“Okay.” Skye sighed. “Now if I could just mink of what else I’ve forgotten.”
“Take your time.” Wally let go of her hand and turned on the CD player. “Maybe some music will help.”
Wally was a golden oldies fan, and Skye let the familiar melodies roll over her as she processed what she had learned. When a new song started her eyes popped open. “That’s it!” she shouted.
“You know who the murderer is?” Wally sounded incredulous.
“No, sorry, but I do know which song was playing on the CD when I found Esmé’s body.”
‘This one?”
“Yes, ‘The Great Pretender’.” Skye hit herself on the forehead. “And that reminds me, the CD player was hot pink. I remember thinking it clashed with the restful decor.”
“Which reminds me, I talked to the crime techs this afternoon,” Wally picked up from where Skye left off. “They fingerprinted the CD player at the murder scene, but didn’t collect it as evidence, so I came a little early tonight to pick it up. But it was gone.”
“Crap!” Skye massaged her temples. “We just can’t get a break.”
“Maybe not, or maybe this is our break.” Wally turned the car into the long drive that led to the country club. “Maybe the killer took it, not to get rid of it but because he—but I’m thinking now it’s probably a she since the player is pink—feels safe enough to want it back. After all, no one but you and I know that the CD player was brought in by the murderer.”
“I bet you’re right. Now, we just need to check out everyone’s rooms.” Skye’s tone turned sour. “But no search warrant because they already have a confession, right?”
“True, but the player’s probably in plain sight so if someone happens to catch a glance …” He trailed off as he maneuvered the car into a tricky parking spot.
The clubhouse was cream-colored brick, and sported huge floor-to-ceiling windows. Inside, the golf shop and offices ran the length of the right wing; the opposite area consisted of several small rooms whose dividers could be opened to form one large space. Tonight the folding walls were all pushed back, and the restaurant was full.
Skye and Wally were shown to a table in a back corner against a window overlooking the eighteenth hole of the golf course. The hostess handed them menus, asked what they wanted to drink, and disappeared. A few minutes later, a waitress brought Wally his beer and Skye her frozen margarita, took their dinner order, and left them alone.
As soon as the server went away, Skye asked, “Did you ever find Rex Quinn?”
“Yes. You were right, he showed up at the spa looking for Whitney.”
“Anything?”
“It was a touching reunion.” Wally took a healthy swallow of beer. “A lot of crying, and Daddy telling Whitney she was his best girl, and it was just going to be the two of them from how on.”
“It doesn’t sound as if you believed their grief.”
“You were more upset the time Bingo disappeared than these two are over Esmé’s death. To be fair, Quinn seemed pretty broken up at first, but Whitney was faking it.”
Skye nodded, then asked, “Did Mr. Quinn have proof he’d been out of the country?”
“He showed me his airline ticket stubs and hotel receipt, and gave me the names of people who can vouch they were with him the day of the murder.”
“That’s what I figured. It wouldn’t make much sense for him to kill her. They’d been married only a year, and before that had been waiting for his divorce for a long time.” Skye rummaged in her purse for a sheaf of yellow papers. “Did he take Whitney home?”
“No. He said he was exhausted from traveling and was afraid he’d fall asleep at the wheel, and Whitney can’t drive a stick shift, so he got a room at the motor court and they’re leaving for Hinsdale tomorrow. He moved there from Kenilworth after his divorce.” The waitress served their salads and Wally speared a forkful of lettuce. “He said he’s got a business call at eleven a.m. so they’ll probably hit the road around one. He’s got a huge, fancy funeral all planned for the day after. I told him the ME may not have released the body in time for that.”
“I’ll bet he didn’t take that well.”
“He said his attorney would take care of it. I didn’t bother to argue. The ME won’t let the body go until he’s finished and no lawyer will change that.”
“Right.” She was used to the demands and threats of parents. It seemed as if everyone thought their attorneys could solve all their problems.
“Anything on your end?”
Skye scanned her notes, then filled Wally in on Amber’s seven-year contract, Kipp’s black-market business in forbidden foods, and the fact that Dr. Burnett claimed he hadn’t given Esmé any Botox injections since her arrival at the spa.
Wally finished the last of his salad before saying, “Interesting. So unless he’s lying, those injection sites the ME found were something else. Maybe some sort of sedative to cause her to lose consciousness and make her easier to hold under the mud.”
“But why would Esmé allow someone to repeatedly stick a needle between her eyes?” Skye asked, then answered her own question. “Because she thought it was Botox.”
“That makes sense.”
“I’ve read a little about Botox. Doctors are supposed to administer the injections, but they often merely supervise others. Which means, Esmé might not have thought there was anything odd about a non-physician doing it, especially if she really wanted it and had been turned down by Dr. Burnett.”
Wally broke off a piece of roll and buttered it. “We’ll keep that in mind. Did you find out anything when you visited the Dooziers this morning?”
“Other than that they’re trying to get people to pay for a mud bath in a children’s swimming pool set up next to the lawn mower in their utility shed, you mean?”
He chuckled, popped the bread into his mouth, and made a go ahead gesture with his hand.
Skye started to say she hadn’t learned anything else, then stopped suddenly and snapped her fingers. “I just realized that the Dooziers, as the leaders of the Red Raggers, have a widespread network they can tap into for information. Think about it. The few Red Raggers who actually do work for a living work in the service industries—cleaning, waiting on tables, and cutting grass. And a lot of the guys, like Elvis, pick up jobs here and there with construction companies.”
“So?”
“So, that means they know about the treasure and there’s a good chance they’re the ones digging holes all over the place and causing all the vandalism. In fact, remember I mentioned seeing Elvis around the spa on several occasions?” Skye took a sip of her margarita. “Did I tell you they knew all about the mud bath treatment room, even down to the fact music was played?”
“No. But what’s that got to do with the murder? Do you think a Doozier killed Esmé because of the treasure?”
“A Doozier would scam you for the treasure but not kill for it. No.” Skye was silent for a minute, processing all the information, then nodded to herself. “What I do think is that for them to know something that only occurred during a short period of time, maybe an hour at most, there must be another way into that section of the spa.”
“Wouldn’t Margot or her husband have mentioned that? Unless you think one of them is the killer?”
“Not really. I can’t come up with a motive for either of them, and you’re right, they would have mentioned an alternative entrance to Trixie and me when Margot first asked us to catch the spa vandal.”
“I’d forgotten she originally wanted you and Trixie to help her with that.” Wally ran his fingers through his hair. “So, yeah, I agree she would have told you about another entrance.”
‘The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that when the addition was built, the construction crew included several Red Raggers. We already know about Elvis, and mere were probably others I wouldn’t recognize. Together they added some sort of secret entrance into the main building without anyone knowing.” Skye
tapped her finger on the table. “To them it would be like opening a bank account. As long as the spa attracted a wealthy clientele, they could make frequent withdrawals.”
She was silent for a moment, then added, “You know, now that we’re talking about it, I’ve heard about several missing items—Whitney’s cell phone, Bunny’s watch, Dr. Burnett’s cuff link, and another guest was complaining about losing a pair of earrings. Burnett blamed it on the housekeepers, but I bet it was the Dooziers.”
“Sounds like you’re on to something. Which means we need to convince the Dooziers to tell us where the entrance is and who else knows about it.” Wally chugged the rest of his beer and stared morosely at the bottom of the glass. “Shit. How am I going to get Earl to come clean?”
“Maybe if you tell him how important this is and that he won’t get into trouble for his treasure hunting …”
Wally shook his head. “There are a million things that influence Earl Doozier’s decision to do anything, but reality is rarely one of them.”
CHAPTER 24
Two Facials Are Better Than One
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” Trixie was sitting cross-legged on her bed, eating leftovers out of the doggie bag Skye had brought from the country club. “You’ve narrowed the killer down to a woman because the CD player is pink. You think she used a secret tunnel the Dooziers built for themselves so they could hunt for the hidden treasure and steal things from the guests. And whoever did it has access to a syringe and some sort of medication that will put a person to sleep. Is that right?”
“Right, except it doesn’t have to be a tunnel, just another way into the spa’s mud treatment suite.” Skye finished putting on her pajamas and crawled into bed.
“Okay, that moves Dr. Burnett and Frisco down to the bottom of the suspect list, but Kipp seems to be the type of guy who might think a pink CD player was cool.”
“True, but when I discovered him yesterday with his hand in the cookie jar, so to speak, I noticed his CD player was the normal black color. I’d be surprised if he has another one in pink back in his room. People with live-in jobs like this tend to travel light.”
“Okay.” Trixie finished off a chicken leg and licked her fingers. “So, all we need to do is look in everyone’s room for a pink CD player, a CD with ‘The Great Pretender’ on it, and a syringe.”
“Right. And we need to do it without a search warrant, so we need to have a legitimate reason for being in their room.” Skye sat up and pulled a slip of paper from her PJ pocket. “Here’s who we need to check out: Ustelle and Amber, Whitney and Margot. Also, the waitress and housekeeper who didn’t have alibis, and Spike.”
“Spike? You don’t seriously think she’s the murderer? What would be her motive?”
“Who knows? We know very little about her. Same goes for the housekeeper and waitress. Probably not, but maybe they knew Esmé years ago, and she did something to them.”
“Bunny and Frannie didn’t have alibis either,” Trixie badgered. “How about them?”
“Very funny.” Skye slid down and pulled the covers over her shoulders. “I’ll put them on the top of my list.”
Nearly everyone had made it to the eight o’clock breakfast. Even Skye had gotten up early, borrowed Trixie’s car, and gone to the early Mass so she’d be back in time.
Now she sipped tea, and looked over the people scattered throughout the dining room. The spa’s professional staff—Ustelle, Kipp, Amber, and Frisco—all shared a table, but ignored one another.
The Scumble River women sat together discussing the pros and cons of taking Frisco’s nine o’clock water aerobics class versus Margot’s Dress for Sexcess class. They had until noon to use the facilities, then an hour to change into their street clothes, and after that their spa weekend was officially over.
Skye ticked off in her mind where everyone else was headed. May was going to get a seaweed wrap with Ustelle, Bunny was having a manicure and pedicure from Amber, and Frannie was getting her hair done by Kipp. Loretta had opted for Margot’s class and Spike for Frisco’s. Margot had announced that Dr. Burnett was unavailable for appointments because he was away from the spa all morning. Whitney was unaccounted for.
Speaking of unaccounted for, where was Trixie? She should have been down to breakfast by now. Had the first step of their plan gone wrong?
Skye’s gaze worriedly swept the dining room entrance. Instead of seeing her friend coming in, as she hoped, she saw Frannie and Elvis Doozier in an intense discussion. Skye half rose from her seat to see what they were talking about, when Frannie grinned like the Big Bad Wolf confronting Red Riding Hood, and kissed Elvis on the cheek. He stood frozen for a moment, then stumbled back, watching as Frannie rushed way.
Before Skye could decide which one to follow, Trixie hurried into the dining room, dropped into the chair next to Skye, and whispered, “Mission accomplished.”
“You talked Margot into hiring us as temporary housekeepers?” Immediately, all thoughts of Frannie and Elvis fled from Skye’s mind.
“No problem.” Trixie held up a key card. “I told her we had narrowed the treasure hunter/vandal/thief down to half a dozen guests and staff, and we wanted a legitimate reason to look around their rooms.”
“You’re a genius. A scary genius, but still a genius.” Skye paused, then added, “Did she ask whose rooms we were going to search?”
“Yes, but I managed to divert her attention without answering. I also had Margot tell the other housekeepers we would be cleaning some of the rooms, and then I waited until Margot walked away before I told Ruth and her partner which rooms we wanted to clean.”
“Excellent.” Skye rubbed her hands together. “We’ll start as soon as everyone finishes breakfast and goes to their first appointments. That way all of our suspects will be out of our way while we search their rooms.”
They waited until the dining room was empty, then gave everyone ten more minutes to get to where they were going. Finally, Skye scooted her chair back and got up, her emergency-equipped fanny pack clanking. “Whitney is the only suspect unaccounted for, so we need to be careful when we get to her room.”
“What’s Wally doing while we snoop around here?” Trixie bounced up from her seat.
“He’ll be looking around those empty guest cottages, especially the ones where I saw the lights on the other night. Elvis and Amber were using one, but I didn’t get a chance to check out the other.” Skye drank the last of her tea and put down the cup.
Trixie grabbed it and sniffed. “This is Earl Grey. How come the tag says Chamomile?”
“I knew I would have to eat down here this morning, so I switched tags on a couple of tea bags. I can cope with nothing edible, but I need my Earl Grey.”
“You can cope with nothing edible because you’ve managed to avoid most of the meals. I, on the other hand, have not been so lucky. When I get home Owen won’t recognize me. I’m nothing but skin and bones.”
“Whose idea was it to come to this spa to begin with?” Skye demanded.
Trixie opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally she said, “Do you want to talk about the past or solve this murder?”
“Okay. Prepare to launch Plan B.” Skye shook her head. “Let’s hope it isn’t the disaster Plan A turned out to be,” she muttered under her breath, remembering that plan resulted in them capturing five treasure hunters instead of the one vandal they were really after.
Skye and Trixie had decided to start with the owner’s suite, knowing Margot’s class was the shortest activity on the schedule. After knocking several times to make sure the suite was empty, Skye and Trixie used their housekeeper’s passkey card to let themselves into the sitting room. It was beautifully decorated but impersonal. There was no hint of the characters of the people who used it.
Skye whispered to Trixie, “You check out the sitting room, I’ll take the bedrooms.”
Trixie nodded and started looking through the desk.
The first bedroom Skye entered
was clearly Margot’s. Expensive perfume scented the air and the dresser was covered with jewelry and scarves. Skye quickly searched. No CD player, no CD, and no syringes.
She duplicated her search in Dr. Burnett’s room and again found nothing. Trixie came up equally empty in the sitting room. After they finished their search, they hurriedly cleaned the suite, hoping Margot and Dr. Burnett wouldn’t notice that the cleaning wasn’t up to the usual standards.
Skye and Trixie repeated this procedure with each of their guest suspect’s rooms, finally heading up a second flight of stairs to the staff’s rooms, first searching and cleaning Ustelle’s, then Kipp’s, and finally Frisco’s. They found nothing in any of them.
When they broke for lunch, Skye and Trixie went to the solarium for one last picnic lunch.
“It’s a shame that the unalibied waitress lives off property, and that the housekeepers clean their own rooms,” Skye said as she finished unpacking what was left of the food she had brought to the spa.
“I did find out that they’ve both lived in Scumble River their whole lives, so it’s highly unlikely they had any chance to run into Esmé before this week. I think it’s safe to scratch them off our suspect list.” Trixie sat forward and made herself a sandwich using the last of the bread and lunch meat. “The real problem is that both Whitney and Amber had do not disturb signs on their knobs, and we weren’t sure if they were in the room or not, so we couldn’t risk going in to search them.”
“Why do you want to get into Amber and Whitney’s rooms?” Frannie flung herself into one of the chairs drawn up to the coffee table and claimed the nearly empty bag of chips.
Skye and Trixie looked at each other. Skye gave a small shrug. In another hour, Wally would release the information that he didn’t believe Rose Blossom was the real murderer, and everyone would know the investigation was still open. They might as well tell Frannie now.
Trixie gestured to Skye, who explained.
Frannie listened, then exclaimed, “I knew it! I just knew you two were up to something.” She huffed and sat back on her chair. “I’m not a baby. If you had told me, I could have helped.”
Murder of a Botoxed Blonde Page 22
