Mr. Mysterious: A Mister Standalone (The Mister Series Book 4) (32 page)

I stop and watch them for a moment, wondering if I should join them or go grab the envelope first. They are smiling and joking, our problems temporarily forgotten. So I opt for plan B and head down the hallway towards where I think the kitchen is. I know there are two of them, the main one used for the restaurant and bar orders, and the catering kitchen used as spillover for the private parties.

The main kitchen is still working, but it’s slow. I keep going until I’m in front of the stainless-steel double doors that lead to the catering kitchen and know that no one is in there, because there’s two little windows and both are dark.

I glance over my shoulder, just to see if anyone is looking. All clear. So I push my way through.

Inside there’s a little bit of light coming from various outlets that have some kind of nightlight hooked up to them, but other than that, it’s pretty dark. Which is perfect, since the last thing I need is for someone to see me get that envelope before I have a chance to read it.

I stop and look around, trying to orient myself and figure out where I was standing earlier, my eyes adjusting to the dark. The way the dim, blue lights make the stainless tables glow as I make my way down the aisle towards the back of the room.

This one, I decide, looking at the table in front of me with pots and pans hanging from a rack above it. This was where I was standing.

I bend down and start feeling on the floor for the envelope.

Nothing!

Jesus Christ, what if they really did throw it away? Like the kitchen staff found it? Or what if Pax got here first?

I stand up and a shadowy figure is standing on the other side of the room. I squint my eyes, trying to make out who it is. “Pax?”

A sharp pain shoots up my neck, my hand going there instinctively, only to find a small, needle-like spike sticking out of my skin. “What the hell—” I pull it out and throw it on the ground, and then gasp when the shadowy figure starts moving towards me.

“Who are you? Pax?” My heart is beating abnormally fast all of a sudden. “Pax?” My vision starts to go blurry as it gets closer. I back up, but hit the stove, and just stand there like I’m paralyzed.

“What’s—”

But I know. I don’t even need to ask.

I’ve been drugged.

I turn around, try to take a few steps, stumble, and have to use the stove to hold myself up.

When I look behind me, the figure is only a few steps away.

“Not Paxton,” the figure says. “Fortunately.”

“Who are you?” I squint my eyes. But no matter how hard I try, I cannot make out the form. It’s not until it’s almost upon me that I realize it’s not some shadowy figure. It’s a woman in a long, silver robe with a hood over her head.

“I would hate to kill him before we had to,” she says as I slump down to the floor, unable to move.

“What—”
did you do?
But the last part of my sentence doesn’t happen anywhere but in my own mind. I cannot talk. I slump down, and the last thing I feel is a few strands of hair being tugged from my head as they catch on the stove on my way down.

I cannot move.

“We like him, Cinderella Shrike. We approve of him, so very good job, young lady. Thank you for being so cooperative.”

And then everything goes black.

Chapter Thirty-Four - Paxton

“Ten thirty,” I say, checking my watch. “Cindy might be up now.”

“Good,” Oliver says, taking his shot at the pool game we’re playing. “We need to figure this shit out.” He stops talking to watch the seven ball go into the side pocket and then straightens up and looks me in the eye. “Tonight, if she can find that envelope again.”

“I hope we were just looking in the wrong place and it’s still there.”

Oliver looks around the room, frowning. This place is so busy tonight. Three hundred guests. The resort is totally full to capacity. Apparently Nolan’s sister, Claudette, booked this event months ago, long before all that shit with Nolan went down back east and she disappeared. “This whole thing gives me the creeps.”

“I agree.” It’s a Zeta Phi Beta sorority reunion and after everything my mother told Cindy and I out at Del Mar, it’s just…
weird
.

“Let’s go get her and get to the bottom of this silver envelope thing.”

We set our sticks back into the rack and then push our way through the people, out of the bar, then outside and have to practically fight our way through the people at the pool.

The quiet of the path that leads to the private family bungalows is a relief. And it’s a welcome sight to see everyone is still up so we can get all this shit out in the open and put our collective heads together.

The secrets need to be over now. Oliver is willing to talk about what happened to him That Night and I for one, cannot wait to hear it. Then we’re going to give everyone else a chance to come clean with any other secrets so we can put this bullshit behind us.

As a team.

Fuck this silence. There is a time and a place for that, but it’s long past now.

“Hey,” Ariel says, coming up to us as we come into view from the path. She stops talking, then squints her eyes, looking past us. “Where’s Cindy?”

“Still sleeping, I think.”

“No,” Ariel says. “She got up like ten minutes ago and left to look for you guys.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Ariel? You don’t let her go off by herself at a time like this!”

“She was not friendly, Oliver. She basically told me to fuck off and mind my own business.”

“So?” Oliver grabs his hair with both hands and turns to look at me.

“It’s fine,” I say. “She’s fine. Come on, I think she probably went to get that envelope.”

“I knew that envelope meant something! That little shit lied to me!”

Oliver and I start walking, but Ariel jogs to catch up and says, “I’m coming too. I told her to go look for you guys in the bar.”

“Well, there were a shitload of people in the bar, but we didn’t see her. If she just left, we might’ve crossed paths in the crowd of people.” I say the words, but I have this really sick feeling in my gut. And when no one agrees with me, the feeling grows.

We push our way back into the crowd at the pool, then fight our way back to the bar. “You go check in there, Ariel,” Oliver says. “We’ll go look in the kitchen. We’ll meet right here in five minutes. Do not,” he says, stressing the words, “go anywhere else. Just wait for us. Even if she’s not in there.”

“Got it,” Ariel says. And takes off.

“Do you think she’ll listen?” I ask.

“No,” Oliver says. “Do you think my sisters ever do what they’re told?”

We have a small laugh at that. But we stop quick enough when we get to the dark kitchen and find it empty.

“Where’s the goddamned lights in here?” I ask.

“I don’t fucking know,” Oliver says. Probably some master switch. “But she’s not here, so let’s go back to find Ariel. Maybe she was in the bar after all.”

I don’t move.

“Come on,” Oliver says, grabbing my arm.

“You go meet Ariel.”

“What the fuck, Pax?”

“I just don’t want to miss her. What if—”

“What if
what
?” I can hear the fear in his voice all of a sudden. And I feel the same way.

“I think we need to search, that’s all.” I look at him in the glow of light flowing up from the outlets on the wall. “She could be here, right under our noses, and we’d miss it.” I know I’m implying she’s hurt, but I do this for a living. I fix shit. And when you’re fixing shit, you don’t skip the details. “We need to search.”

We spend whole minutes looking for the lights, and when Oliver finally finds the switch, hidden behind a rack of stainless steel bowls, and the whole room is illuminated, we have to concede, she is not here.

“That’s good,” Oliver says. “Now let’s go meet Ariel.”

But I stand in place, just looking around. “I can smell her,” I say. “She was here.”

“You cannot
smell her
, asshole.”

“No, listen. She smells like a bakery, Oliver. Some perfume or lotion she uses. She smells like a bakery. And I can smell it right
now
. She was in here. Very recently.”

“So maybe she left. And went to the bar. And she and Ariel are waiting for us in the lobby?”

“Go then,” I say. “Go meet them if you think that’s the case.” I stare at him, his blue eyes nearing panic. “But I don’t think she is. We need to look around.”

Oliver looks longingly at the door and I can practically read his mind.

He wants that possibility to be true.

But it isn’t.

And when he looks back at me, we both know it for sure.

“Footprints,” I say. “She has those cute boots on. Look for a scuff on the floor or—”

“What the fuck is this?”

“What?” I say, making my way around a table to where he’s bending down. He stands back up grasping something very small and thin in between his fingers. He holds it up and the light glints off the slender piece of silver.

“A needle?” I ask. “Give me that.” I hold out my hand and Oliver drops it into my palm. “There’s blood on the tip.”

“Dude—” Oliver says.

“Don’t,” I say sternly—I’ve found enough bad evidence in my day as a fixer to know what’s coming next from him—“panic.”

“Someone
drugged
her,” Oliver says, talking very fast. “She came in here looking for that envelope, bent down right here, where we’re standing, and then stood up, and someone fucking drugged her. And then she pulled it out, threw it down…”

“There’s a scuff mark,” I say, pointing to the floor. “Look. Her boots.”

“What’s that?” Oliver asks, pointing to the stove.

I bend down and see a piece of long, blonde hair stuck in a red stove knob. I pull it free and hold it up in the light.

“Jesus fuck,” Oliver says. “Someone fucking took her.”

Chapter Thirty-Five - Cindy

My eyes flutter uncontrollably, and all I can think about is how weird I feel. What the hell… A clinking of glass in ice, very close to my face—so close I can feel the coldness on my cheek.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” a woman says. She’s very close too. “I do apologize for our methods. It’s always uncomfortable when you bring someone new into the fold. We can’t avoid it, or we would, I promise. This will pass in a few seconds. The drug is reversed very quickly.”

She’s right. From the start of her sentence to the final word, everything goes from slow and sluggish to crisp and clear.

I try to lift my head and see who is talking, but a shooting pain makes me cry out.

“The headache and muscle control takes a little longer. It’s just a precaution. So you can sit still and listen as your future is explained.”

“What… the fuck—”

“Oh, now.” The woman laughs. “We don’t use words like that in this organization, Cinderella. And that name of yours, I’m sorry, it’s going to have to be changed. You’re OK with Cynthia, though? Right?”

Chapter Thirty-Six - Paxton