Murder of a Botoxed Blonde Read Online Free PDF Page A

she’d seen in
Glamour.
    Trixie interrupted Skye’s musings by waving a sheaf of newsprint in her face. “Did you see this week’s paper?”
    “No.” Skye finished buckling her seatbelt, then grabbed the
Scumble River Star
from her friend’s hand. “What’s up now?”
    Trixie flung the car in gear and stepped on the gas. She had sold her prized Mustang convertible to pay off a debt, and now owned a ten-year-old Honda Civic, but she still drove as if she were racing on the NASCAR circuit.
    Skye shut her eyes and prayed as Trixie backed out of the driveway without even glancing in the rearview mirror.
    “Quit cowering. You know I’m a good driver.” Trixieslowed to a modest sixty, then answered Skye’s question. “Another article on the Bruefeld Mansion being cursed and the hidden jewels.”
    “Shit! Margot told me she spoke to the editor after the first piece was published and explained that if there was a treasure they would have found it during the renovations, and asked her to stop publishing those kinds of articles.”
    “What did Kathryn say to that?”
    “She said that a cursed mansion and a hidden treasure were too good a story to pass up.” Skye shook her head. “And until Margot could prove there wasn’t a curse or a treasure, she was pursuing the story.”
    “Well, if nothing else, Kathryn is true to her word. This time there’s even a riddle that’s supposed to be a clue to the treasure’s location.”
    “Great. If your theory is right and the vandal is really a treasure hunter, that’ll make him or her even more determined to find the jewels before someone else does.”
    “Read the article. Maybe it’ll give you an idea of where we should lay our trap.”
    Skye studied the story until Trixie pulled through massive iron gates and onto a wide paved driveway.
    “Is this it?” Skye folded the paper and put it in her purse to examine later.
    “According to the sign, the spa’s straight ahead.”
    Skye had never seen the Bruefeld Estate. It was located south of town along the Scumble River and had been fenced off since the last owner had declared bankruptcy when Skye was still a toddler. Lining the lane was a row of massive oak trees. As they rounded the first curve, a huge Norman-style stone mansion appeared as if hovering above the ground on a magic carpet.
    Once they grew closer, Skye could see that the mansion was actually situated on a small rise overlooking the river. Surrounding it were half a dozen cottages and several larger detached structures, also made of stone and slate with copper turret-style roofs, reminding her that the brochure Margot had given her had mentioned private VIPaccommodations for those who wanted a more luxurious stay.
    Traces of the recent reconstruction were still evident and several men seemed to be hurriedly cleaning up around the area. Skye shaded her eyes and peered intently at the smallest figure. After a moment she recognized him as Elvis Doozier, from a rather stunted branch of one of Scumble River’s odder family trees.
    A year or so ago Elvis had gotten into some trouble at the high school and Skye had reviewed his file. His IQ fell between seventy and eighty, which meant he didn’t meet the criteria for a learning disability—students had to have average or above average intelligence to be considered LD. Unfortunately, he also didn’t qualify for services in the mentally impaired category—there the IQ had to fall below sixty-nine. Thus he didn’t qualify for any special services, but at the same time there was no way he could keep up with average students.
    Elvis was one of the school system’s failures. Guilt washed over Skye as she watched him hurrying to keep up with the other men. She’d heard he’d dropped out of school on his sixteenth birthday, and she’d meant to talk to his guardian about finding a vocational training program for him, but had never gotten around to it. Seeing him as a part of the construction crew made her hope