Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet (11 page)

"Take all the time you need," I say.

She wipes the side of her cheek.

"That wasn't an accident, was it?" she quietly asks.

"No." I shake my head. "I mean, in any other situation I would say yes. But given what happened yesterday, I'm not going to pretend that car didn't swerve right at you."

"I didn't want you to be right." Frankie looks up, revealing glossy eyes and rosy cheeks. This isn't the same Frankie who steals pastries from the breakfast trays and changes her T-shirt in the middle of the kitchen. I've never seen Frankie so subdued. "All those things you said to me at Gracie's—I didn't want them to be right."

"Did you happen to see the driver?" I ask. My vision had been blocked by so many people that the only thing I remember is that the car was a black sedan.

"No." Frankie forces a swallow. "I was too busy trying to figure out what everyone was screaming about. By the time I saw the car, there was not time to do anything but jump out of the way."

"You should be proud," I respond.

"Poppy." She turns to me. "I just want this all to stop. I want things to go back to normal."

"They will eventually." But the only way for my words to come true is for the killer to finally be put behind bars.

"Why me?" Frankie rubs the side of her cheek. "I don't get it. Sure, Lacy could be a bit of a brat sometimes. Why Lacy, and why me?"

"Frankie, I want to help." Time is ticking away, and Gilly's ingredients are lying on the sidewalk waiting to be collected. But now is my chance. "I want to figure out what's going on just as much as you do."

"Fine." She sighs. "I'll tell you what you want to know, but you have to promise to keep me in the loop. Last night. Tonight. I'm scared to wake up in the morning."

"As soon as we get back to Magnolia Harbor, we'll call Detective Sugars and tell him what happened. Maybe they'll be able to find video of it?"

"Okay," she agrees.

"And don't worry about Cherie," I add. "I can always spill flour in the dining room or something to distract her for a while. I'm sure she's mad enough that we're not back already."

"Now that is something I have to see." Frankie half smiles—pulling through the shock and getting back to being her old self.

"It's your turn," I respond. "There's no better time than now."

The sky is changing above our heads as the day comes to a close. Birds fly from street sign to street, and the ocean breeze calms the two of us as we sit near the beach letting time pass us by. My stomach leaps in anticipation. Finally, I am getting somewhere.

"Lacy Leigh." Frankie looks up at the sky—her palms pressed together. "Forgive me, girl, but I'm not ready to join you just yet."

"Go on."

"I hadn't spoken to Lacy Leigh since high school," Frankie begins. "I don't think anyone around here had, except her Aunt Gracie. But when Lacy first came back into town, I couldn't resist trying to see her again. We were really good friends. We always talked about being college roomies. Of course, she went off to L.A. and I…didn't."

"It happens," I confess. "I have a good friend from high school too. Her name's Evie. The last time I saw her, I was destroying my mother's tofurkey at my family's holiday party."

"Where are you from again?" Frankie raises her eyebrows as though she's unsure whether she should laugh or offer her sympathy.

"That doesn't matter."

"Well, I did get in touch with Lacy," Frankie continues. "We talked, and after a couple of days, it was like she had never left. But…I don't know. I think fame changed her. She had her moments. Moments when the diva within would burst out."

"So did she ever tell you why she came home?"

"She said it was part of her healing process," Frankie answers. "I guess she had some things in her past that she wanted to make peace with."

"Understandable."

"But," Frankie replies. "After a while, I got the feeling that wasn't true at all. She asked me lots of really weird questions."

"What about?" I ask, listening intently.

"Questions about the shops in town and tourist season. She also asked me if Magnolia Harbor really was the nicest hotel in town."

"If she was that unsatisfied with her stay, she should have just bought a place," I mutter.

"Anyway." Frankie takes a deep breath to keep herself calm. "The last time she was here, she blew me off a couple of times saying that she was caught up at Gracie's. I went to Gracie's, and…"

"She had lied to you?" I guess.

"She was never at Gracie's," Frankie goes on. "Gracie said that she only stopped in to borrow her car and change clothes."

"Did you confront her about it?

"I did the night before she died." Frankie sighs, biting the corner of her lip. "She said that she was planning something big. Something that would put Gator Bay on the map, but she wouldn't say what. She just swore me to secrecy and assured me that I would be proud of her."

"I see."

"There," she responds. "That's everything. I'm sure you understand now why I'm so confused."

"Presley mentioned a stalker," I add. "Did Lacy Leigh have a stalker?"

"She got
creep mail
all the time." Frankie rubs her eyes and stands up to leave. "I assumed that sort of stuff was normal. You know, normal for someone famous."

"What about someone local?"

"Benny," she mutters without thinking twice.

"Who?"

"Well, he was sort of her stalker in high school." Frankie twirls a strand of hair as she studies the evening sky. "Oh, that's right. I heard you paid a little visit to Millie at the bakery. Benny is Millie's older brother. He was the reason Millie and Lacy Leigh fought so much."

"Is he still around?"

"Oh, yeah," Frankie answers. "You know him, in fact."

"I do?" I pause, thinking back to everyone I've met in this town since I got here. I don't know anyone named Benny.

"Yeah." Frankie laughs to lighten the mood. "He goes by Dave now. I think it's his middle name."

"The Dave who runs Amberjack's?"

"That's the guy," Frankie confirms.

*   *   *

"Where on earth have you been?" Bree dabs a bead of sweat from her forehead. But as soon as she does, another one forms in its stead. "The croissant dough needs to be rolled some more if it's going to be ready in the morning."

"Served my coconut shrimp without pineapple," Gilly complains, shaking his head. "Do you know how silly that makes me look?"

"I'm sorry Gilly, but—"

"Save it," Gilly responds—his spatula tightly gripped in one hand. "Next time, I'll send Ford. At least he won't come back with ripped bags and bruised produce." Gilly tosses his apron on the counter. "My work here tonight is done."

Gilly storms out of the kitchen followed by Ford. Bree exhales loudly, taking a moment to compose herself before she continues icing one of tonight's dessert options. I wash my hands and jump right in to help her. My heart is racing, and the moment when I saw a car speeding towards Frankie is playing out in my head like a movie.

"Bree," I say quietly. "You'll never guess what happened."

"You and Presley made out?" She continues mixing her frosting, hardly making eye contact.

"No," I answer. "Frankie almost got killed."

Bree immediately sets down her spatula and stares at me intensely.

"Tell me everything."

"Cherie sent Frankie to get the pineapples, but then Ford came running with extra ingredients—"

"Yes, I know that part," she informs me. "Get to the good stuff."

"We're walking back from the mini-mart," I continue. "Frankie walks ahead of me, and then all of a sudden this car goes speeding through the red light and right into the crosswalk." I take a minute to catch my breath, realizing that I'm speaking much faster than I normally do. "A bunch of people screamed. I yelled at Frankie to look out, but then the car swerves and comes right at her."

"Do you think it was an accident?" Bree asks.

"Not after what happened last night," I respond. "I mean, the car turned and drove right at her. She was lucky that she jumped out of the way in time."

"I just got chills," Bree admits.

"I'm not even finished yet." I scan the kitchen again to make sure it's still empty. Voices and laughter float in from the dining room. The main floor was just as crowded when Frankie and I got back as it had been when we left. Frankie resumed her role as server for the evening, and I went straight back to the kitchen, managing to avoid Cherie on my way.

"You saw the driver," Bree chimes in.

"No." I hang my head. "I wish I had, but now that Frankie is spooked, she told me a few things. One being that Lacy Leigh was definitely up to something, and it was something big."

"Let me guess." Bree resumes her dessert duties. "You don't know what it is."

"Frankie doesn't either," I point out. "I asked her about a stalker too, and do you know what Frankie told me?"

"The same old line about Millie from the bakery?" Bree rolls her eyes. "That bit of info turned out to be useless."

"No, Millie was just defending her big brother."

"So Presley was telling the truth?" Bree stops what she's doing.

"Remember Dave from Amberjack's?" I ask her. "He's our guy."

Wednesday morning comes in a flash, and I find myself back in the kitchen after my morning walk. The beach was crowded this morning. Lots of early sunbathers were wandering through the sand claiming their spots for the day, and Magnolia Harbor is the place to be. The dining room is the noisiest it has ever been, and non-guest visitors are lining up in reception trying to snag a place setting for tonight's dinner.

Hattie Mae might have to consider building an extension to the inn or booking out the staff bedrooms.

"Poppy, you have a visitor," Ford announces throughout the kitchen.

A figure stands in the doorway, and when I look up my stomach churns. The nightmares haven't stopped. Last night I dreamt that Detective Sugars barged in while I was whisking a lemon custard and hauled me off to jail for the murder of Lacy Leigh Nichols. Also, my custard broke.

"Presley." I gulp. I can't look him in the eyes without Bree's words of warning running through my head.
He's not a killer. He's Presley
. "I'm kind of busy right now."

"This will only take a second," he solemnly replies. Bree nudges me as I step into the hallway.

Instinctively, I whip off my hairnet and lick my lips to make them look shinier. Presley is dressed in his usual work attire—a fitted suit and the complementing physique to match. His hair is gelled, even though the humidity will sweat the product straight from his head, and his top button is fastened, though the heat is sure to give him sweat stains if he goes outside.

"I tried to talk to you yesterday," I mention.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes. "I've been off and on the phone with my boss. He's waiting on the okay from the police department to let me leave the area."

"So this is good-bye?" A part of my heart sinks.

"Not yet." Presley grins, looking me up and down. "But I've been doing some thinking about what you said on the dinner cruise. There are some things I want to tell you."

"Please, don't tell me a black sedan tried to run you over too," I blurt out.

"Huh?" He pauses.

"Never mind," I quickly add in.

"Poppy, are you free tonight?"

"Not during dinner," I respond. "Gilly needs all the help he can get right now, and that's still not enough."

"What about lunch?" he asks.

"I guess I can sneak away in the afternoon, but only for an hour."

"Great." He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. My feet freeze in place. I don't know if a kiss on the cheek from him is a good thing or a bad thing. "I'll see you later."

*   *   *

The lines at the Steam Room are so long that people are sitting outside in the summer heat. Gator Bay's most popular restaurant is situated close to the highway. It's the first thing tourists see when heading south towards the beach.

"They should call it the Sauna Room," I say quietly, glancing at the sign. It's accompanied by a cartoonish, smiling crawfish.

"I called ahead." Presley takes my hand and leads me through the line of people. He gives his name to the hostess, and multiple people shoot us dirty looks as we're seated right away.

The tables are lined with newspaper, and antique fishing equipment is mounted on the wall. I take a seat across from Presley, glad that I wore shorts instead of something more date-like. Fans are on full blast, but the heat from the kitchen slips out into the dining room.

"I love that smell," Presley comments, looking through his menu. "Don't you?"

"The smell of mud bugs." I do my best to hold my tongue. I wish crawfish boils smell as nice as they taste. "Who wouldn't like that smell."

"I'm tempted to order everything on the menu." Presley rereads his options again. If he does order everything on the menu, I doubt he would need a to-go box.

"I'm not that hungry," I confess. The thought that Presley is lying to me makes me lose my appetite.

"I could ask for a dessert menu if you would prefer that instead."

"No thanks," I reply, pushing my menu away. "I think I'm just too antsy."

"What about?"

"Um. Everything." I fold my arms. "Aren't you?"

Presley finally puts his menu aside and studies my expression.

"Yeah, of course I am," he answers. "Why do you think I've been treating every meal as if it were my last?"

I can't help but crack a smile. Our waitress approaches, and Presley orders our drinks along with a steam barrel for two. In Presley's case, it's probably the right amount of food for one. I remind myself that this may be my last chance at finding out what Presley is really hiding. Food is the last thing on my mind.

"So why don't we jump right in," I begin. "What was it that you wanted to tell me?"

"I might've remembered something that might be useful," he answers. "A phone call Lacy took while I was in the room."