Cinda made every attempt not to give away the bluff with her facial expression. She tried to fix Evian with a steely look, and apparently it worked because Evian stopped trying to close the door. Instead, she swore under her breath and opened it further. “Come in,” she said. “You’ve got it all wrong. I need a drink.”
Cinda followed Evian into suite 314, along with Sara.
“I should probably offer you both a drink, but I’m not going to,” Evian said cooly as she moved toward the wet bar and opened a small bottle of wine. “There are lots of things I should do... an endless list.”
She poured wine into a waiting glass and continued. “What you recorded—if you did, in fact, record it, which I doubt—proves nothing.” She sipped her wine and eyed Cinda and Sara. “And I’ll tell you why.”
Sara pulled out her notebook and pen.
Cinda waited anxiously for Evian to continue.
She sipped her wine again and then spoke. “You overheard me talking to Serena. You were the busybody who tried to barge in on us.”
Cinda nodded.
“Well,” Evian said, “I’m sorry to burst your bubble. You think that I plotted to murder someone, but I did no such thing. The substance I handed Serena was not poison, meant to kill. It was just sleeping medicine—a single dose.”
Sara jotted down notes. Cinda waited for more.
“At least, that’s what I was told,” Evian said. She sipped her wine again and then placed the glass down on the night table by the bed. She walked to a narrow closet to the right of the nightstand, removed a blouse from its hanger, folded it, and placed it in the suitcase that was open on her bed. “Sleeping medicine—meant to knock him out for the evening, but nothing more than that.”
She moved onto the next blouse.
“Knock who out?” Sara asked.
“Pete, of course,” Evian said.
Cinda gasped. “You were going to drug him?”
“Oh, don’t act so shocked,” Evian said, as she pulled a dress off of a hanger and folded it. “It was just sleeping medicine. I’m sure he takes it on occasion anyway. There was a pre-party toast planned for the three contestants tonight. Pete doesn’t drink champagne, and was going to have cider instead. Serena was just going to put a mere dose of sleeping medicine in his drink. The man would have simply had a nice nap.”
Cinda narrowed her eyes. “You wanted him out of the running for the contest,” she said. “You thought that if he didn’t show up at the grand opening party, there was no chance he’d get voted in. He was Serena’s main competition. Without him in the running, you were sure Serena would win.”
Evian freed the last shimmery silk blouse from its hanger, folded it, and stuffed it in her bag. “That was the plan,” she said. She spun around and reached for a pair of knee-high boots on the floor. She pulled a clear plastic bag from the front pocket of her suitcase and began fitting the boots inside. “As you can see, murder wasn’t on the agenda. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get out of here.”
“You can’t leave,” Cinda said. “You’re involved with Helena’s death. The police will want to question you.”
“Well, they’re going to have to find me first,” Evian said. “I’m going to take the first flight I can find back over to Europe. Then I’m going to lawyer up and make it as difficult as I possibly can for these American cops to get in touch with me. And if they do manage to get in touch with me, I’ll have my lawyers make it as difficult as possible for them to pin any of this on me. After all, I really did nothing.”
“Nothing?” Cinda blurted out, emotions getting the best of her. “A woman died today!” She shivered, thinking of Helena’s body, lifeless on the floor. Then she imagined Serena, being carted off in cuffs. “And another woman went to prison because of you. You think you can just waltz out of here?”
“Watch me,” Evian said.
Sara stepped into her path. “Not so fast,” she said. “You supplied Serena with a substance. You told her to put it in a drink that you believed Pete would consume. Obviously, the plan went wrong somewhere along the way. The kitchen worker Helena died after drinking the cider. Your actions caused her death.”
“Good luck proving it,” Evian said. “I’m not going to stick around while you try to figure out what happened. There are plenty of possibilities, you know. Maybe Helena was allergic to sleeping medicine. Maybe someone laced the powder that I gave to Serena with something more sinister. Maybe Serena got the idea in her hollow little head to put Pete to sleep for good—I have no idea. All I know is that I’m not going to stick around while all of that is worked out. I’m getting as far away from this place as possible.”
Cinda’s mind was working fast. She thought over the possibilities that Evian had enumerated, and then added one of her own.“Or maybe the sleeping powder that you gave Serena wasn’t sleeping powder at all. Where did you get the powder? Or did you make it yourself by crushing up a pill?”
Evian shook her head. “I didn’t make it myself. It was given to me, already in powder form.”
Sara jumped into the conversation. “By who?” she asked.
Cinda was eager to know, as well.
Evian didn’t answer. Instead, she headed for the bathroom. There were several makeup items on the sink. Evian started throwing them into a gold-colored bag.“You’d better not put that in the paper,” she said, as she zipped the bag.
“We’re journalists,” Sara said, raising her chin up with confidence. “We report the facts.”
“I didn’t give Serena poison,” Evian said. “The only thing you possibly have evidence of—if you really did record me—is that I guided Serena to put something in that cider. It could have been a bag of vitamin C for all you know.”
“It wasn’t vitamin C,” Cinda said. “You told her to put something into the cider, and then the next thing we know, a girl who was drinking sparkling cider dies. That’s not a coincidence.”
For a brief instant, a look of concern crossed Evian’s face. Then she seemed to shake it off. She exited the bathroom and tossed her makeup bag into her suitcase. “It may not be a coincidence, but it’s not evidence for murder, either. I did nothing wrong.”
“You gave Serena a substance. What was it?” Cinda asked.
“Are you recording me?” Evian asked, eying Cinda first and then Sara.
Sara shook her head. Cinda followed suit.
“You’d better not be,” Evian said. Then she gave up on her packing and sat down on the edge of her bed. “The truth is—maybe it’s good that you’re here. My conscience won’t let me leave without telling someone. Maybe you can help Serena clear her name. I do feel bad that she’s in jail.”
“Tell us,” Sara urged. “You know something, don’t you?”
Evian hesitated. She looked at her suitcase, packed and ready to go. “I can’t just disappear without... “ her voice drifted off. She shook her head. “But I can’t get all tangled up in this, either. Every bone in my body is telling me to get far, far away from this place before I’m arrested, too. If I’ve learned one thing in the business I'm in, it’s this: Every woman for herself.”
She looked away from her suitcase. “Okay—I’ll tell you. The bag of powder that I gave to Serena to put into Pete’s drink—it was supposed to be filled with one dose of a very strong sedative. That’s what I was told.”
“By who?” Cinda asked.
Evian swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” she said. “It was an anonymous note. That’s the problem. If I knew, I would tell you, and maybe the police, too. All I know is that I got a note with the bag of powder stapled to it. The note suggested that if Serena and I really wanted to win the contest, we had to get Pete out of the running.”
Evian crossed and uncrossed her legs. She looked nervous as she continued. “The person who wrote the note spelled it all out—they said that a toast would be conducted an hour and a half before the winner was to be announced. There was a bottle of organic sparkling cider in the kitchen’s wa
lk-in cooler that would be used as Pete’s drink for the toast. It was the perfect opportunity to drug his drink with a little sedative. We just had to sprinkle it in. The kitchen staff would serve Pete the drink at the 4:00 toast. He’d start feeling sleepy within twenty minutes, and would be out cold for a nice solid nap by the time the party began and the big vote took place. He’d snooze through the whole thing, thereby taking him out of the running. Serena would win, and my agency would become famous. Once the idea was presented to me—so clearly ... so succinctly... with so much logic—I couldn’t get it out of my head.”
Evian closed her eyes. Even though her brow was frozen with Botox and the wrinkles had been buffed from around her eyes, pain was evident on her face as she continued. “It was wrong. I know that now. But the more Serena and I talked about it, the more it seemed to be the only way that she would win the title. Serena was a willing participant.”
Cinda thought back to the slap of flesh on flesh that she had overheard earlier that afternoon. It didn't sound like Serena had been too willing.
As if she was reading Cinda’s mind, Evian added, “Yes, she got cold feet at the end—right before she snuck into the kitchen to drug the cider—but before that, she was very willing to do what it took to get to the top. That’s the way it goes in this industry.”
Her words seemed to strike a chord in her, and suddenly she stood. “Every woman for herself—that’s the name of the game. So I wish you luck with this mess, but I can’t stick around any longer and get dragged into it as well. I hope you can help Serena prove that she didn’t intend to murder that girl. I really do. But I can’t stick around to see that happen.” She reached for her suitcase and hoisted it off of the mattress.
“Hang on,” Cinda said.
“Yeah, not so fast,” Sara added, crossing her arms over her chest.
Cinda spoke up. “The note just appeared, with the bag of powder stapled to it, you said. Where did it appear? When?”
“It was in my room last night, a few hours after I checked in to my room,” Evian said.
Sara narrowed her eyes. “Details, please,” she said.
“I checked in at about five,” Evian said. “I showered, freshened up, and watched some television. Then at seven, I went down to the restaurant for dinner and a drink. I returned at eight. The note was there, lying on the table, waiting for me. I read it and then called Serena right away so we could talk over our options.”
She pointed to the sleek black table that was positioned across from the monstrous bed. A vase of flowers stood on one end, and on the other there was a silver bowl filled with clear glass pebbles.
“It was right here?” Cinda said, walking over to the table and touching the midpoint between the vase and the bowl. “Was anything else in your room out of place?”
“Nothing,” said Evian.
“Can we see the note?” Sara asked.
“What, do you think I’m crazy?” Evian said. “I burned it while I was outside having a cigarette last night. It was evidence. I can’t have that lying around.”
She wheeled her suitcase toward the door.
“Serena needs you,” Cinda said, in a last-ditch attempt to convince Evian to talk to the police. “Without your testimony, she could be facing life in jail. You’re the missing link. Someone was using you and Serena to go after Pete. You were pawns in a bigger scheme, and now Serena’s paying for it.”
“Better her than me,” Evian said. “I know it sounds terrible, but I’m simply being honest. Good luck with this mess. Really. I think you’re going to need it.”
She flung open the door. Then, after she stepped out, she looked over her shoulder. “There was something interesting about the note. Maybe it will help you figure out who left it. It was on cream-colored paper—a very high-quality stationary, it seemed, by the feel of it. And there was a little logo on the top. It was a small symbol in pale blue ink.”
“A symbol of what?” asked Cinda.
“A shoe,” Evian said. “A single high-heeled shoe.” She turned again and began walking away. “Au revoir!” she said. “And good luck!”
With that, she walked down the hallway.
Sara raised a brow and looked at Cinda with excitement.. “Cream-colored stationary with a logo of a shoe on it... that seems awfully specific, doesn't it? Why would someone leave an anonymous note suggesting murder, with such an obvious identifier on it?”
“Maybe it’s not so obvious,” Cinda said. “I mean, it’s just a logo of a shoe. She didn’t say that the logo included words. That’s going to be hard to track down.”
“Challenging, but not impossible,” Sara said. “It’s a clue... a lead. Maybe whoever left the note wanted to leave behind a calling card of sorts—a clue that could be traced.”
“But why?” Cinda asked.
“I don’t know,” Sara said. “But I want to find out.”
“Me too,” Cinda said.
Sara pulled her little notebook from her back pocket again. “I think this might make for a great first-page article, if we can nail down some facts.” She chewed her lip while reading over her notes. Then she looked up at Cinda. “I felt like she was telling the truth—did you get the same feeling?”
Cinda pondered this, and then nodded. “I believe that she really found the bag of powder here in her room, and that she really thought it was sleeping powder—though how she could think drugging someone was a good idea, I really don’t understand.”
“Some people,” scoffed Sara. “They have absolutely no moral standards. She really did seem to have no qualms about drugging this poor Pete guy.”
“But the bag didn’t contain sleeping medicine, did it?” Cinda said.
“That’s what we have to figure out,” Sara said. “We’ve got to track down the person who left the note. The stationary logo is our best lead.”
Cinda nodded. “Plus, if Evian’s really telling the truth, we also know that whoever left the note also had a key to this hotel room.”
“Very true!” Sara said, her eyes lighting up. “We’re really onto something. I’m going to do some research and see if I can nail down that logo. Do you want to see if you can get a list of everyone who might have had access to this room while Evian was out to dinner?”
“Sure,” Cinda said. “But first I’m going to go talk to Pete. I have to warn him that someone in this hotel might be trying to take his life.”
“Yes, go talk to Pete,” Sara said with a knowing grin and a sly wink. “It’s a tough job—talking to a handsome model and all—but someone’s got to do it.”
“Sara!” Cinda protested as she headed for the door. “It doesn’t matter to me what the guy looks like—his life is in danger.”
Sara giggled, and followed Cinda out into the hallway. “Sure, sure. ‘It doesn’t matter what the guy looks like.’ Careful, Pinocchio, before your nose starts to grow thanks to all the fibs you’re telling.”
Cinda blushed, but decided not to protest further.
Instead, she simply enjoyed the giddy feeling in the pit of her stomach as she contemplated seeing her handsome new friend Pete again.
6
When Pete answered the door, Cinda felt the butterflies in her stomach go into turbo mode. He was wearing black slacks and a white button-up shirt. He had a pale blue tie looped around his neck, but it wasn’t knotted.
He greeted her while pulling the tie free from the folds of his collar. It made a soft ziiiip! sound as it traveled through the air and came to a rest at his side.
“Getting dressed for the big party?” Cinda asked nervously.
He nodded. “Trying to,” he said. “But I've never had much luck with ties. You must have heard my silent pleas for help—are you the guardian angel of tie tying?”
Cinda shook her head and laughed softly. “No—I have lots of jobs, but unfortunately, that’s not one of them.” She frowned, remembering the real reason for her visit. “I actually have some pretty serious news to share with you... if you have a m
inute?”
“Well, I’m getting nowhere with this tie, so I might as well take a break,” he said. “Come on in.”
Cinda hesitated. She wasn’t accustomed to accepting invitations from strangers. She’d only just met Pete a few hours before, and that was merely a quick conversation in the hallway. Should she really go into his hotel room?
What if he was dangerous?
Then again, she had a very good sense of intuition. Her nervous system usually went into high alert, even at the slightest hint that danger could be present. As she looked at Pete, her body didn’t give out any signals to warn her away. Instead, she felt drawn to him, and eager to talk.
Besides, she thought. I have to warn him, and I don’t want to risk staying out here in the hallway where we could be overheard...
Her heart fluttered with a pleasant sense of apprehension as she stepped passed Pete into his hotel suite. The whole room smelled faintly of incense and other earthy smells—was that patchouli? Sage? The subtle, earthy smells were so much nicer than the harsh cleaning chemicals she’d been breathing in for hours that she couldn’t help but take a deep breath in with appreciation.
Pete was barefooted again, she noticed, and for a brief instant she looked at the way his feet met with the soft carpet with envy—it looked like the plush carpeting must feel nice against his bare skin.
The bed in his room was made, and the curtains thrown wide open to let in as much of the fading sunlight as possible. Cinda could see Glassman Park, including the pond which sparkled with reflected late-afternoon sun, below.
“Isn't the location of this place out of this world?” Pete asked. “It’s so much better here than the little basement studio I’m renting on 68th Street.”
Cinda tore her eyes from the view and fixed Pete with a smile. “Absolutely,” she said. “You must be excited about the prospect of living here—I would be, too, if I was you. The condo I’m renting now doesn’t have views anywhere close to as stunning as this.”
Cinderella and the Cyanide Page 5
