Cinderella and the Cyanide

by Amorette Anderson

  “The location would be awesome, too,” Pete said happily. “Seeing as the clinic I work with is just a few blocks away from here, in the Hospital District.”

  Cinda didn’t bother hiding her confusion. Her brow tented as she said, “I thought you were a model?”

  Pete laughed. “I am—but that’s just on the side. Funny thing... my side job has actually become my main source of income. I guess that doesn’t say much about my day job.”

  He reached for a bottle of water and held it out to her. “Would you like one?”

  She accepted the bottle. As she uncapped it, she said, “What do you do in the Hospital District, then?”

  “I’m a physical therapist,” Pete said. His words were soft and warm, soothing in a way that Cinda enjoyed. “And I specialize in lifestyle modifications for cardiac patients, especially after catastrophic life events. Basically, for the most part I help people get healthy after they’ve had a heart attack.”

  Cinda raised her brows. “Oh! I had no idea. I thought you just posed for pictures.”

  “I do that, too,” Pete said, opening a bottle of his own. “Once in a while. It pays better than my work in the Hospital District, that’s for sure.” He took a long sip of his drink.

  She wanted to ask him more, but resisted. She wasn’t in his room merely to visit. She had business to attend to.

  She cleared her throat, and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She didn't know how to begin.

  “You said you had news to share with me,” Pete said. “Is it something to do with that poor girl’s murder? Have they made an arrest?”

  Cinda nodded, and then spoke carefully. “Yes... The police arrested Serena, just about an hour ago—shortly after I parted ways with you, actually.”

  “No way!” Pete said, his voice rising with shock. “Serena? Why would Serena put poison in a bottle of cider?”

  “That’s the thing, Pete,” Cinda said. “That sparkling cider... it was going to be served to you, during a toast prior to the party this evening. I take it you drink sparkling cider, instead of champagne?”

  “I can’t stomach alcohol,” Pete said. “I haven’t been able to for years. It actually helps me with my work. It’s easier to tell my clients to stay away from the stuff if I’m doing the same. I find it’s best to lead by example, as the saying goes.”

  “Right,” Cinda said. “There was a special bottle of organic cider meant for you in the walk-in refrigerator. Helena shouldn’t have been sipping it, but she had a bad habit of sampling products from the kitchen. That sparkling cider was intended for you—which means the poison that killed her was intended for you.”

  Pete was quiet for a moment. He stared out the window. Rays of golden light edged his handsome features as he took Cinda’s news in and processed it. “Me...” he murmured. “You’re saying that someone wants me dead?”

  Cinda nodded. “That’s my theory,” she said. “Which is why I’m here. I think you need to be really careful tonight at that party, and even here in your hotel room in the hours leading up to it. If someone made one attempt on your life and failed, they might very well make another. I think the motive is to get you out of the running for the contest.”

  He furrowed his brow, and turned his gaze in Cinda’s direction.

  She felt her knees grow weak as he examined her with his gentle green eyes. It made sense to her that he helped heart attack victims for a living. He had an air of nurturing kindness about him that didn’t fit with how she expected a model to act. She found herself wishing that she was a patient under his care. It felt so good to soak up his attentive gaze.

  “You seem to know a lot about this,” he said. “Is it because you happened to overhear Evian and Serena talking?”

  Cinda nodded. “I was the one who told the police that they were both involved. They found evidence in Serena’s bag, which is why she’s been arrested.”

  “Was Evian arrested, too?” Pete asked.

  Cinda shook her head. “No—she’s fleeing the country in an attempt to remove herself from the whole case.”

  “Then I should be safe, right?” Pete asked. “Serena is behind bars, and Evian’s not around anymore. You’re saying they were the ones who wanted me out of the picture—right?”

  Again, Cinda shook her head. “They did—but they weren’t the only ones.”

  “Sheesh!” Pete said, reaching a hand up to scratch his head. “Maybe I should never have entered this contest after all. I never thought it would result in making so many enemies! I just want this evening to be over with.”

  Cinda felt her eyes soften with empathy. She pushed onward. “I’m really sorry to be the one telling you all of this,” she said. “I just thought you should know.”

  “Yeah—yeah, thanks,” he said, sounding distracted. He paced over toward the bed, capping his water bottle as he went. “It’s better that I know, I guess....” He stood, staring at the wall for a moment, and then turned to face Cinda again. “This is just so crazy,” he said. “It’s hard to believe. It’s taking a minute for it all to sink in. You’re saying Serena and Evian weren’t the only ones who wanted to kill me—and that someone else who might be at the party tonight wants me dead, too?”

  “Almost,” Cinda said. “But not exactly. See, Evian and Serena didn’t actually want to kill you. They just wanted to knock you out so you wouldn’t be around to be crowned Prince. They know that tonight’s all about press coverage, and there’s no way you’d get the title if you were so sedated that you were unconscious.

  “They wanted to... put me to sleep,” Pete said.

  “Yeah, a long cozy nap,” Cinda said.

  She couldn’t help but look at the bed and imagine how it would feel to snuggle up for a nap with the man standing across from her. That was only a distraction, so she pushed it from her mind. She felt herself blush as she said, “They must have thought that with you out of the running, Serena would have a better chance of winning the crown.”

  “That’s evil!” Pete exclaimed.

  “It gets worse,” Cinda said. “Evian admitted that she found an anonymous note in her hotel room, suggesting that a little baggy of powder be added to your sparkling cider. She thinks someone snuck into the hotel room to deposit the note and powder, which means that they had a key. Who knows, they could have a key to your room, too. You need to be careful.” She looked over her shoulder at the door that led out to the hallway. It was closed.

  “Who left the note?” Pete asked.

  “Haven’t figured that out quite yet,” said Cinda. “My friend Sara, who works for the paper, is really good at this kind of stuff. She’s trying to figure it out now. I wanted to fill you in, just so you’re aware—”

  “Aware that someone thinks this world would be better off without me,” Pete said softly. “Wow—that’s a bitter pill to swallow.”

  “Not as bad as swallowing actual poison, though,” Cinda said, as a memory of Helena’s lifeless body flashed through her mind.

  “Good point,” said Pete. He raked his hand through his hair.

  “If you can, try to stay away from food and drink at the party,” Cinda said. “And be aware of your surroundings.”

  Pete took a few deep breaths. Then he focused on Cinda’s eyes with such intensity that it almost took Cinda’s breath away. “Have you ever wanted something really badly, and it seems like all these obstacles keep popping up to get in your way?” he asked.

  Cinda thought about that fireworks feeling—the one that Sara said she’d never have.

  She wanted love.

  Would she ever get it?

  She nodded, her gaze still locked in Pete’s.

  He lifted the corner of his mouth. “Me, too. I want to be crowned Prince of this place. Living here would be a dream come true. I could put the money I’m spending on rent now towards getting better accommodations for my mom. She’s in a nursing home now, the best I can afford, but not wonderful by any means. I really want this job, Cinda. I’m n
ot going to let someone scare me away from giving it my best shot.”

  “Be careful,” Cinda said. Her voice came out only a whisper. She realized, as she said it, that she hated the thought of Pete’s life getting cut short. Murder was terrible, of course, but Pete’s murder in particular was painful to contemplate. She didn’t want to lose him before ever having the chance to get to know him.

  Do I want to get to know him? she wondered. She thought of Sara’s advice to give Pete her number, but she resisted. No, I can’t, she thought. It would be too forward.

  Silence stretched between her and Pete, as he held her gaze. She couldn't tear her eyes away from his. Finally, Pete broke the spell by reaching for his tie. “You said you’re not the guardian angel of ties, but do you by any chance know how to fasten a knot on one?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He popped his collar up and looped the tie around his neck. Then he stepped in closer to her and handed her the tie. Their hands brushed, sending a pleasant tingle of warmth through Cinda’s body. She felt butterflies stir into action as she fumbled with the tie ends, trying desperately to concentrate on her task. It was a challenge, given that Pete’s handsome face—kissable lips and all—was only a foot away.

  The space between them seemed to become more magnetically charged the longer she fumbled with the tie, and by the time she’d tied the knot successfully, it felt nearly impossible to back away from him.

  So she didn’t.

  Pete didn’t back up either.

  He moved in closer. So did she. The feel of his lips on hers made her weak at the knees. He kissed her deeply. When they parted, she was breathless.

  “Since life is short...” Pete said, lifting his lips into a half-smile and gazing at her warmly.

  She nodded. “Yes. That’s right. You just never know when it might end.” She regretted the words as soon as they slipped through her lips, since Pete was actually facing a possible threat to his life.

  Flustered, she took a quick breath and thought over her options.

  It’s been ages since I was kissed like that, she realized.

  Maybe Sara’s right. I should give him my number.

  “Um...” she began, feeling a blush heat her pale cheeks. “Do you have a phone?”

  Do you have a phone? What kind of a question is that? Of course he does! Stupid, Cinda! she thought, looking down at her shoes. When she glanced up at him, she saw that he was grinning. “Yeah,” he said. “Doesn’t everybody? Why do you ask?” He wasn’t going to make this easy for her.

  She nodded. “Let me give you my number—in case something comes up... about this case... that you think I should know.”

  “I’d like that,” he said. “My phone’s around here somewhere... where did I leave it?”

  He lifted a pair of jeans from the floor and rummaged through the back pockets. “Nope... maybe the balcony. Give me one sec.” With that, he stepped out through the balcony doors and disappeared from sight.

  As she waited for him to return, Cinda glanced around the room.

  There were several water bottles on the small table beneath the window and a few more on top of the mini fridge. The black tee shirt he’d been wearing earlier was lying across the back of a chair, along with the faded jeans he’d just searched for his phone. On a narrow table by the door, there was a vase and a bowl of glass pebbles; all of the rooms were decorated in a similar manner, except for the type of plant and the details of the wall art.

  Next to the vase, there was a folded piece of paper.

  The paper was cream colored.

  Her memory triggered, Cinda walked quickly to the paper.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the balcony doors before picking it up. Pete was still out of view.

  She picked up the paper, feeling the high-quality texture between her fingers as she opened it up. Her eyes flew to the logo on the top of the page: A single high-heeled shoe.

  “Found it!” Pete said, from behind her.

  She scanned the handwritten words on the note: Meet me at the hotel restaurant at 3:30.

  She put the note down and whirled around to face Pete.

  Now she felt even more flustered than before.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking from her to the paper she’d just put down. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  “Nothing,” she said. “A breeze came through when you opened the patio doors. This paper fell, so I picked it up. I guess it’s a housekeeper habit—picking things up off the floor. Ready for my number?”

  His look of concern faded, and he gave her the same grin that he’d offered earlier. “That’d be great,” he said.

  She rattled off her number, the whole time thinking over the note on his table.

  Did Pete know the killer?

  Worse yet—was he involved with the killer? Was he in on some sinister scheme—perhaps to cast suspicion on Serena, and get her out of the running?

  “Can I ask you...” her voice trailed off. Now the pleasant, giddy feeling she’d been enjoying earlier turned to genuine anxiety. Not knowing Pete’s role in Helena’s murder was messing with her head.

  Maybe I have it all wrong, she thought.

  I’ve been so naive. I’ve let my attraction to Pete throw me completely off guard. She forced herself to continue. “Who sent this note?” she asked, indicating with her finger to the note on the table.

  “Oh... that?” his brow furrowed. “I think that was Chanel.” His voice faltered as he said “Chanel”—just a little bit, but enough for Cinda to pick up on. He sounded uncertain of himself. The relaxed confidence he’d been exuding earlier dimmed slightly.

  He wouldn’t meet Cinda’s eye.

  “You think it was Chanel?” Cinda said, puzzled by his word choice. “Do you get notes often? It seems to me like it’d be pretty easy to remember who handed you this one.”

  He stepped over to the note, picked it up, and skimmed his eyes across the page.

  “Yeah, right. I remember now. Of course! Chanel handed this to me earlier today. The three of us contestants had a photoshoot out by the pool.”

  “Do you know Chanel well?” Cinda asked.

  His smooth complexion became slightly blotchy. Why is he embarrassed about this? Cinda wondered. What is he hiding? He doesn't want to talk about Chanel—why not?

  “We’ve gotten to know each other a little bit, during the selection process.” He tugged at his tie. “Just let me loosen this up a little bit... whew. That’s better.”

  “Is this her stationary?” Cinda asked, motioning to the paper.

  For some reason, this question didn’t affect him nearly as much as her questions about their relationship. The splotchy patches on his cheeks faded as he said, “I have no idea, really. She’s given me notes on paper like that a few times, so I guess it is. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s interesting, that’s all,” Cinda said. She wasn’t sure how much she should trust Pete anymore. She backed up slightly. “A unique design,” she added. Then she lifted her hand in a slight wave. “Well, now that I’ve warned you, I’d better be off.”

  He followed her to the door. “Are you going to continue investigating?” he asked. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  She shook her head. Then, despite her recent doubts, she added, “Stay safe, okay, Pete? I’d hate it if something happened to you.”

  She turned and hurried away, feeling Pete’s eyes on her the entire time.

  7

  As soon as Cinda felt she was a safe distance from Pete’s room, she dialed Sara.

  “You won’t believe this!” she said, as soon as Sara picked up. “I think I just figured out who the stationary belongs to.”

  “I’ve got a lead on it, too,” Sara said.

  Then, at the same time, both women said: “Chanel.”

  “What does it mean?” Cinda asked. “Is she the one who put the poison in Evian’s room, and told her it was sleeping medicine?”

  “That could be,�
� Sara said.

  “I don’t like the fact that Pete had a note from her,” Cinda went on. “He acted strange when I asked him about it, too... He said they were friends, but I think he was hiding something.”

  “Maybe he was uncomfortable talking about her because he wants to get to know you better,” Sara suggested. “Every guy knows that the last thing a lady wants to hear about is the other ladies in his life.”

  “Why would he want to get to know me better?” Cinda asked.

  “Come on, Cinda,” Sara said. “Give yourself some credit! Of course he wants to get to know you. You said it yourself that sparks were flying between the two of you. You’re a gorgeous single woman who is smart, kind, and talented. He’d be lucky to get to know you.”

  Cinda was silent. Rather than respond to her friend’s compliments or tell her about the kiss she and Pete had just shared, she reached for a strand of her hair and started to twirl it nervously between her fingers. “I need to forget about the sparks that flew—if there even were any,” Cinda said. “I never should have paid any attention to that in the first place. Our priority here is figuring out who killed Helena, and why. We have to help the police catch the real killer and get them behind bars so that no one else gets hurt. I think it’s time for us to talk to Chanel. What do you think?”

  “It’s probably a good idea,” Sara said. “I could pull the ‘reporter’ card again and try to pressure her into giving us some answers. Do you know what room she’s staying in?”

  Cinda consulted the list on her clipboard. “It’s got to be one of these five rooms that were occupied last night. When Lonnie gave me this list this morning, she said that three models stayed over, and I’m guessing that was Pete, Serena, and Chanel. We know she’s not in 314 because that was Evian’s room. And this one here’s Pete’s. So it’s one of these three.” She ran her finger over the three possible room numbers. “It shouldn’t take us long to find her—let’s start our search on the second floor, since that’s where two of the three rooms are located. I bet she’s getting ready for the party, just like Pete was. With any luck, we’ll catch her before she leaves to meet up with Pete, like the note in his room suggested.”