Murder of a Botoxed Blonde Read Online Free PDF

that he had found a good job without her help.
    As the road straightened and passed through a second set of gates, she lost sight of the workers. Once past those gates, they found themselves on a circular drive in front of an impressive set of granite stairs leading to the front entrance.
    Skye hadn’t known what to expect, never having been to a spa before, but the dozen or so women holding protest signs and marching in a circle at the bottom of the steps was not on her list of guesses.
    Trixie slammed on the brakes and squealed to a stop inches from one of the protestors, who had apparently decided it would be a good idea to throw herself into the automobile’s path.
    Skye screamed, flung open her door, and jumped out of the car. “Are you okay?”
    The woman was tall, athletically built, and her face was free of makeup. Brown hair hung straight down her back, brushing the waistband of her jeans as she turned her head. Hazel eyes examined Skye and clearly found her wanting. “We’re closing down this temple of false beauty. Turn around and go home.”
    Trixie got out of the car at the same time that a second protestor, who wore her hair in a crew cut, joined the first. Trixie was barely five-foot-two, but she walked up to the group, all of whom towered over her like redwood trees over a shrub, put her hands on her hips, and demanded, “What’s the problem?”
    The brunette answered, “Real women don’t need artificial beauty. Support the cause, sister. Turn around and go home.”
    While Trixie was arguing with the women, Skye read the various protest signs.
    PAINT IS FOR HOUSES, NOT FACES.
    REAL WOMEN HAVE CURVES.
    ONLY BARBIE SHOULD LOOK LIKE BARBIE.
    STOP DYEING TO BE BEAUTIFUL.
    WE HAVE ENOUGH YOUTH, HOW ABOUT A FOUNTAIN OF SMART?
    Trixie narrowed her eyes. “No one’s getting in the way of my free weekend.”
    Crew Cut stepped into Trixie’s personal space and snarled, “Women like you make me sick. Everything is me, me, me. You never think of the greater good.”
    “How can you say that? You don’t know anything about her.” Skye moved next to her friend and glared at the protestor. “Trixie is the most generous person on Earth.”
    The brunette shot the crew-cut woman a look, and then said in a conciliatory tone, “Our organization, Real Women, is trying to stop the disturbing trend of artificial beauty infiltrating every walk of life. It was bad enough when movie stars and models were having their flesh carved, starvingthemselves, and hiring trainers as if they were poodles competing in some dog show, but now this movement is creeping into Middle America. And we aim to stop it.”
    “Fine.” Trixie’s expression was stubborn. “I promise we’re not having any surgery, we are certainly not going on any stupid diet, and the last person who tried to train me was my mother—the issue was the potty versus diapers. All I want is a few days of peace and quiet with the occasional massage, facial, manicure, and pedicure.”
    Crew Cut poked her finger into Trixie’s shoulder. “The point is your money supports the idea that it’s okay for these people to tell women they aren’t beautiful unless they look like twelve-year-old boys.”
    “But it’s not my money.” Trixie stamped her foot. “They’re giving us this weekend free.”
    Both Crew Cut and the brunette shook their heads. The latter said, “That doesn’t matter. Your being here gives the wrong message.”
    Trixie’s firm jaw was set. “Look, the average woman would rather have beauty than brains because the average man can see better than he can think. Do you really think a few cardboard signs will stop anyone from staying at this spa if they think it will make them look younger and more attractive?”
    Crew Cut’s gaze was unbending. “Maybe we won’t be able to stop everyone, but we sure can stop you.”
    Skye was torn. In some ways, she agreed with the protestors. And heaven knows she would be happy to turn around and go home.