Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet (21 page)

"I hate hospitals," Bree whispers. "They remind me of death and sick people."

"Probably because there is death and sickness everywhere," I add. "What else would you expect from a place like this?"

"This is why I decided never to become a nurse." Bree clutches her purse as she hurries past each hospital room. "Bakeries are much more cheerful. You don't lose your loved ones at a place like that."

"Just your waistline," I comment.

"I'm astounded that you aren't the least bit freaked by all this." Bree stops near Presley's hospital room. We've been waiting an hour to see him post-surgery. His nurse said she expected him to make a speedy recovery, but I couldn't help but wonder if that was her actual medical opinion or if Presley was already well enough to dial up his usual charm.

"Looks can be deceiving," I remind her. "I'm always freaked out on the inside."

And what freaks me out the most is that Cherie is being treated somewhere in this very facility. After Raymond and I carried her to safety, we broke into Cherie's car and found a cell phone. The ambulance brought me here, where Bree was waiting with Detective Sugars. Apparently, the hidden surveillance files, which he should have checked for in the first place, told him everything he needed to know. Cherie kept close tabs on Lacy Leigh using Muffin as her own personal spy gadget.

"I can't believe we were employed by a murderer all this time without ever knowing it," Bree continues. "At least now I know why she always gives me the shivers. My gut instinct about people is usually right."

"What is your gut saying right now?"

Bree peers into Presley's hospital room and raises her eyebrows.

"It's saying maybe it's about time you set your sights a bit closer to home," she responds. "I'll give you two some time alone."

"You don't want to…" But I know the answer to my own question. Bree has never really been too fond of Presley. I guess she can't see the real him—the young Oregon Ducks football player who didn't need to lie to get a girl to help him.

"I'll be in the cafeteria," Bree says. "I wonder if they have any job openings."

"Very funny." I wait for Bree to stroll away before entering Presley's room alone. His room is small, and there's a bed on the other side of a curtain that's unoccupied at the moment. Presley's shoulder is bandaged, and his injured arm is resting in a sling. He pulls his eyes away from the television hanging on the wall when he sees me.

"Poppy," he says quietly, taking me back to years and years ago. "I'm glad you came."

"I guess you can say you're a legit bodyguard now," I reply. "Taking a bullet and all. Does it hurt?"

"Only when I move it." Presley grins, eagerly watching me as I move closer to his bedside. "Is Frankie okay?"

"Yes, she's fine. Just a cocktail of sleeping pills. She was lucky we found her."

"And…Cherie?" He raises his eyebrows.

"The police are taking care of her," I admit. "Magnolia Harbor will be looking for a new innkeeper, I'm afraid."

"I'm sorry I dragged you through all of this, Poppy. I really thought I was in trouble."

"Don't blame yourself," I reply. "You're the one who was shot, not me. Besides, if we had never gotten involved, an innocent man would be spending the rest of his life in jail. Our efforts weren't for nothing."

"I know…I just wish I could've done something to help Lacy Leigh. I mean, she still died on
my
watch, Poppy. I'm going to have to live with that for the rest of my life."

"Cherie made her plans, and she stuck to them," I remind him. "You wouldn't have been able to stop her. She never changes her mind about anything. Not even the dozens of cases of gooseberries she ordered last year, claiming that gooseberries were the new strawberries." I crack a smile. It feels good to see Presley back to his normal self instead of struggling to stay conscious on the floor. "I mean, have you ever tasted a gooseberry?"

"I can't say that I have," he answers.

"Exactly." I shake my head. "They're just as tart as Cherie. I should've known she had issues after that one."

"You've always been good at that." Presley's grin grows wider.

"What?"

"Finding the humor in everything," he answers.

"It makes life more tolerable sometimes." I pull up a chair and sit next to him.

"What would I ever do without you, Poppy?"

"The same thing you were doing before," I respond. "Living the dream, right?"

"I guess so." His grin fades as he glances down at his sling. "But I think I'm going to take a break for a while and head back to Oregon."

"Well, you're not much of a bodyguard with only one arm."

"Do you ever go home much?" he asks.

The last time I went home I was grilled about my relationship status—among other things. I would go home more often if my old apartment wasn't being rented. I can only survive so long at my parents' house.

"Not often, but I'll be there over the holidays," I inform him. "Hopefully, my mom's holiday party isn't a disaster again."

"Why, what happened last year?"

"I'll tell you about it sometime, but you probably need your rest so…"

"I've got all the time in the world right now," Presley insists.

I scoot my chair closer to him and catch him up on the things that went on at Calle Pastry Academy during my first semester. Naturally, that led to my experience in Paris interning at Le Croissant and meeting celebrity chef Otto Chimenti the semester after that. Presley can't hold back his laughter. But that's definitely a good thing.

*   *   *

Gator Bay has been visited by a cleaning crew, and the beach looks how it used to look before the hurricane. Minus a tall sand cliff near the shoreline. I dig my toes into the sand, staring at the back porch of the Magnolia Harbor Inn. The police have been in touch with Hattie Mae, and all of us are waiting for instructions on whether or not we should prepare to take in guests.

The waves are peaceful, which is odd considering that they were out of control not too long ago. The flag swaying in the wind means the current is weak enough for swimmers, and it doesn't take long before the sand is crowded with beach towels and umbrellas.

Bree walks toward me, hiding her face from the sun underneath a giant sunhat. Every time I ask about it, she gives me a lecture on skin disease. The humidity fills my lungs. I know I'll eventually be leaving, but I'm going to miss this place. The sunshine. The sugar sand. The townsfolk. Places like this don't exist in every city.

"She's here," Bree informs me.

"And does everyone know?"

"Gilly, Ford, Frankie, and all the others are already inside." Bree takes a deep breath. "What do you think the verdict will be?"

"Hattie Mae spent her life building this place." I admire the back porch facing the seashore and the balconies above it. Magnolia Harbor might not be as big as a luxury resort, but it isn't any less welcoming. Even when Cherie was at the front desk. The inn's Southern charm is what customers love. It's what I love.

"I guess we'll find out, won't we?" I head back inside where Gilly is still scrambling to keep the kitchen in order, despite the fact that we aren't open for business at the moment.

"Gilly, can't you do that later?" Bree says. "Hattie Mae wants to see us all in the dining room."

News about Cherie spread fast. Some were shocked, and some weren't surprised at all. Most importantly, Archy's face was beaming when he told me that Dave was released and back to running his fish 'n' chip stand.

"Yeah, yeah," he responds. "Just making sure everything is in order."

The dining room is full of whispers, and the first thing I notice is a plate of cookies on the table. They're lightly colored and rolled in sugar. Hattie Mae twiddles her fingers as she eyes them nervously. I can't tell if she's more concerned about our newfound opinions of her daughter or that her cookies turned out okay.

The room falls silent when Hattie Mae stands. She's wearing her usual skirt and matching blazer. Today her attire is lemon yellow. She steadies herself as best as she can on her own. Cherie isn't here to take her hand anymore.

"I want to thank y'all for showing up," she begins. "I've been faced with some tough decisions the past couple of days." She glances down at the plate of cookies on the table. "I've decided that Magnolia Harbor will remain closed for a while. I need more time to think things through."

"What?" Gilly gasps.

"I am truly sorry for everything," Hattie Mae responds quietly. Her Southern accent makes the news seem sweeter than it is. Hattie Mae directs her attention at Bree and me. "Really, I am. From the bottom of my heart."

"So I guess this means we're out of a job," Frankie says out loud.

"Temporarily," Hattie Mae answers. She scoots the plate of cookies toward us. "These Southern creams were my mother's recipe. She made them for me whenever I needed a little encouragement. I hope y'all will accept these as a peace offering. I know I can't erase the things my daughter did, but I hope I can start to make things right again."

I remember the first day I met Hattie Mae at a farmer's market in Georgia. She took a chance on Bree and me by hiring us based on a cupcake tasting and the student buffet I created as part of my final assessments. I do the unexpected and grab the first cookie. I know that by taking the first bite, I'll be showing the rest of the staff that I'm willing to forgive and move forward. That's always better than dwelling in the past.

"Thank you, Hattie Mae." I take a bite of her Southern creams. The soft cookie practically melts in my mouth. It's sweet with just the right amount of nuttiness. It's a lot like Hattie Mae.

"You're welcome, dear," she answers. I nudge Bree.

"Well," I announce to the room. "It looks like I'm still alive."

The silence is broken by faint laughter as the rest of the staff grab their cookies one by one. The sight of us all enjoying her mother's recipe brings a smile to her face.

"Before you all leave," Hattie Mae continues. "There's still one thing we must do first."

The Magnolia Harbor Inn looks brand new, and that's because Bree, Frankie, and I spent all day scrubbing every inch of the floors. The broken windows are fixed, and all the damage from the hurricane has been fixed. The walls are a pale ocean blue, and the white furniture in the sitting room practically glows. Hattie Mae inspects her beloved inn with a pleased look on her face.

Gilly sets up an enormous spread of food in the dining room, and Bree and I are more than delighted to display a selection of desserts. Pastries and buns of our own creation. Not to mention a creamy key lime cheesecake, which is perfect for the occasion. According to Gracie, it was Lacy Leigh's absolute favorite growing up.

Guests begin to arrive, and it doesn't take long before the inn is housing the majority of Gator Bay's residents. Some are here to pay their respects to a fallen icon, and some are just curious. Either way, Hattie Mae got what she wanted—a memorial next to Magnolia Harbor just for Lacy Leigh Nichols.

"Beautiful work, ladies." Hattie Mae approaches Bree and me after greeting most of her guests. "I will be sad to see you go, but I haven't decided if I'm going to sell or hire new management. It may take me some time. But you two are always welcome to come back and visit me."

"Thank you, Hattie Mae," Bree responds politely. "And thank you for the opportunity. Poppy and I definitely learned a lot while we were here."

"Whereabouts do you two plan on going next?" Hattie Mae asks. Bree and I glance at each other. Bree is more prepared than me. "Back east probably."

"Oh, I see." Hattie Mae looks to me next.

"Home, I guess," I reply. My answer isn't definite, but it's the first thing that comes to mind.

"You've had enough of the South, I suppose." Hattie Mae raises her eyebrows as if the thought itself was a blasphemous one.

"No, of course not," I immediately retort. "Don't worry about us, Miss Hattie Mae. We will find jobs."

"I'm not worried about the jobs," she continues. "I'm worried about the husbands. I thought that by bringing you two here, you'd be sure to find two eligible Southern gentlemen to settle down with. I suppose I've lost my touch." Hattie Mae sighs and places her hand on mine. She smiles at the two of us and slowly leaves to greet more of her guests.

"She sounds like my mother," Bree murmurs.

"Well, now we see that Hattie Mae is just as sneaky." I grin. I can't help it.

"Why does everyone I meet have to have an ulterior motive? Where are all the normal people hiding? You know, the ones who couldn't care less whether or not I have a ring on my finger." Bree crosses her arms. "If we weren't in the middle of a party to remember Lacy Leigh, I'd be in the kitchen right now. There's a brand new bag of flour in there with my name on it."

"You've got to give her props for trying," I add. "My mother's idea of setting me up is inviting my ex-boyfriend over for dinner."

"Easy for you to say," Bree responds. "We both know there's a tall, dark, and handsome Greek god waiting for you when you go home."

"Who? Presley?"

"See, I don't even have to say his name. He's already on your mind." Bree lifts her chin. Something she does when she knows she's right.

"I don't know what you're so sour about," I retaliate. "There's a special someone out there for you too. All you have to do is answer the phone."

"Jeff?" Bree wrinkles her nose, but I know that deep down she still has feelings for him. "We tried it out. It didn't work."

"Uh-huh." I turn my attention toward a new arrival walking through the lobby. "That's why he won't stop calling."

"Is that?" Bree ignores me and changes the subject. She directs her attention to the mystery guest who is almost completely unrecognizable. His face is cleanly shaven, and he's not wearing muddy overalls. He's carrying a bouquet of flowers instead of a shotgun.

"It's Raymond," I reply with a smile.

"Raymond out in public?" Bree gasps. "Now I do believe in miracles."