Chương 4 - The Loading Dock
The concrete basement corridors were a labyrinth of exposed pipes, electrical conduits, and industrial laundry carts. The distant, heavy bass of the wedding band vibrated through the floorboards above, a cruel reminder of the party continuing without me. My left leg dragged slightly, the numbness having settled permanently into my calf, but adrenaline kept me moving. I clutched the brass key in one hand and gathered the heavy fabric of my wedding gown in the other, my silk heels clicking frantically against the concrete.
According to the hotel layout I remembered from the catering walkthrough months ago, the service stairs led directly to the central loading dock and the staff waste-management corridor. If Eleanor had used a vial, she would have needed to dispose of it quickly before returning to the ballroom to mingle with the guests. She wouldn't risk carrying empty evidence back to her seat.
As I rounded a corner near the linen sorting room, a young man in a gray catering vest was wheeling a tall metal rack of soiled tablecloths toward the back exit.
"Excuse me," I breathed out, stepping out from the shadows.
The worker jumped, nearly dropping his clipboard. He stared at me with wide, disbelieving eyes—a bride in a ruined, dirt-stained sheer lace gown standing alone in the service basement. "Ma'am? Are you lost? The reception is upstairs—"
"Did an elderly woman come down here?" I interrupted, grabbing the edge of his cart to steady myself. "Gray hair in a bun, dark navy lace dress. Did she come through here?"
The worker blinked, taking a step back from my intense, feverish gaze. "Uh—yeah. About fifteen minutes ago. She asked where the recycling bins were for glass breakages. Seemed real particular about it, too. Said she accidentally dropped a small perfume bottle or something."
"Which bin?" I demanded, my voice dropping an octave, carrying a desperate authority that made him hesitate only a second before pointing toward the far corner of the loading bay.
May you like
"The green metal one by the service bay doors. Why? What's going on?"
I didn't answer him. I turned and sprinted toward the green bin, ignoring the sharp pain in my hip. The loading bay doors were propped open to let in the cool night air, casting long stripes of moonlight across the concrete. I reached the bin, throwing off the heavy rubber lid. Inside, amidst crushed cardboard boxes and empty wine bottles, sat a small, clear glass vial with a dropper cap, the exact match of the one I had seen Eleanor open during the toast. With two fingers, holding my breath, I reached down and lifted it out.
