Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet (20 page)

His face is pale, and a stream of crimson escapes from between his fingers. He holds his shoulder tight as he stares up at the ceiling. I don't care that he lied to me. I don't care that he made a mistake and fooled around with Lacy Leigh. I just want him to live.

"I'm…I'm…" Presley tries to speak, but it proves to be difficult for him.

"Yes, what is it?" I place my hand on the side of his cheek. My eyes are welling up with tears, but I try to remain strong for him.

"I'm not a bad security guard," he struggles to respond.

My cheeks are moist, but I smile.

"You're going to be okay," I say to him. "You've been through tougher stuff than this, right?"

"Mmm…" Presley grunts his response.

"Bree, call an ambulance," I instruct her, jumping to my feet. "I don't care what you have to say to get them here quicker. Just do it." I take a deep breath and wipe the tears from my face.

"Where are you going?" Bree nervously studies me as I advance toward the exit.

"Those were
my
strawberry tartlets that killed Lacy Leigh," I reply. "I started this. I'm going to finish it."

I never thought I'd be chasing after Lacy's murderer. I also thought her killer was far from a woman like Cherie, perfectionist extraordinaire and devoted cat-lover. Cherie killed a beloved member of Gator Bay, whether or not the entire town agreed, and she put an innocent man in jail.

Someone has to stop her, and that someone isn't Detective Sugars.

I run through the inn, ignoring the mess of overturned tables and broken glass lying on the floor. Those messes are minor compared to the one ahead of me. I run outside, and the humidity hits me like a bag of flour. The sun is shining, and the birds are singing as if a violent storm never passed by.

But the streets are just as cluttered as the halls of Magnolia Harbor.

An uprooted palm tree sits on the front lawn. My eyes wander to the mess of debris, collection of sand, and puddles of rainwater all around me. Cherie's car sits out front. Wherever she ran off to, she did so on foot. I search up and down the street, but there's no sign of anyone.

A summer breeze floats across my face, and I close my eyes, listening for the clang of high heels. Cherie can't be far. I move closer to the street, hopeful that a ray of sunshine will light up her blonde locks.

Crunch!

I turn around, but I'm too late.

My world goes black.

I open my eyes to the blazing sun and the buzzing of mosquitos in my ears. I'm lying on the ground, and the sound of footsteps is coming my way. My chest pounds as my memory plays catch-up. Part of me wants to jump up and run, and part of me wants to keep playing dead in hopes that Cherie will just leave me here.

Wherever
here
is.

I carefully turn my head and spot Cherie's car. Familiar trees sway in the distance. The rich green color of them all makes me feel like I'm back at Raymond's, surrounded by luscious swamps. A wooden boardwalk on the other side of me makes me cringe.

The gator farm.

Whatever Cherie is planning, I don't want any part of it. I'm also not in the mood to run from Big Bertha or the vicious, sharp jaws of Captain Crunch. I gulp and force myself to sit up. My hands and feet are tied, but I quickly pick at the weakly tied knots. Once my feet are free, I wiggle my hands loose as best as I can.

The sound of footsteps thuds again.

I jump to my feet, facing Cherie in tennis shoes. I've never seen her wear flats before, unless it's on the beach. She scowls as she eyes the remnants of the rope I had untied. My gaze immediately focuses on the wooden boardwalk. It's either the swamps or the car.

"My secret will die with the inn," Cherie firmly states. "I don't care if I have to pick y'all off one by one."

"You're insane," I reply, inching toward Cherie's car. "And you'll never get away with all of this."

"I knew you'd be my toughest job, Poppy. You can be so stubborn sometimes."

"And you can be a real witch," I blurt out. "What are you going to do? Kill everyone who knows about Lacy's luxury resort deal? You know, Raymond was ready to sell. He was just about to sign the papers, but I guess you already knew that."

"You have
no
idea what it's like to run the most respectable inn and spa on the Gulf Coast," Cherie says through her teeth. "Gator Bay deserves better than brats like Lacy Leigh who turn their backs on their own. My mama
and
this town will thank me one day."

The more Cherie speaks, the more I see that she's made up her mind about me. She cares more about Magnolia Harbor than anything else. Even the innocent life of a pastry chef. I have to run, and I have to run fast.

I dart for Cherie's door and pull on the handle. It's locked. Cherie chuckles as I eye the wooden boardwalk ahead of me. It's my only hope. I pump my legs and sprint into gator paradise.

"We'll make it look like an accident," Cherie shouts into the wind after me. It's a wonder how she doesn't have a mouth full of mosquitoes. "You got lost, and the gators got the better of you!"

"Not this time," I mutter. I brace myself for the gap in the boardwalk. The swampy ground below is even muddier. I slow my pace, though it pains me to do it, and jump into the mud. I carefully navigate my way to the portion of boardwalk on the other side—my legs covered in mud, but the rest of me unscathed.

Cherie isn't so lucky.

Before I can turn around, the sound of her flopping straightforward blasts through my ears. Cherie is covered head to toe. She emerges from the muddy ground looking like a swamp monster, and she lets out a frustrated scream as she regains her balance.

I keep running until a field of green greets me. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not sure where I'm going. But I hope that eventually I'll lose Cherie and find the trail back home that Raymond showed me.
If only
.

Cherie screeches behind me. She's still running, even though the dirt covering her face makes her unrecognizable. My lungs start to burn, and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep my pace. I need to hide somewhere. I need to find the little, old shack that once saved me from lurking gator jaws.

The next set of trees comes into view, and I follow the same exact path I had once before. The footsteps behind me grow more and more distant. Cherie is falling behind, which means my plan might actually work. Raymond's wooden shack comes into view, but instead of seeking refuge inside, I hide behind the nearest tree. If I can get Cherie to keep moving forward, I'll be able to double back behind her.

I catch my breath and listen to the sounds of branches swaying, frogs croaking, and flies buzzing. I'm not sure what the future holds for me, but I do know that I'm ready to take charge of my life again. Maybe Bree is on to something with her aspirations of owning her own bakery? Life is too short to sit around and wonder what that might be like.

My torso tightens when I hear footsteps crunch through the swamp. I can't see Cherie, but I can hear her. She's breathing heavily, and the mud all over her clothes makes her blend in with the trees. I make out a dark figure as it comes closer and closer.

"Oh, Poppy," Cherie calls out, giving away her exact position. "Please, don't tell me you're hiding in the worst possible place?" She walks closer to the old wooden shack, and I breathe a sigh of relief that I'm not inside. "Then again, you're just as predictable as those boring cakes you and your friend make."

There's nothing boring about chocolate.

Cherie strides right up to the door and throws it open. I slink back in my hiding place to avoid being seen. I can't be sure of what she'll do next. She yells and slams the door shut. She trudges forward—giving me the perfect opportunity to go home. I wait for the dark figure that is Cherie to wander far enough away from me before stepping out into plain view.

Time to get out of here.

My heart pounds as I head back the other way, but a chilling cackle makes me cringe. I turn around and see Cherie. Somehow she's found me. Muffin is nowhere nearby, but Cherie has still managed to track my every movement.

"Bravo, Poppy." She claps as she walks closer. "You have a lot more fight in you than I expected."

"And you have a lot more crazy in you than I expected," I reply. "I hope it doesn't run in the family."

I take a step back, but she keeps moving forward. Mud covers her clothes. Her arms and legs look like they belong in the swamp, and her normally perfect 'do is covered in dirt. The lightness of Cherie's eyes contrasts with the rest of her. She glares at me, and all I can see is the fiery eyes of a killer—a woman who went as far as murder to save her mother's business.

"I guess you'll never know, will you?"

"Hattie Mae will be heartbroken when she finds out what you've done," I continue.

"Quit it with the guilt trips." Cherie attempts to wipe away the mud on her cheek, but it smears even worse. "What mama doesn't know won't hurt her. She needs someone like me looking after her."

My feet freeze in place like two gallons of vanilla ice cream. I try to keep moving, but the terror of running through gator-infested fields haunts me. Another visitor has joined our conversation, but she isn't interested in talking. It must be snack time.

Big Bertha.

I cling onto the hope that Raymond was right when he said that one of his alligators, whom he named Big Bertha for obvious reasons, was blind due to cataracts. I gulp. Cherie narrows her eyes as she studies my expression. She might be a control freak, but she can't control the actions of a gator on the hunt.

"Cherie," I say quietly. I don't want to be Big Bertha's dinner nor do I want to watch her chomp away on anyone else. Even a psycho like Cherie.

"What is it now?" she snidely replies. "Are you going to beg me to let you go? That's pathetic. Really pathetic."

"No…look behind you."

"Nice try, Poppy." Cherie places her hands on her hips. "I wasn't born yesterday."

"Cherie," I say quietly. I wave my hand, gesturing at her to slowly move forward.

"You just want me to turn around so that you can take off running or throw a rock at my head," she responds.

That's not a bad idea.

"Cherie, there's a gator," I manage to say. My legs move like jelly, but at least I move. Big Bertha stares at the two of us, staying completely still. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a very, very bad thing.

"Poppy, enough," she scolds me.

"We
are
in gator country," I remind her.

Cherie rolls her eyes, but she carefully turns her head. The expression on her face rapidly changes as she tiptoes as far from the alligator as possible. Before I know it, Cherie and I are standing side-by-side.

"This is all your fault," Cherie mutters. "If anyone is getting eaten today, it's you."

"Good thing you brought running shoes." My chest thuds so rapidly that I start to feel dizzy. I gulp down as much fresh air as I can. I'm going to need it. My only option is to run. It worked last time. Barely.

Cherie tightens her fist as if contemplating whether or not she should wrestle the gator into submission. I can't be too concerned about her. She's the Southerner, and I'm not. All I can do is sprint for my life and hope that Big Bertha's speed is worse than her vision.

I turn and dash back through the swamp. Footsteps crunch through the branches behind me. I don't want to turn around for fear that it will slow me down. A gator longer than I am charging right at me is sure to give me nightmares for years and years to come.

Bang.

I cover my ears. The sound of a gunshot echoes through the trees, and a shrill scream coming from behind me blasts through the swamp just as loud as the shot being fired. I stop running, listening to the distant cries of Cherie.

I finally turn around and see a third person in the distance. His camouflage overalls make him hard to place among the trees, but I know who it is. Raymond trudges through the mud holding a shotgun. Big Bertha is nowhere to be seen.

My hands shake as I study the scene in front of me. I cautiously approach Raymond as he stands over Cherie. Her hand is squeezing her shoulder, and even through her mud-stained clothes, I see a dark, rosy stain.

Cherie has been shot.

"Raymond!" Cherie screams at the sky.

"Sorry, miss," Raymond politely responds. "But I was aimin' for old Big Bertha. She was after ya. The both of ya."

"Well then, you're a lousy shot!" Cherie wastes all her energy shouting and swearing at him. But it doesn't take long before she's breathless and too tired to even keep her eyes open.

"She's losin' too much blood," Raymond comments. "I guess we better get her to the main road."

"You mean we have to carry her?" I ask. I glance down at Cherie as she clenches her shoulder as tight as she can, grimacing from the pain. Her eyes are glossy when she opens them, and the little skin exposed on her face seems paler than usual.

"Afraid so." Raymond shrugs.

If only he knew what Cherie had done.

I contemplate telling him, but I don't know if his reaction will mean leaving Cherie to fend for herself or finishing the job he accidentally started. Either way, it would put an innocent man behind bars. I can't let that happen to a man who's lost almost everything.

I take a deep breath and help Raymond lift Cherie. She screams in pain, reminding me of the way Presley writhed on the floor after Cherie shot him. When Cherie's voice is too hoarse to carry on screaming, she resorts to crying. Tears flow down her cheeks, but I pay no attention. I focus on the path right in front of me instead of Cherie's bloody wound.

"What goes around comes around, Cherie," I mutter.

At least Cherie still has arms and legs.

My legs feel like they're about to fall off as I walk through the halls of the only hospital in Gator Bay. The aftermath of the hurricane left lots of locals in need of medical assistance, but Bree managed to make sure Presley was the first in line.