Murder of a Botoxed Blonde

by Denise Swanson

  He blanched, but remained stubbornly silent, staring at her as only a teenager could.

  Skye was unfazed. She’d been dealing with Justin since he was in eighth grade, and had learned that he used silence like a weapon. “Why did you have Kipp do your makeup, of all things?”

  “He was the only one willing to break the rules and take a day appointment.” Justin gave her an “are you stupid” look and said, “My other choice was to have him do my hair, and I figured he’d notice I was wearing a wig.”

  Skye nodded. “So you’re not booked anywhere else?”

  “No. That was just to get past the guards. Now I’m going to take a look around.”

  Skye knew she should stop him, but how? Tie him up with his pink and green silk scarf? She had already made Kipp wait fifteen minutes; making him wait any longer would be just too rude. “Justin, be careful. There’s already been one murder. Let’s not add another to the list.”

  “Don’t worry, Ms. D. I’m not investigating the murder. I just want to write a story about the treasure.”

  Skye walked back into the salon, troubled by Justin’s reassurance. It sounded like the famous last words spoken in every teen movie, just before the villain’s ax came down on the speaker’s head.

  Kipp was sitting in the client chair reading a copy of W when Skye reentered. He was a short, slim man of indeterminate age—somewhere between thirty and fifty. His face was unwrinkled, his hands baby smooth, but both his attitude and his eyes seemed to indicate he was older.

  His khaki pants were perfectly pressed, and the spa’s regulation silvery green polo shirt with his name stitched discreetly above the breast pocket was neatly tucked in. His tasseled loafers were polished, but he wore no socks.

  As soon as he noticed Skye, he closed the magazine and got up. “All ready?”

  “Yes. Thank you so much for your patience.”

  “No problem. I assume you straightened out our friend Justin.”

  “You knew she was really a he?” Skye wasn’t surprised. Justin did not make a believable girl.

  “Yep. The Adam’s apple always gives them away.”

  “Them?” Skye sat down in the styling chair.

  “Transvestites.” Kipp whipped a cape around her neck. “Though I’m a little surprised to see one so young out in public in such a small town.”

  Skye smirked. “Oh, we’re pretty open-minded in Scumble River.” She couldn’t wait to tell Justin that Kipp not only saw through his disguise, but thought the boy was a cross-dresser.

  “Well, that’s a relief.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “Now, what would you like done?”

  “I’d like to go blond.”

  “No.”

  “Why?” Skye was surprised. She’d always wanted to see what it would be like to be blond, plus it would take a while, giving her a chance to pump Kipp for information.

  “Wrong complexion.” Kipp wound a strand of her chestnut hair around his finger. “Besides, this is a beautiful color.”

  “How about some highlights?”

  “That would work, especially with a new style.” Kipp stepped back and studied her. “We should take off about two inches, do a side part, and just a hint of bangs.”

  “No bangs and only an inch off.” Skye wore her hair all one length, just past her shoulders. She liked to keep it long enough to put in a ponytail or braid. “Let’s try the side part.”

  “I’ll dry it straight and use the flatiron to turn the ends under just a smidgeon.”

  “Perfect.” Skye beamed. “So, how did you end up in Scumble River?”

  An hour later, Skye hadn’t learned anything new, but her hair looked terrific. Kipp stuck to his story. He grew up as an army brat, living all over the world. When he graduated from hair styling school he worked in various salons, day spas, and cruise ships. This was his first experience at an overnight spa.

  Kipp handed Skye a mirror and twirled her around so she could look at the back of her hair.

  “It’s perfect.” Skye got up and as she watched Kipp sweep up the bits of hair littering the floor, she said, “It must be hard to be stuck in Scumble River after traveling the world.”

  “For days off, Chicago’s only an hour away.” Kipp kept sweeping. “Otherwise we aren’t supposed to leave the spa grounds.”

  “That sounds confining.”

  “It’s the same as if I were working on a ship.” Kipp still didn’t look up.

  “But at least when you get a day off on a ship, you’re at some exciting port like St. Thomas or Acapulco. Here you’re always at Scumble River.”

  “Sometimes it’s nice to have a little bit of the same old, same old.”

  “True.” She gathered her things and walked to the door. “Sorry I made you wait.”

  “Not a problem.” Kipp waved good-bye.

  As Skye walked down the brick path, she considered what she had learned from the hairstylist. Putting it all together, she was beginning to believe he really didn’t know anyone at the spa before interviewing for the job. Still, there was something furtive about him. She had a feeling he was hiding something.

  Lost in thought, it wasn’t until she got to her room and reached for her key card that she discovered she had left her tote bag at the hair salon. Turning on her heel she hurried back, hoping Kipp hadn’t locked up and left already.

  The salon was dark when she reached it, the door closed and the lights off. Still, Skye thought she could hear something, so she knocked on the glass. Nothing. Maybe there was a storeroom in back where the hairstylist was working. She walked around the side and saw a door propped open. Good. Kipp must still be around.

  Skye listened intently. She could hear music playing and a rustling sound. She raised her hand to knock, and as soon as her knuckles touched the steel door it swung open on well-oiled hinges.

  On a lounge chair that he’d obviously “borrowed” from the pool, one hand thrust deeply into a bag of nachos and the other holding a full margarita glass, sat Kipp Gardner. He was surrounded by shelves filled with bags of snacks, boxes of cookies, and sacks of candy.

  Skye had stumbled on the Scumble River Spa black market. Had Esmé discovered the same illicit activity and threatened to expose Kipp? Would someone kill over a chocolate bar?

  CHAPTER 23

  That Puts a New Wrinkle on It

  “So then he says, ‘Five days a week my body is a temple. The other two, it’s Disneyland.”’ Skye finished putting on her makeup. She had a half hour before meeting with Dr. Burnett, and she wanted to look good for her appointment.

  Trixie laughed so hard she fell off her bed. Still giggling, she picked herself up and asked, “What did you say?”

  “What could I say? It’s not like I exactly follow the FDA-approved food pyramid myself.”

  “Did Kipp admit to selling the forbidden food to the staff and clients?”

  “Sort of. It was almost as if he thought I was taping him.” Skye held up a pink tweed jacket with fringe trim and raised a questioning eyebrow at Trixie.

  “That would look great with that pink long-sleeve T you just bought—the one with the lace around the bottom.” Trixie peeled off her sweat suit. “Do you think Kipp killed Esmé because she discovered his undercover business?” She disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the door open so they could continue their conversation.

  “No.” Skye pulled on a pair of black slacks. “He didn’t seem all that upset that I had discovered his secret.” She slipped the T-shirt over her head, careful not to mess up her new hairstyle. “If he killed her for finding out, he would have tried to kill me too.”

  “So we can cross him off the suspect list.” Trixie’s voice rose above the sound of her shower. “How about the list of suspected treasure hunters?”

  “He’s still on that.” Skye put on gold and pink chandelier earrings. “He admitted to Justin, AKA Justine, that he had looked for the jewelry, and obviously he likes making money.”

  Trixie came out of the ba
throom wrapped in a towel and whistled. “You look terrific. I really like the highlights Kipp put in your hair. I wonder if I can get an appointment with him tomorrow before we leave.”

  “Go for it.” Skye stepped into black loafers and grabbed her fanny pack. “Okay. I’m off to ‘consult’ with Dr. Burnett, then I’m meeting Wally so we can exchange information.”

  “Right. Exchange body fluids, maybe.”

  “Trixie!”

  “And you’d better be careful with Dr. Frankenstein or you’ll end up with a new nose, or humongous breasts, or lips so full of collagen you’ll look like a blowfish.”

  “Mmm. Maybe he can get rid of this wrinkle between my eyebrows,” Skye teased as she walked out and closed the door behind her.

  Dr. Burnett’s office was in a part of the mansion Skye hadn’t yet visited, located just before the private suite of rooms he and Margot occupied.

  Skye arrived precisely on time and knocked on the massive carved oak door.

  An intercom buzzed to life. “Yes?”

  “Hi. I have a four o’clock appointment with Dr. Burnett. It’s Skye Denison.”

  “Come in.”

  A lock clicked open and she turned the knob. It felt like she was entering the Wizard of Oz’s castle. The doctor sat behind an enormous desk. A gorgeous Tiffany lamp provided soft lighting—no harsh fluorescents in this doctor’s office.

  The room was huge, and a couch and two chairs formed a sitting area separate from the desk. Classical music was playing, and the aroma of sugar cookies floated in the air.

  Skye took a big sniff. “Wow. It smells heavenly in here. Just like my grandmother’s kitchen when she’s baking.”

  “Aroma-Oxygen.” Dr. Burnett got up and walked over to the sitting area, indicating Skye should follow him. She sat on the burgundy leather sofa and he chose a matching wing chair. “It takes away cravings for the real food.”

  Skye didn’t comment, thinking the only thing that would substitute for a real sugar cookie would be a chocolate chip cookie or maybe a brownie.

  After they were settled, Dr. Burnett asked, “What don’t you like about yourself, my dear?” He reached out and gripped her chin with his thumb and index finger, then turned it first to the right, then to the left. “Mmm. Good skin tone, no acne scarring or deep wrinkles. No bags under the eyes.”

  “Thank you.” Skye ignored his question and asked one of her own. “How long have you been a plastic surgeon?”

  “Well, I’m not a plastic surgeon, per se.” He fingered his silver mustache. “How would you like to try something brand new, a LifeWave Energy Patch?”

  “A what?”

  “It’s like a nicotine patch, but instead of helping you to stop smoking, it revs up your body’s flow of energy, which helps burn fat.”

  “No, I’m not really one to test products out.” Skye tried to steer the conversation back to what she wanted to find out. “If you’re not a plastic surgeon, what is your specialty?”

  Dr. Burnett’s answer was clipped. “Nutrition.” His tall, lean body tightened and his smile was forced. “I know what would be perfect for you. How about a cell invigoration treatment? No medication or surgery required. You just lie in an infrared capsule.”

  “Sorry, I’ll have to pass on that, too.” Skye had heard of nutritionists, but never heard of a medical doctor specializing in nutrition. “Where did you practice before opening your spa?”

  “Chicago.” Dr. Burnett’s long, thin fingers drummed on the arm of the chair. “Permanent eyeliner. The tattooing only takes moments, and saves you lots of time the rest of your life. I have hundreds of colors to choose from.”

  “Gee. That sounds terrific. But I have so many allergies, I’d be afraid of the dye.” Skye answered in a rush, half afraid he would whip a needle from the pocket of his Italian silk suit. “Did you work from a hospital or your own office in Chicago?”

  “I had my own clinic.” Irritation was starting to crack Dr. Burnett’s smooth façade. “I’m afraid I don’t do the more involved surgery such as liposuction or tummy tucks, but I could recommend a colleague.”

  “Uh, no, thanks.” Skye knew she was running out of time. “Was Esmé one of your patients at your Chicago clinic?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, that first night at dinner, I thought she said that you had saved her by helping her with her diet.”

  “She didn’t actually come to the clinic for that.” Dr. Burnett hesitated a beat, then said, “It was one of those cases where someone corners you at a cocktail party for advice. As a psychologist, you must get that sort of thing all the time.”

  “Yes, I do.” Skye nodded, although she was more likely to be cornered in the produce department at Walter’s Supermarket than at a swanky party.

  Dr. Burnett stood and Skye realized she couldn’t squeeze in many more questions before he showed her out the door. “Do you have any theories about who was vandalizing the spa before it opened?”

  “It was just someone’s idea of a joke.” Dr. Burnett herded Skye toward the door. “Or more probably, someone looking for that damn treasure. We’re still getting fresh holes every day.”

  That wasn’t what he had said when he demanded to see Esmé’s body, claiming he feared it was really Margot who had been killed. “How about all the missing items the guests are complaining about?”

  “Probably the housekeepers. I’ve told them if the thefts don’t stop I’m firing them all.”

  “Maybe the vandalism is connected to Esmé’s murder.” Skye watched as the good doctor’s hand tightened on the knob.

  “Of course not. The killer confessed. Unless you think those protestors were around before the opening day.”

  “Couldn’t the vandalism and the treasure hunting be a cover for the real motive behind the murder?” Skye asked as the door opened.

  “Anything’s possible.”

  Burnett’s hand on the small of her back was gently but firmly propelling her out. She could fit in only one or two more questions; she’d better make them good ones. “Margot mentioned that Esmé had gotten Botox injections in the past. Were you still giving them to her?”

  “No, she had a bad reaction to the last ones, so when she arrived for this weekend, I told her I couldn’t give her anymore.”

  Ah, huh! She had just caught him in a lie. Skye gripped the door jamb to stop her forward motion. “But you just said Esmé wasn’t your patient, that you gave her diet advice at a cocktail party. So, when did you give her the shots?”

  “My dear, you have obviously had little contact with the rich and famous.” Burnett’s tone was even, but his eyes indicated his irritation. “They do not go to clinics. Procedures such as Botox injections are given in their home or during a girls’ night out get-together.”

  “Oh.” Skye stumbled a bit as Burnett succeeded in pushing her over the threshold. “When you refused to give her the shots this weekend, did she say she would go to someone else for them?”

  “Yes. And no, she didn’t tell me who.” As he closed the door, he said, “The offer for the LifeWave Energy Patch is still open. You could drop twenty pounds in a week.”

  Skye stopped herself from blowing a raspberry and forced herself to say, “No, but thanks for the offer.”

  It was a few minutes after five, so Skye hurried past the stairway, through the lobby, and out the front entrance. Wally’s personal car, a blue Thunderbird convertible, was parked at the end of the sidewalk, and as soon as he spotted her, he got out and hurried around to open the passenger side door.

  Skye kissed him on the cheek, hopped in, and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  He closed her door, jogged around the hood, and slid in beside her. With a questioning look, he put the car in gear and drove away.

  She sighed and leaned her head back, not speaking until they had cleared the front gate, which was still mobbed by reporters being held back by security. Finally, she said, “They are all crazy back there.”

  Wally smiled
and took her hand. “Tell me all about it.” He turned toward I-55 and added, “I thought you’d probably feel like taking a break and getting out of town, so I made a reservation at the country club for dinner, okay?”

  “Sure. Are you a member?” Skye forced herself not to sound surprised. She associated Simon with martinis at the country club and Wally with a six-pack on the lake at the recreation club.

  “Yep, but I don’t get there much.”

  Mmm. Skye worried her bottom lip. First the fancy car, then the new furniture, a housekeeper, and now a membership at the country club. Wasn’t all that too much money for a cop’s salary? Could he be on the take? No! She had jumped to conclusions about Simon; she wouldn’t do the same with Wally. She knew the car was a gift from his father. Maybe the rest was, too.

  Wally squeezed her hand. “You’re awfully quiet. I thought you were going to tell me about all the crazy people at the spa.”

  “Just trying to get my thoughts in order. I know I got some good clues today, if I could separate them from the useless information.” She smiled at him and squeezed back. “One thing I am worried about is Justin. You won’t believe what he did.”

  “I bet I would.”

  After Skye finished describing her encounter with Justine, she said, “I meant to check and make sure he didn’t get into any trouble investigating, but I ran out of time.”

  “No need to worry.” Wally chuckled. “I thought that was him dressed in drag being tossed out by the security guards when I pulled in the front gate.”

  “Why didn’t you make sure he was okay?” Skye had visions of the guards beating him up.

  “The boy’s got to learn the consequences of his actions. If he’s going to be a journalist, he’ll get thrown out of a lot of places.” Wally must have noticed Skye’s narrowed eyes because he added, “He was fine. His wig was hanging from his ear, he had lost a shoe, and I doubt the grass stains will come out of his skirt—which we hope he won’t be wearing again anyway. Otherwise he was intact.”