Cinderella and the Cyanide Page 8

Then, to take the attention off of her poor judgement in guys, she said, “I don’t really get it... why did Chanel give Pete a note about their meeting? Why not a text? Or better yet, why didn’t she just ask him to meet up with her? They’re an item, apparently, so it shouldn’t be a big deal to get together at a restaurant.”

  “Good question,” said Sara. She paused for a minute and then said, “The only thing I can think of is that they wanted their meeting to be a secret. Notes are so secretive, you know? There’s no electronic trail, which a text would leave. And maybe they didn’t want to talk about their meeting in front of other people.”

  “I guess so...” Cinda said. “Pete did say that she handed him the note during a photoshoot, so there must have been lots of people around. I don’t know if I can believe anything Pete’s told me, though.”

  Sara gave her a pitying look. “I know what might cheer you up... Let’s follow the two of them, and see what we can find out,” Sara said. “Come on—we’ll go find a spot in the bar that’s out of sight. My recorder will pick up their conversation.”

  “You’ve done this before?” Cinda asked.

  Sara winked. “It’s all part of being an investigative reporter,” she said. “Stick with me, and you’ll get used to it.”

  “No thanks,” Cinda said as she followed Sara to the elevators.

  9

  The Palace Bar and Grille was crowded with hotel guests who were waiting for the grand opening party to begin. Many had drinks in their hands, and there was a line two-deep around the sleek, modern bar. The wall behind the bar was made entirely of mirrors, which amplified the appearance of the crowd. Cinda felt instantly overwhelmed as she weaved through the crowd with Sara. She didn’t see Gretta or Lucas, and she briefly wondered if they’d gotten back to their cleaning duties. Though that thought should have cheered her up, she was still reeling from the news that Pete was with Chanel, so it did not.

  “This is good,” Sara said over her shoulder as she squeezed through a pair of two women who were talking to each other animatedly.

  Cinda narrowly avoided being swiped in the face by one of the women's jeweled hands. The woman was gesturing excitedly about her surroundings. “And this bar! It’s so sleek—so modern. A perfect mix of the masculine and the feminine. I could live here!”

  The other woman squealed with agreement, and Cinda dodged another hand.

  “Why is this good?” Cinda asked Sara “There’s no way we’ll capture Chanel’s conversation with Pete here.”

  Sara tapped the side of her head. “You’ve got to put yourself in their shoes, Cinda!” she said. “If they’re meeting up to talk, they’ll probably find the quietest corner of this place, and try to stay out of the limelight.” Sara motioned to the corner of the bar that was farthest from the action. “Plus, they’d probably want to enter through a side door. The only one is there, so...” she pointed, “I’m guessing they’ll sit at that little two top.”

  Cinda tried to keep up with her friend. “How do you know all of this?”

  “I’m a reporter,” Sara said. “I write about people for a living. You get to know how the human mind works.”

  Once again, Cinda felt glad that she wrote about buildings, and not people.

  “Better you than me,” Cinda said. “I can’t seem to figure people out. Here I was thinking that Pete was an honest, nice guy, and it turns out he’s a liar and a cheat. I guess I’m just clueless.”

  “Not clueless,” Sara said. “Maybe just a little bit naive. It’s okay—you’ll learn.”

  Cinda wasn’t sure she wanted to learn. She liked being naive. She liked assuming the best of people, even if that meant sometimes being caught off guard.

  She stayed silent as she watched Sara turn on her recorder, and then hide it amongst the foliage of the table’s centerpiece.

  “Now we wait,” Sara said happily.

  Cinda was glad that at least one of them was enjoying themselves. She again followed Sara, this time into the thick of the crowd by the bar.

  Several minutes later, Cinda saw Chanel enter through the side door that Sara had spotted. She looked stunning in her elegant dress with her makeup perfectly done. Her short dress showed off the shimmery, mocha-toned skin of her long legs, which were enhanced even further by her spiked heels. She carried her tall, willowy frame well in the heels, and walked with the confident stride of a model walking down a runway. She scanned the room. Spotting the empty, somewhat secluded table at the far corner of the room, she headed that way.

  “Good call,” Cinda said to Sara.

  “See?” Sara said. “I know people. And I know clandestine arrangements to meet. Look! That must be Pete!” She pointed to the side entrance again, and Cinda swiveled her head just in time to see Pete enter the room.

  He looked stunning in his tux, and for a moment, Cinda’s heart ached with the memory of her budding feelings for him. She lifted a hand and placed it over her heart as if that might soothe it, and watched his gaze sweep over the crowd. For a second, she thought that he saw her, but he continued turning and then seemed to spot Chanel.

  He headed in her direction.

  Cinda held her breath.

  What was the nature of their meeting?

  Part of her still hoped that they were no longer together—that the rumors of splitting up were true.

  However, she had to let this go as she watched Chanel smile seductively, stand, and then wrap her slender arms around Pete. She leaned in, and just before their lips met, Cinda averted her eyes.

  She simply couldn’t watch.

  It was too much.

  To have felt so strongly towards this man, only hours before—to have felt his lips on hers—and then to see him kiss another woman? No! She couldn’t stomach it.

  It was getting close to happy hour, and the guests at the bar were animated with excitement about the impending party, as well as the alcohol that fueled them. Cinda felt that she alone was the only unhappy one in the establishment.

  Suddenly, the whole place felt like it was closing in on her. It was all too much; she didn’t belong here. She wasn’t happy, she wasn’t excited, and she certainly was no investigative reporter like her friend.

  Sara could get her jollies by digging into nefarious schemes and plots, but it just wasn’t Cinda’s cup of tea.

  The voices around her seemed to amplify.

  “I’m going to vote for the guy!”

  “Oh, no! We don’t have royalty here in the states, but everyone knows watching a princess is more interesting. I’m going to vote for the woman.”

  “Which one?”

  “There’s only one in the running now. The other went to jail.”

  “Scandalous!” a woman squealed with glee. “I didn’t know!”

  “Oh, you didn’t hear? It’s a wild story. You see—”

  “I heard the woman Chanel and the guy Pete are actually a couple.”

  “Oh, that’s old news.”

  “They might get married. Imagine how attractive their kids would be!”

  “They’re sitting over there—didn’t you see her come in? She’s wearing DiGiovanni. It’s gorgeous.”

  Cinda felt that the room was spinning.

  Sara placed a hand on Cinda’s arm and squeezed. “This is just what we needed!” she said happily. “Just look at them talking so secretively! I can’t wait to hear what they’re saying. I think my recorder is going to capture it all. Did you see the way—”

  “I think I’d better go,” Cinda said quietly but firmly. She bowed her head, refusing to look in the direction of Pete and Chanel, and pulled away from Sara’s grip. “I should really get back to my duties. I’m here to clean, not to get tangled up in an investigation.”

  “But—” Sara said, sounding disappointed.

  Cinda cut in again. “Besides, I’m not feeling well. A bit dizzy. I haven’t eaten much all day.”

  “Then by all means, get some food,” Sara said. “But you can’t just leave and go clean ro
oms, Cinda! You’re the one who heard Evian and Serena talking in the first place. You’re the one who got me involved in all of this. Don’t you want to figure out who killed Helena?”

  Cinda shook her head. “It’s not my place. I’m not built for doing things like this, Sara. I’m too sensitive. I got all carried away about my feelings for Pete, and now...” She pulled further away. “I just have to go, okay? You can keep pulling at the threads if you want to, but I’ve done my part. I think we can leave the rest to the cops.”

  “You’re serious?” Sara said.

  Cinda didn’t stick around to answer Sara. She couldn’t. Hot tears were pricking her eyes. It felt awful enough to be so sad while surrounded by people deep in the act of revelry. She couldn't stand the thought of actually crying while everyone else was so intent on celebrating.

  She turned and hurried towards the exit. Once out in the nearly empty lobby, the black, polished floor and wide expanses of space felt refreshing compared to the crowded, tight bar. It seemed that most of the guests were in the bar taking advantage of the drink deals. She took a deep but quivery breath, trying to shake off the panicked feeling that had almost just caused her to burst into tears.

  As she crossed the lobby, she heard her name.

  “Ms. Rella?”

  It was Marcus. He was standing at the desk with a woman about his age—young twenties.

  Cinda changed her path and went to the desk “Yes?” she said.

  “I was able to speak to Josie about your question,” he said. He turned to his coworker. “Go ahead and tell her what you told me,” he said.

  Josie had a quiet voice, and Cinda had to lean in to catch her words. “No one borrowed the front desk master key,” Jolie practically whispered.

  “You’re sure?” said Cinda. “Absolutely sure?”

  Josie nodded.

  “Tell her why you’re so sure,” prompted Marcus. Then he rolled his eyes at Cinda, “I swear, getting Josie to talk is like pulling teeth.” He then wrapped his arm around the shy woman. “I love you girl,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m just saying...”

  Josie blushed and looked self conscious in that way that introverts do when put on the spot.

  Cinda could relate. She waited patiently for Josie to go on, and finally, she did. Again, her voice was soft as she said. “I had the key with me most of the night. The hot tub had been malfunctioning earlier in the afternoon, so Mr. Weston told me to check the temperatures every ten minutes.”

  “Can you believe that?” Marcus jumped in. “Every ten minutes. A little bit over the top—but I guess that’s to be expected since it’s opening weekend.”

  Josie continued. “Since I was using the master key to get into the hot tub area, I kept it in my pocket instead of putting it back in the drawer.”

  Cinda gulped. Then, she managed to summon what little nerve she had left as she said. “Did you happen to notice who was in the hot tub?” she asked.

  Josie nodded. “Yes, I think so. I made a little bit of small talk each time I checked the temperature, just to be polite. I started my shift at four, and at that time it was Mrs. Lavine and the journalist from the Hotels and Travel magazine—Mr. Lin, I think his name is. Then—”

  “I’m sorry,” Cinda said, holding up her hand to stop Josie. “I should have been more clear. I’m just mostly interested in a few hours in particular. 7:00 to 8:00. Can you remember who was in there at that time?”

  “Let’s see...” Josie paused, and closed her eyes.

  She’s not going to remember, Cinda thought. How could she? It would be nearly impossible to keep it all straight.

  Josie opened her eyes. “That’s right,” she said. “That was right after my dinner break. Since it was slow up here at the desk, I took some cleaning supplies into the hot tub area and wiped down the tables and chairs. Mr. Weston is always saying that if we’re leaning, we should be cleaning. I didn't want him to catch me idle up here at the desk, if he should stop by.”

  “The hot tub and pool area is so nice,” Marcus said. “It’s warm in there—like, tropical warm. And the pool is Olympic sized. It’s one of the best features of this hotel. Have you seen it?”

  “Not yet,” Cinda said.

  “Oh, you must,” Marcus said emphatically.

  Cinda waited eagerly for Josie to go on. She did. “So I was in there from about seven to eight.”

  “For the whole hour?” Cinda said.

  Josie nodded.

  “And who was in there?” she asked.

  “The man who might get the brand ambassador role, Pete—he was there, swimming laps. And one of the women models, too. Chanel—yes, that’s her name. She was in the hot tub. Pete also went in the hot tub for a while, after his swim. They were both in there when I finished tidying up a little after eight. Mr. Lin and Mrs. Lavine were there, too, but both of them left before I was done cleaning. I’m sorry, I don’t know the exact time.”

  “It’s okay,” Cinda said. This is very helpful. Thank you.”

  “Why do you want to know about the guests who used the hot tub?” Marcus asked.

  “I don’t really know,” Cinda said honestly. If she was, indeed, giving up on the investigation, why did she want to know? The police could do their jobs, and she should do her own. “Just curious, I suppose,” she said half-heartedly.

  “How are the rooms coming along?” Marcus asked.

  “Um... slowly,” Cinda said. “Is it possible to get another extension? I think my coworkers may have finished a few more since we last spoke, but I’m sure they’re not done quite yet.” She thought about how slowly Gretta and Lucas worked.

  “Girlfriend, I saw those two you’re working with go into the bar for at least an hour. You have quite the team, don’t you?” He rolled his eyes. Then he leaned in and stage whispered, “I’ll give you ‘til five at the latest before I have to tell Mr. Weston. How’s that, girlfriend?”

  “Thanks,” Cinda said. “We’ll really try to finish up by five. Sorry for the delay.”

  While she crossed the lobby again, she used her radio to contact Lucas and Gretta. Lucas informed her, in a surly tone, that they were in room 104, and had four rooms left to clean.

  “Four!” Cinda muttered under her breath as she hurried to join them. “That means they’ve only done three without me! What in the world have they been doing this whole time?”

  As she entered room 104, she found out.

  Gretta was sprawled across the bed, looking at her phone. Lucas was talking on his phone while slowly wiping down the flatscreen television with a dry paper towel.

  “Stop!” Cinda said to Lucas as soon as she entered the room. “You’re going to scratch the screen!”

  Lucas stopped wiping and held his phone away from his ear. “Where have you been?” he said. “I’m on the phone with Mother and she’s upset.”

  Gretta sat up. “Finally, you’re back. Now Lucas and I can go get ready for the party.”

  “We have four more rooms to clean,” Cinda said to Gretta. “You can’t leave yet.” Then to Lucas she added, “Tell Lonnie that there’s been a murder in the hotel, and I had to talk to the police.” She intentionally left out the bit about running all over questioning suspects, and kissing one of them, because she was sure her stepmother wouldn’t be too impressed by that. “I’ll make sure to detract the time from my hours,” she added.

  Lucas relayed this, and then hung up the phone. “Mom says that she’s very disappointed in you for leaving us high and dry like that.”

  “Me, leaving you guys high and dry?” Cinda sputtered. “You two have done practically no work today.” The anger that she’d been trying all day to suppress surged up within her. She felt her face reddening. “This is always how it goes. This is the reason I don’t like working for your mother in the first place!”

  Lucas walked past her, stuffing the roll of paper towels into her hands as he did so. “You are so touchy,” he said. “Gretta and I do our fair share of work. I’ve been
on the phone with investors all day, and Gretta’s been figuring out which higher-ups we should network with tonight at the party.”

  Cinda hugged the paper towels to her chest as she watched Lucas head for the door. Gretta got up off of the bed and joined him.

  “Where are you guys going?” Cinda asked.

  “To get ready,” Lucas said.

  “We have tickets to the party in the ballroom, remember?” Gretta said. She grinned. “It’s a good thing Mom advised us to bring some dress clothes. I’ve got to look good—I’m going to talk to that smokin’ hot guy who’s in the running for the crown!”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” Cinda mumbled. “He’s seeing someone.”

  “Oh—you’re suddenly an expert on the social scene around here?” Gretta said sarcastically. “I doubt it.”

  Cinda thought about being in Pete’s room, tying his tie, feeling his arms around her.

  Then, seeing him with Chanel.

  They were in the hot tub together last night, she thought. Her shoulders slumped.

  “Hope you can get these rooms done by five,” Lucas said.

  “Yeah, good luck,” Gretta said.

  “Mom says we still have a chance of winning the long-term contract,” Lucas said as he pulled the door open. “If we really turn on the charm tonight.”

  “I’m good at turning on the charm, brother dear,” Gretta cooed. They stepped out into the hallway. The door slammed closed.

  Cinda was alone—with four more rooms to clean within the next hour.

  A heavy sadness filled her heart, but there was no time to dwell on it. As much as she wanted to collapse into a chair, rest her head in her hands, and weep with self pity, she knew that if she wanted to get the rooms spruced up by five as promised, she had to get to work.

  10

  As Cinda finished up in room 104—a quick dust of the bed, the mirror polished, and pillows fluffed—she thought over her day.

  What a rollercoaster, she thought, as she placed two mints in the center of each pillow.

  I should have just taken the weekend off, like I wanted to. She put a water bottle on each side table.