Cinderella and the Cyanide

by Amorette Anderson

  The thought of Pete meeting with Chanel in the hotel bar made her feel slightly queasy in her stomach, but she tried to push that aside.

  “Great,” said Sara. “I’ll see you on the second floor in ten minutes.”

  Because she had a few minutes to spare before she had to meet Sara, Cinda decided to make a quick stop at the front desk to see who might have had access to Evian’s room. It would be good to give them an update on her cleaning progress, too—which was pretty much nil.

  As Cinda crossed the lobby, she saw Trixie Trent standing behind the front desk, talking to the attendant, Marcus. Both looked up as Cinda approached.

  “What can I do for you, ma’am?” Marcus asked.

  Cinda eyed Trixie. She wanted to talk to Marcus in private, if possible, since she thought he was more likely to share information without management hovering over his shoulder, but Trixie gave no indication that she was about to depart. Seeing as Cinda only had a few minutes within which to work, she decided to pose her question regardless of Trixie’s presence.

  “I’m hoping you might be able to help me out with something,” Cinda said. “You gave Lonnie’s Little Helpers a master key so we could get into rooms to clean. Are there other master keys floating about?”

  Marcus opened his mouth to answer, but Trixie spoke first. “Why, did you lose the one for the cleaning staff?” she asked.

  “No, no,” said Cinda. “I have it. I’m actually asking because I'm wondering who might’ve had access to a room in the hotel last night.”

  “Which room?” Trixie asked.

  “Room 314,” Cinda said.

  “The one Evian LaRouche was staying in?” Trixie asked.

  Marcus jumped in before Cinda could answer Trixie. “Here at the front desk we have a master key,” he said. “I was working last night, and I didn’t use it or lend it out to anyone. I’m not sure if Josie, who was working with me, lent it out either. The security guards also have keys, as well as Lonnie’s Little Helpers, but you already mentioned that.”

  “Who was on security last night?” Cinda asked. “Maybe I could talk to them.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you there, sister,” Marcus said. “It’s some contracted company for the time being, so none of them were at our super-fun orientation. Oooh... now that was a good time. We got to act out skits about helping customers. I am quite an actor. Anyway, you want me to call the security company and see who was on last night?”

  Cinda checked her phone for the time. She had to meet Sara in just five minutes. “Not at the moment,” she said, afraid of wasting precious time, “but thank you. I’d better run. Really quickly though... you said that you didn’t lend your master key out to anyone. What do you mean by that? Do you sometimes lend the key out?”

  “Of course, girl!” Marcus said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “All of the full-time staff members have keys—at least, everyone of any importance, you know.”

  He placed a hand on his chest and lifted his chin. “Since I was appointed the supervisor of the front desk, I have one.”

  Trixie opened her mouth to interject, but Marcus carried on. He seemed to be in a chatty mood.

  He smiled as he said, “Funny thing is, Mr. Weston himself doesn’t carry a master key with him. Isn’t that crazy? He’s the owner! True story: I was working last week, when the interior designers were finishing up with the rooms upstairs. Mr. Weston asked for the key so that he could go check on their work. He totally disapproved of the curtains that they used in the penthouse suites. He had them all taken down—brought them all down here, actually.”

  He pointed to a stack of folded silver fabric at the far end of the front desk. “He said it was too gaudy for the penthouse suites, but fine for the smaller rooms. I personally think that if it works in one room it should work in them all—but what do I know? I’m not a billionaire owner of an international hotel chain, by any means. Just a lowly front desk concierge!”

  “Mr. Weston is a very hands-on hotel owner, isn’t he?” Cinda asked.

  “Very,” Marcus said with a nod. “I don’t care what they say about him over in Europe—I think he’s a good boss. He’s always been courteous to me.”

  Trixie cleared her throat. “Does that answer your questions?” she asked Cinda. “Now you know all about our master keys, how they are used, and the owner’s taste in curtains. You probably know too much, in fact.” She glared at Marcus. “Marcus here seems to like to share,” she muttered.

  It was clear to Cinda that the comment was an insult toward Marcus, but the young man was unfazed. “Sharing is caring!” he said. Then he smiled at Cinda. “Is there anything else I can help you with today, ma’am?”

  “One last thing,” Cinda said. “Is Josie—the woman you were working with last night—going to be in this evening?”

  Marcus glanced at his watch and frowned. “She should have been here five minutes ago. That girl is always running late.” He rolled his eyes. Then he glanced nervously at Trixie and added, “But you didn’t hear that from me! I’d hate to be known as the guy who throws his coworkers under the bus.”

  “Well, when she gets in, could you do me a favor and give me a call?” Cinda asked. “I’d like to know if anyone borrowed the master key. In particular, I’m curious if a woman named Chanel happened to borrow the key.”

  For the second time that hour, she rattled off her digits, this time to Marcus.

  Marcus took them down and promised that Josie would be giving Cinda a call soon.

  With that, Cinda hurried off to the second floor to meet Sara.

  When she stepped out of the stairwell, she saw that Sara had already arrived and was waiting in a sleek armchair in a little alcove by the elevators.

  Sara had her phone out, and she held it out as she beckoned Cinda over. “You’ve got to see this!” she said in a hushed voice.

  Cinda joined her and bent down to get a closer look at Sara’s phone. There was an image on it of a man and a woman walking down the street holding hands. Cinda recognized the man right away—it was Pete.

  “What’s this?” Cinda asked.

  Seeing the picture of Pete with another woman felt like a punch to the gut. I really have a crush on this guy, she realized as she felt her visceral reaction.

  She tried to ignore the clenching sensation that lingered in her stomach as she said, “It’s Pete, I see, but who is he with?”

  “That’s Chanel,” Sara said, her voice still just a whisper. She pointed to the door. “I’ve been digging into her background, and I keep seeing pictures of her with Pete. The gossip magazines say that the two dated briefly.”

  Cinda thought of the note. “Are they still seeing each other?” she asked.

  Sara shrugged. “I don’t know. I found one article that said they split up two months ago. No pictures of them together since then, either.”

  “Nice,” Cinda said sarcastically, as she lowered herself down onto an armchair next to Sara. “That means Pete lied to me, already. I’ve only known the guy for a day, and already he’s being dishonest.” She slumped forward and placed her head in her hands. “See? This is why I don’t date.”

  “I thought it was because you’re waiting for fireworks?” teased Sara with a laugh.

  “That, too,” Cinda said glumly.

  Sara put a hand on Cinda’s back and gave a few pats. “What did he say that was a lie?” she asked.

  “When I asked Pete about Chanel, he said that the two were friends. He didn’t say anything about dating her—but friends don’t hold hands like that.” She motioned to the phone.

  Sara swiped right, and then held up a picture of Chanel and Pete with locked lips. “Friends probably don’t kiss like this, either,” Sara said.

  Cinda groaned and looked away quickly. The picture was the absolute last thing on earth that she felt like looking at it. It made her stomach clench even more.

  She took a few breaths and then said, “Well, at least now we can be clear
about one thing—Pete can’t be trusted.”

  “Oh, come on,” Sara said. “You’re being too hard on the poor guy. Of course he wouldn’t want to go into details about smooching with Chanel in the first five minutes of talking to you. That’d be no way to make a good impression.”

  “I guess,” Cinda said. “But still—he knows that a lot is at stake here. He should have been honest about... whatever that is.” She motioned to Sara’s phone. “I don’t know how serious they were, but it’s clear that the relationship went beyond friendship.”

  “Way beyond it,” Sara agreed.

  Cinda bit her lip. She thought about the way it felt to feel Pete’s lips on hers. She wasn’t ready to talk about the kiss with Sara yet. It was all too confusing.

  “Do you think that Chanel and Pete are in on this together in some way?” Cinda asked, her stomach getting queasy at the thought of it. If that was the case, she’d just helped a man with murderous intentions fasten his tie.

  “I don’t know,” Sara said. “What would their motive be?”

  “Maybe they were nervous that Serena might take the crown. They could have hatched a plan together to put the poison in Evian’s room. They know how much control Evian has over Serena. They’d wait for Evian and Serena to use the powder and then they’d make sure she was caught before Pete actually drank it...”

  “Serena would get in trouble for attempted murder,” Sara said, jumping in.

  Cinda nodded. “And Pete or Chanel would be guaranteed the title. It’d be a quick and dirty way to get Serena out of the running.”

  Sara took out her notebook and wrote quickly for a minute. Then she looked up at Cinda. “You’re good at this—did you know that? Have you ever considered doing some investigative pieces for the paper? It could be a good change of pace from your sleepy real estate pages.”

  “No thank you,” Cinda said, shaking her head emphatically. “I like sleepy. Sleepy is my cup of tea. If everything around here could get just a little bit more boring, that’d be amazing. I could finish sprucing up a few hotel rooms, write out a draft of a boring old real estate article, and then curl up in bed with my novel.”

  Sara chuckled and stood. “Instead you’re out giving your digits to a model, and questioning his former flame and possible accomplice.”

  “Yeah,” Cinda said glumly. “It’s a far cry from boring.”

  “What do you say we get this show on the road, then?” Sara said. “Let’s start looking for Chanel. Maybe we can get to the bottom of this case in time for you to have your sleepy old night in after all.”

  Sara’s flippant comment cheered Cinda slightly. She got to her feet and followed Sara down the hallway.

  At the first door they knocked on, no one answered. They reached the second door on Cinda’s list. Cinda knocked and then waited, hoping that Chanel would answer.

  8

  After about the sixth knock, Chanel answered the door.

  At six-foot one, Chanel stood a full half a foot taller than both Sara and Cinda.

  She wore a cream-colored dress that contrasted with her coffee-toned skin. Her dark hair was piled in a formal updo on top of her head, and she wore pale blue heels that matched the one on her stationary.

  She held a makeup brush in one hand and wore a shocked expression as she opened the door and gaped at Sara and Cinda.

  “What now?” Chanel said. “Don’t tell me I’m late for the toast...” She looked anxiously over her shoulder at a digital clock by the bed. “I thought that was supposed to begin at 4:00?”

  “You didn’t miss the toast,” Sara said. “I’m a reporter—Sara White. This is my associate, Cinda Rella. Could we talk to you for a minute?”

  “I don’t know...” Chanel said., “Who gave you my room number?”

  Sara jumped in. “We’re with the Dayton City Newspaper, and we’re covering Helena’s death.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” Chanel asked. The question seemed genuine. She waited with wide eyes for an answer.

  It struck Cinda as an odd reaction. If Chanel was really behind the murder, wouldn’t she be acting more defensive? Cinda expected to catch signs that Chanel was uncomfortable, but so far, the woman had the air of a woman getting ready for a party—not a woman trying to get away with murder.

  But what if she was simply good at acting?

  It was a possibility.

  Sara pushed on with another question. “It appears that the poison that killed Helena was actually meant for Pete,” Sara said.

  Chanel’s painted lips formed an “o,” and her perfectly sculpted brows inched upward. “Really? Pete? That’s dreadful!”

  Cinda spoke up. “Are you close with Pete?” she asked, curiosity driving her to overcome her shyness.

  Chanel looked past Cinda, down the hallway. “You’re not really with the newspaper, are you?” she asked. “You must be with one of those gossip magazines.” She looked nervous.

  “We’re really with the paper,” Cinda said. Sara pulled an ID from her purse and held it up so that Chanel could read it.

  Chanel opened the door wider. “You might as well come in—as long as you don’t take any pictures. I don’t have my face on yet.”

  She led Cinda and Sara into her hotel suite. The bedroom opened up to a master bath, and Cinda could see an assortment of makeup brushes, bottles, and palettes out on the sink.

  “You're telling me the Dayton City Newspaper is interested in my love life?” Chanel asked incredulously. “This just isn’t adding up.”

  “We—ah—we’re really interested in Helena’s death,” Cinda said. “We’re trying to figure out who killed her.”

  “And my relationship with Pete has something to do with that?” Chanel asked. She stepped into the bathroom.

  “It might,” Cinda said.

  “The two of you dated—is that right?” Sara asked.

  Chanel patted the tip of her brush in a little container of bronze powder, and then she started dabbing it over cheekbones. “Yes... we started seeing each other shortly after we both were approved as finalists for the brand ambassador position,” she said.

  “Wasn’t that difficult... dating your competition like that?” Sara asked.

  “Oh, not really. How could I call dating Pete difficult? He’s such a sweetheart. And so hot! I loved him the minute I first saw him.”

  “Did the two of you break up?” Cinda asked.

  “No... not exactly,” Chanel said. She dabbed her brush a few times in the powder and then began working on the other side of her face. “We went through a... rough patch... but now we’re back on track.” She smiled, and her reflection bounced off the mirror and straight into Cinda’s heart.

  “Back on track.”

  Chanel and Pete were together.

  That cheater! thought Cinda. He’s seeing Chanel, and he kissed me? What a liar! What a cheat!

  If he thinks cheating on his girlfriend is just fine to do, what other immoral acts is he capable of? Cinda wondered. No, it didn’t necessarily mean that Pete had any part in the murder, but it did mean that his moral standards were questionable.

  Chanel was still smiling dreamily. “I think he might be the one—if you know what I mean.” Her grin broadened. “Pete has such a big heart. He would make a great father to children. I’ve always wanted to have kids.”

  Cinda felt nauseous. She searched her mind for a way to steer the situation away from how perfect Pete was, and how wonderful his relationship with Chanel was.

  “Do you happen to use cream-colored stationary with a shoe on the top?” she asked.

  Again, she expected Chanel to show signs of being flustered and defensive, but the woman hardly batted an eye. Her brow remained smooth, and her lips carried the remnants of her dreamy thoughts-of-Pete induced smile as she said, “Yes, I do, actually! How did you know that?”

  Sara spoke up. “Where were you last night between seven and eight?” she asked.

  “In the hotel’s hot tub, with Pete
,” Chanel said. Her smile grew again.

  “Did you and Pete work together to frame Serena for murder?” Sara asked quickly. The direct hit shook the smile off of Chanel’s face. She put down her brush, and a crease line formed between her brows. “No!” she said.

  “Don’t lie to us,” Sara said. “Evian received a note and a delivery of poison. The note was on your stationary.”

  “Delivery of poison... no!” Chanel said again. “Why would I do such a thing? Is that what this is all about? You think I supplied the poison that killed that kitchen worker? That’s crazy.”

  “It was your stationary,” Cinda said.

  “I’ve had enough of this,” Chanel said, stepping away from the mirror. “I do not need to stand around being accused of being a liar and a murderer. Out. Both of you. I’ll finish getting ready for this party by myself, thank you very much.”

  She bustled to the door, her body wiggling in the tight dress.

  “We’re just trying to find some answers,” Cinda said.

  “Well, you’re looking in the wrong spot,” Chanel said with an air of finality. “I’ve been in beauty contests my whole life, and I always play by the rules. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my makeup. I have a contest to win.”

  She slammed the door so hard that Cinda’s hair blew back slightly with the breeze it created.

  “Yikes,” said Cinda. She looked at her watch. “It’s almost 3:00. She should be leaving to meet up with Pete soon.” She frowned at the thought of it.

  Sara put an arm around Cinda’s slumped shoulders. “Are you doing okay? This must be a little rough for you. You really had feelings for the guy, didn’t you?”

  “He kissed me,” Cinda admitted, recalling the feel of Pete’s lips on hers.

  “That two-timer!” Sara exclaimed. “That’s awful! Oh, hon, I’m sorry.” She gave Cinda a quick squeeze around the shoulders.

  “I guess I just got so swept up in his good looks,” Cinda said glumly. She felt like a fool. “I really thought he was a good guy. I was way off.”