Reid, Alex, Charles, and Hugh entered the lobby to a highly exclusive hotel on a remote island. "This place sure is swanky," Charles said as he looked up to the hand-painted domed ceiling.
"And you stick out like a sore thumb in that Hawaiian shirt," Alex ribbed.
"What? I'm wearing my island attire," he said, brushing down the front of his shirt.
A man with a stern face approached them at a swift pace. "Please forgive me for not meeting you at the door, but I am afraid I am unable to admit you."
"Excuse me?" Reid asked with a questioning expression.
"Yes, this is not an available hotel for people of your…"
"Breeding?" Hugh chimed in. "Class? Distinction? People, who ooze an air of sophistication out of every pore?"
He flashed them a mousy grin. "Unfortunately, we do not have any availability."
"Well, then, you have nothing to worry about. We weren't here to book a room," Reid said and started walking past.
The man rushed to catch up and moved in front of Reid. "Sir, I must stop you from going any further."
"Why is that?" Reid asked.
"Because I do not have you people registered with us, and therefore you are not allowed on property."
Reid turned to face the others. "They do not have us registered."
"Wow," Charles exclaimed as he began to clap. "You are a mind reader? That's amazing. Can you tell me what I'm thinking right now?"
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"And I'm going to have to ask you to check your tone," Reid said. "Hawthorne is expecting us."
"That's impossible," he said condescendingly. "Mr. Hawthorn doesn't allow anyone to see him."
Alex retrieved her phone from her back pocket. She dialed with it on speakerphone.
"Alex, darling. Any trouble locating the massive pretentious resort?" Hawthorne asked.
"No trouble at all. Getting past the gatekeeper is a bit of a hassle."
"Dare I inquire if it is Ferdinand and his arrogant mustache?"
Alex raised her eyes to see Ferdinand control a sneer, then she looked back to her phone. "Yes, he said that you never have guests and tried to escort us off property."
"Allow me," Hawthorne said.
Alex held out the phone toward Ferdinand.
"Please direct my guests to my villa."
"Mr. Hawthorn–"
"My name is Hawthorne, with an 'e' please make sure you are pronouncing it correctly." He said with the exact same pronunciation then ended the call.
Ferdinand looked at Alex with an open mouth.
"And his villa is…?"
"Right this way," Ferdinand held out his hand, defeated.
A short, older Hispanic man stepped out from the entrance of Hawthorne's villa. "Please come this way." He turned around and pushed open the door.
The quartet followed and were asked to wait in the middle of the large foyer with a giant crystal chandelier hanging above them.
"So, do you think this thing will come crashing down at some point?" Charles asked.
"Just be on the lookout to receive notes from a phantom," Hugh whispered just as Hawthorne appeared at the top of the stairs.
Hawthorne floated down the staircase as they hugged the curve of the oval room. "Well, if it isn't Alfalfa and the rest of Our Gang. I do trust your trip wasn't too arduous. Especially having to deal directly with Ferdinand. He is just an obsequious ingratiate."
"We would like to thank you again for seeing us on such short notice," Reid said, stepping forward.
Hawthorne raised his hand. "Please, do not mention it. You Little Rascals always hold a special place in my heart. Well, most of you," he gave a look to Charles. "But don't worry, I don't hold grudges for long. Come, let us sit, have some lemonade, and then you can tell me why you need my help."
Hawthorne led them into a large sitting room. Dark rattan furniture with white cushions filled the room, and large palmed plants were placed in every corner. Hawthorne stood in front of the window and pushed open the plantation shutters. "We need a little breeze in here." He then sat down and crossed his leg, and motioned for the others to join him.
Charles seated himself next to Hugh on the sofa and whispered, "it's like the Golden Girls decorated this place."
"Before we begin, let's have some refreshments, shall we?" Hawthorne stated. "Alejandro! Some Lemonade, please!"
A few moments later, the man who greeted them at the door pushed a rolling cart into the room with a large pitcher of lemonade. He began pouring the glasses then handed them out one-by-one beginning with Hawthorne.
Hawthorne took a long drink then let out an audible, "ahhhhh."
Alex took a drink then thrashed her face in shock. "Wow! So, how many bottles of vodka does it take to make lemonade?"
The three others looked to her then to the glasses with raised eyebrows as they were being served.
"I find that pesky business is always more effectively dealt with when you get just a little bit tipsy," Hawthorne said, and he took another long drink. "So, where do we begin?"
Reid sipped the lemonade then cleared his throat. "Well, I guess everything started a few years ago when Harris Knight escaped from prison." He summed up the events that led them on their journey.
"And you, young Charles, have been in hiding for years because someone in the CIA tried to kill you?" Hawthorne asked.
"That's our assumption. It at least has to be someone with high connections in the CIA to know the location of my safehouse and to be able to kill the agents who were there to protect me," Charles explained.
"I assume that you have narrowed down your suspect pool," Hawthorne said.
"Yes," Alex said and nodded at Hugh. He reached down into the bag he had brought with him and pulled out a stack of manila folders.
Hawthorne glanced at the stack in front of him and nodded to himself. "Nine? These are all the possibilities you have narrowed it down to, correct?"
"Yes," Alex confirmed.
Hathorne opened the first folder and glanced at the picture clipped on the inside of the jacket. He then lifted some of the papers and skimmed through the information. He then put it in a new pile on the right.
He repeated the same with each folder, then putting in a pile either on the left or the right. He was down to the last one and picked it up. The Rascals became visibly tense as he read over that folder. Hawthorne nodded to himself then put the folder on top of the pile on the left.
"That's the one that has my vote," Charles said, pointing to the last folder.
"This one?" Hawthorne asked.
"Yes," Charles confirmed.
"Oh. This is the 'didn't do it' pile," Hawthorne said matter-of-factly.
"What are you talking about?" Charles stood up from his seat. "That's Kiefer! She has done everything in her power to get in our way to solve this!"
"Did she?" Hawthorne asked with a condescending tone.
"It really does look that way," Alex confirmed.
Hathorne leaned back in his chair and crossed his leg. "I will be the first person to admit when I am wrong. However, I am not wrong in this. You came to me because you are stuck and need my assistance." He reached over for his glass and drained it. "Spencer, darling," he said, turning to Reid. "In your work with the BAU, if you visit a new jurisdiction and every local LEO is telling you they know who the perpetrator is, what would your Special Agent Hotchner say?"
"That we would need to follow the profile," Reid replied.
"Exactly," Hawthorne pointed to Reid while still holding his empty glass. "Kiefer didn't do it and has no part in it. But someone in this pile did." He pushed the pile on the right forward.
Alex picked up the folders and glanced at the names. "So, where do we go from here?"
"Thank you, of course, for helping to narrow it down," Hugh started. "However, without your reasoning behind why you made those choices, we are still stuck, but just with a smaller pool."
"Well, as much as this mochaccino man would love to solve this for you. I am afraid I cannot." Hawthorne touched his fingertips together. "I can, however, provide you with a plan that will help you suss out your mystery culprit."
A few hours later Hawthorne was kissing them goodbye at the door. "And remember to take care of that baby."
Alex and Reid looked to each other then at Hawthorne. "How did you—"
"Please," Hawthorne said, "you should know by now that you can't keep secrets from me. Good luck."
