid not.” Margot bared her teeth in a not so subtle message to shut up. “Didn’t you read your brochure? We all follow the Burnett Diet. It’s too hard on those participating to have others eating forbidden food in front of them.”
“Room service?”
“No.” Margot’s voice had lost a bit of its smoothness. “Nowhere in the spa. Even the staff eats according to our diet. It’s helped them all. Our masseuse dropped the five pounds she’d struggled with all her life, Amber’s diabetes is under control, and Frisco, our fitness trainer, finally got his cholesterol below two hundred.” Margot regained her even tone and asked, “Now that that’s settled, would you like what’s on your plate or vegetarian or vegan?”
“What I have.” Skye forked a bite of fish into her mouth and forced herself to chew and swallow the bland morsel. “Just call me a carnivore.” This was bad enough. Skye was afraid to see what the vegan meal might be like.
The horrible meal finally came to an end and Margot stood. “Herbal tea and dessert will be served in the parlor.”
Dessert? Skye’s mind was immediately lost in a chocolate dream, but the rest of Margot’s statement penetrated her fantasy.
“I’m thrilled to announce that tonight you’ll be entertained by world famous soprano, Elyse Piven, singing selections from Wagner.”
Skye shuddered and prayed that dessert was a chocolate fountain she could drown herself in.
May’s little band of merry women was also not pleased with their dinners or the prospect of the evening’s entertainment. They circled Skye like hyenas around a ripe carcass as soon as she set foot in the parlor.
Loretta grabbed Skye’s arm and hissed into her ear, “Do you have any idea how boring this performance will be?” Ever the suave attorney, she kept a smile on her face and nodded pleasantly to the other guests passing by them.
Skye nodded, but before she could respond verbally, her mother took her other arm and whispered, “That was awful. I thought we were supposed to bathe in this Miracle Mud, not be forced to eat it.”
Bunny, ex-Las Vegas dancer, was not as discreet as Skye’s mom, and didn’t attempt to lower her voice. “I’ve seen anorexics eat more food than what they just served us.”
Skye shoved her hands in her pockets. “Maybe you all should check out.” She studied the toes of her shoes. “According to the owners, this is the world-famous Burnett Diet, and it’s all we’re going to get for the entire weekend.”
“Are you and Trixie staying?” May asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?” May narrowed her eyes. “You two hate diets. What aren’t you telling us?”
“Nothing.” Skye crossed her fingers and lied. “We’ve just decided to give it a try.”
Frannie, who had been silently taking in the adults’ discussion, put her hands on her hips and said, “There’s something going on here, and I’m not leaving until I get my story.”
Trixie joined them in time to hear Frannie’s vow. “You seem pretty sure Ms. D. and I will okay your piece for the school newspaper.”
“Ms. Steele said if you two don’t use it for the Scoop, she’ll use it in the Star.“
Trixie and Skye looked at each other. They shrugged. Frannie had trumped them.
“No one is going anywhere except, maybe to bed.” May shook her head. “An opera singer. What in heaven’s name were the owners thinking? They should’ve gotten a gal from the Grand Ole Opry.”
May herded everyone through the large parlor to the back corner. The room was decorated in cream and gold, with a white marble fireplace. Satin draperies the color of expensive whiskey pooled on the white marble floor. Tobacco-colored leather couches and chairs provided intimate seating for groups of four, six, and eight. Wrought iron and glass tables showcased crystal vases full of chrysanthemums and asters, while brass lamps glowed invitingly.
Skye’s gang claimed a couple of sofas and two armchairs that had been arranged in a square. Almost as soon as they were settled, waitresses from the dining room wheeled in the dessert cart and Skye turned her attention to not drooling.
Finally, the cart arrived, and one of the servers asked, “Apple tart or brownie?”
Everyone made their selections, all except Loretta and Frannie choosing the brownie. Before anyone could take a bite, the tea arrived. The choices were all herbal, and to Skye, tasted like dishwater, especially when she compared it to her favorite, Earl Grey.
At last, they were all served, and Skye picked up her fork. She broke off a tiny corner and placed the piece in her mouth, determined to savor the dessert rather than devour it. Yuck! It took all her self-control not to spit it right back out. The brownie was a fake. It didn’t taste of rich chocolate or sweet sugar or moist cake. Instead it tasted like … like a mouthful of cardboard.
Skye scanned the others. May, Trixie, and Bunny had identical horrified looks on their faces. Loretta and Frannie’s expressions were more puzzled as they poked the bits of apple and pastry.
Skye finally managed to swallow the bite she had taken, and choke out, “How’s the tart?”
Loretta wrinkled her nose. “It tastes like mulch.”
Frannie added, “Even the apples don’t have a flavor.”
Bunny, Trixie, and May joined in with their complaints, and Skye finally said, “Guess we’ll have to raid the kitchen, if this is all they’re going to serve.”
“Why don’t you just put on your tinfoil suit and save us by producing a big juicy ham?” May’s tone was querulous. “Trixie told us how you rescued her from the terrible Brazilian Waxing Monster.”
The others joined in and Skye shot Trixie a how-could-you look. Her friend’s gaze slipped from Skye’s, and she slumped down staring at her feet.
Skye tuned out the rest of the teasing while wondering if this evening would ever end. Right now she’d even welcome an appearance of the spa vandal.
CHAPTER 5
Wash That Vandal Right out of My Hair
The trespasser didn’t appear, but Margot did. Walking to the grand piano on the opposite side of the room, she announced, “I hope everyone has finished their deliciously healthy desserts. Both the tart and brownie were made without sugar or trans fats. Carob was substituted for chocolate in the brownie and the apples were organically grown. After all, you are what you eat.”
Trixie nudged Skye with her elbow. “If that’s true, I’m cheap, fast, and easy.”
Skye rolled her eyes.
The room was buzzing with everyone’s reaction to the spa owner’s statement, so Margot cleared her throat, then said at the top of her voice, “If I could have everyone’s attention, please. Madam Piven is ready to start her concert. She asks that no one speak during her performance. Now, for your enjoyment, selections from Der Ring des Nibelungen.“
Skye flinched. Opera reminded her of Simon. This particular four-opera cycle reminded her of a never-ending evening she had sat through with him several months ago, before he went to California and spent the week with his college friend, Spike, before she found out that Spike was female.
A scatter of polite applause welcomed the singer.
Skye was pretty sure those clapping did not realize what they were about to hear. Looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to her, Skye tore the corners off her paper napkin, and stuffed them into her ears.
Forty minutes later Skye squirmed and checked her watch. The makeshift earplugs weren’t working. It seemed as if the soprano had been singing for hours. She glanced around; the rest of the guests looked as bored as she felt.
Scooting down, Skye rested her head on the back of the sofa, closed her eyes, and allowed her thoughts to drift. She wondered what all the men were doing while their women were spending Thanksgiving weekend at the spa. Her fath
er, Jed, would be the worst off. He didn’t cook, and had only a nodding acquaintance with most household appliances. Owen, Trixie’s husband, knew how to use a microwave, but the dishwasher was beyond his comprehension.
Frannie’s dad Xavier, Bunny’s son Simon, and Skye’s brother Vince would most likely consider this a break and take advantage of their womenfolk being gone. Skye winced; she hoped her brother wouldn’t take too much advantage of Loretta’s absence.
Which left Skye’s recent significant other, chief of police Walter Boyd. Wally hadn’t been happy to hear Skye would be occupied for the four-day vacation. Clearly, he’d been hoping to take their relationship to the next level during their days off, and maybe it was time.
Skye and Wally had a long, emotionally charged history. Although they hadn’t started dating until recently, there had been chemistry between them since she was a teenager and he was a rookie cop. Nothing had happened when she was underage, or even when she returned to Scumble River as an adult, because by then he was married, and when his wife left him, Skye had been involved with Simon.
Finally, at the end of September, both Skye and Wally were free and over twenty-one. Their dates had gone well, and the sexual attraction was an eleven on a ten-point scale, but Skye had been determined to take things slowly. Now, maybe it was time to let nature take its course. It was getting harder and harder to end their evenings with a good-night kiss.
Too bad Skye had already promised to help Margot. Still, Wally was picking her up Thursday around noon. Skye’s plan was that they’d go for Thanksgiving dinner at her aunt’s, spend a couple of hours socializing with the family, then go back to his house for dessert—a dessert she’d been denying them both for too long. Wally was in for a pleasant surprise.
Skye’s lips turned up slightly in a Mona Lisa smile, which quickly melted away when she noticed a commotion at the door. Barb, the girl who had been working behind the reception desk, stood on the parlor threshold, gesturing wildly to Margot.
The spa owner frowned and shook her head, but the clerk insisted. With an apologetic murmur, Margot stood and edged out of the room. Skye followed, both out of curiosity and as a way to escape having to listen to one more aria.
Margot and Barb were moving quickly, but Skye kept them in sight. She almost gave herself away when Margot abruptly stopped a few steps before the lobby’s entrance. Just in time, Skye ducked behind a large sculpture. She peered around the carving, blinked, and looked again.
What was Elvis Doozier doing with Amber? To begin with, he was at least five years younger than the girl; second, she had at least thirty IQ points on him; and last, Amber appeared to like expensive trinkets, while Elvis’s idea of haute couture was the blue-light special at Kmart.
When Skye peeked again, Barb had continued on into the lobby, but Margot, Amber, and Elvis were standing in a tight triangle, and the two women were arguing. What were they saying? Skye edged closer, carefully keeping in the shadows.
She heard Margot’s voice first. “How many times must I tell you, Amber, spa employees are not allowed to ‘see’ each other on spa grounds?” She didn’t give the girl a chance to respond, but continued, “I warned you when I caught you and Frisco together that I was only giving you one more chance.”
“I am not screwing this, this dork.” The girl swished her ponytail, emphasizing each word. “He’s stalking me.”
Margot turned to Elvis. “Young man, you are not allowed in the building unless you are working on something with your construction crew. And you are to stay at least two hundred and fifty feet from Miss Ferguson. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Elvis’s shoulders drooped and he muttered, “But I ain’t stalkin’ her. Alls I was doing was asking her for a date.”
“Regardless,” Margot jabbed him in the chest with her index finger, “keep away from her and keep out of the mansion.”
Margot swiveled on her high heels and marched into the lobby. Amber passed Skye without seeming to notice her, and Elvis stomped off the other way. Once she was sure her path was clear, Skye followed Margot, who was approaching a slim woman standing at the reception desk.
Before the woman could speak, Margot gushed, “Ms. Kimbrough, may I call you Nancy? I’m so happy you were able to fit us into your schedule. Spa magazine said they didn’t think you’d be able to make the opening.”
Ah, the magazine critic Margot had mentioned.
Skye tried to slip away without being noticed, but Margot spotted her and called her back. “Skye, come meet Nancy Kimbrough. She’s a writer for Spa magazine. Nancy, this is one of our guests, Skye Denison.”
While they shook hands Skye covertly examined the reviewer. Nancy’s delicate features were a blend of Asian and European, making her age difficult to guess. She could be anywhere from twenty-five to over thirty.
Margot put a hand on Skye’s back. “Skye can tell you how wonderful everything has been going so far.”
Skye quickly sorted through her experiences—she’d been deserted by her masseuse, showered in glass, made to eat Styrofoam disguised as food, and bored nearly to death by a soprano. What part of that did Margot want her to share?
Her silence must have clued the magazine writer in on the problem because Nancy took Skye’s arm and said, “Let’s talk in my room.” Turning to Margot, her tone slightly challenging, she added, “I assume it’s ready?”
By the time they walked up the stairs and Nancy opened the door, Skye had finally come up with some positive statements to make about the spa. The mansion was beautiful, the staff friendly, and she’d enjoyed her massage. Nancy seemed to want Skye to stick around and chat, which would have been fine because the writer was really nice and Skye could feel their personalities clicking, but she decided she’d better go find Trixie. They needed to go over their plan for catching the vandal that night.
“As Groucho Marx said, ‘I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn’t it,”’ Loretta remarked, sitting cross-legged on the sofa in Skye and Trixie’s room.
She had knocked on their door a few minutes earlier wearing red satin pajamas and bearing gifts of food.
“How in the world did Mom persuade you to come this weekend?” Skye lay on her stomach across the bed, savoring a cheese-topped cracker.
“Well”—for once the self-possessed attorney looked uncertain—”the thing is”—she took a sip of her champagne—”I was amazed at how happy your parents were about me dating Vince. I… ah … thought they’d either be openly negative or fake nice, but they weren’t.”
“Yeah, I have to admit, Mom surprised me, too.”
Trixie polished off a candy bar. “I knew May would be thrilled.” She licked the chocolate off her fingers. “After all, Loretta is healthy, successful, and of child-bearing years.”
“That’s true.” Skye reached for another cracker. “And, for once, Vince actually seems serious. As long as you want children, you’re in like Flynn.”
Loretta held up her hand, palm out. “Chill. We’ve only been seeing each other a couple of months.” She opened a bag of potato chips. “No offense, Skye, but your brother would have to really prove to me he’s straightened up before I’d even consider getting serious. So let’s not go planning the wedding yet.”
“It’s not me you have to worry about.” Skye giggled. “But Mom’s probably already decorating the nursery.”
Trixie started to hum “Rock-a-bye Baby” and Loretta threw a pillow at her.
“Hey, you never really answered my question. Surely, you didn’t give up your Thanksgiving just because my parents were nicer than you expected.”
“Sort of. I just thought it’d be good to spend some time with May. Maybe bond a little as friends rather than prospective daughter-and mother-in-law.”
“And?” Skye prodded.
“And your mom pointed out it was either this, or dinner with fifty of your closest relatives probing me like they were aliens and I was their abductee.”
“Now, that’s
a reason I believe.” Skye toasted Loretta with her can of Diet Coke. “So, how did you know to bring all these supplies?” She pointed to the food and drink covering the coffee table.
“Girl.” Loretta shifted position and hugged her satin clad knees. “My law firm had a meeting at a spa a few years ago, and I darned near starved.”
“Isn’t that the point—to cleanse the body and get healthy?” Trixie asked.
Skye looked at her sharply. “Trixie, honey, you drive way too fast to worry about cholesterol. Besides, who eats all the candy from my jar at school?”
“That doesn’t count.” Trixie wrinkled her nose. “Chocolate is the catnip of the female world.”
“I see.” Sometimes Trixie’s logic was beyond Skye, so she turned to Loretta. “Anyway thank you for sharing your stash.” Skye jerked her thumb at Trixie. “She was having such withdrawal pains, I thought she was going to eat my fudge-colored eye shadow.”
“Me?” Trixie grabbed another Hershey bar and peeled off the wrapper. “You should talk. You have such a love/hate relationship with chocolate you should be dating it.”
Before Skye could retaliate, Loretta demanded, “Now, tell me the real reason you two are here.”
Skye looked at Trixie, who shrugged. “Okay, but don’t tell Mom or the others.”
“Deal.”
“Margot contacted me about a month ago about some problems they were having with the spa.” Skye recounted Margot’s conversation, the newspaper stories, and Trixie’s cajoling, then ended with, “Which is why we’re here.”
“Do you two have a plan?”
“As a matter of fact, we do.” Skye swung her legs off the bed. “Our theory is that the vandal is really a treasure hunter and is one of the staff.”
“Makes sense.” Loretta nodded. “Could be one of the locals Margot and the good doctor hired for the nonprofessional positions, since they’d be most likely to know about the rumor of the secreted jewelry even before the newspaper ran the story.”
Murder of a Botoxed Blonde Page 5
