Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet (10 page)

"I understand perfectly," she objects. "You and your cupcake buddy must be bored or something. Well, I suggest you stop pestering poor old women like Gracie and find a new hobby."

"I'm not bothering Gracie," I point out. "In fact, it seems as if she hardly ever gets visitors."

"She's incredibly gullible, and everyone knows it." Frankie continues to balance on her tiptoes. Anything to one-up me. "Lacy blamed it on the sixties."

"You're playing with fire, Frankie." My mind jumps back to all the times I've been in her situation. Lying. Sneaking around. It never made things better for me. "I know that better than anyone."

"You don't know me at all." Frankie chuckles.

"I know that someone killed Lacy, and then someone tried to kill
you
. They're probably planning their second attempt as we speak."

Frankie takes a deep breath, but remains speechless.

She knows I'm right.

The hair on the back of my neck stands straight up as the sound of jingling follows me to my bedroom. I freeze when I see Muffin watching me from afar. Bree and I returned to Magnolia Harbor Inn and Spa to find a full parking lot and a busy lobby. But reception isn't filled with more photographers—it's filled with brand new guests. One of which I heard whispering about staying in the
haunted
Lacy Leigh Nichols suite.

"There you are, girl." Cherie follows her cat down the hallway.

"Are you talking to me or Muffin?" I comment.

"Very funny." Cherie pouts her lips. "I just wanted to let you know that we'll be having a full dining room for dinner tonight, as well as a large crowd for breakfast in the morning. I need you and Bree to pull out all the stops—breads, pastries, cakes. I want our guests to have a wide variety to choose from."

"I'm surprised Detective Sugars let you reopen in the first place," I respond.

"Well, he said they found no trace of anything toxic in the kitchen." She smooths a stray strand of hair so that it lies perfectly flat. "Business is business is what I told him, and he agreed to let us open back up again."

"There's more of a crowd out there than I've seen during spring break."

"I know," Cherie replies with a smile on her face. "I mean, it's absolutely awful what happened, but business is booming because of it. Mama will be thrilled when she sees our numbers this month."

Running at full capacity might seem like a dream come true for an innkeeper, but it means that Gilly will be shouting all over the kitchen. Now is not the time to be short a chef. The three of us will be scrambling the rest of the week to fill orders, which means my investigation will have to be put on hold.

"What about the Masons and Mr. Wheeler?" I ask.

"Well, the police have requested that they stick around another week just for good measure. But after that we'll be carrying on just like normal. If we can keep this up, we might have the budget to hire another maid."

"I know that would help Frankie out."

"Speaking of which," Cherie adds. "Where is that girl?"

I shrug, although the last place I saw her was at Gracie's condo. After telling me off, the two of us joined Gracie and Bree outside for a light chitchat. Bree's face turned rosy when she saw Frankie emerge onto the patio. Frankie also made sure our conversation steered clear of Lacy Leigh or anything relating to Lacy Leigh. We ended up talking about Bree's recipe for homemade marshmallows and the proper way to treat a jellyfish sting.

"Upstairs maybe?" I lie, knowing full well that Frankie could be anywhere.

"That girl." Cherie huffs, glancing down at Muffin. I avoid making eye contact with Muffin because when I do, I get goose bumps. "See you at dinner, Poppy."

Cherie makes kissing noises as she lures Muffin away. I quickly knock on Bree's door. As soon as she got back, she claimed she needed to lie down in order to process all the sugar she had ended up eating.

"Come in," Bree says quietly. "It's unlocked." I push open the door and find her resting on her bed just like she said.

"I was just talking to Cherie," I respond.

"I heard." Bree takes a deep breath and rests her hands on her stomach. Her room is so tidy that it looks like it did the day we moved in. Rays of sunshine pour through the window and brighten up the space around her bed.

"Can you believe how quickly she opened the inn back up to the public?"

"I sure can," Bree answers. "This is Cherie we're talking about. Innkeeper of the year, remember? Any word from Presley?"

"No," I confess. My hands had quivered all the way upstairs—in an attempt to bait him for more information, I brought a tray of snacks to his room. He didn't answer the door. "He must be sleeping. Poor guy. He's had a rough couple of days."

"So have we." Bree closes her eyes.

"Yeah, and now we're stuck in the kitchen waiting for the killer to make another move," I add.

"Maybe they won't," Bree suggests. "With the police all around town asking questions, it just seems too risky."

"So was pushing Frankie into the ocean, but the killer did that anyway."

"I just hope Frankie comes to her senses," Bree says. "She's treading dangerous water right now. I guess…we kind of are too."

"Get some rest, and I'll see you in the kitchen."

I leave Bree's room as quietly as I can. My heart races as I glance down the empty hallway in front of me. I need to clear my head. Maybe I can figure out what's going on if I can just force myself to relax. I head for the beach, walking as fast as I can so as not to catch Cherie's attention.

The afternoon breeze hits my face, and it smells like ocean water. The humidity hits me like a steam shower, but I take no notice of it. I'm becoming more accustomed to it and how it makes me feel as if my makeup is dripping off of my face.

I stroll through the sand, my sandals hanging by my side. A flag waves in the distance.
Yellow
. The current is safe for swimming and just in time for the rush of new guests at Magnolia Harbor. I glance up at the top floor patio. Home to Lacy's former suite. I still can't bring myself to think about Bree's theory that Presley is responsible for Lacy's fate.

Is Presley the murderer?

Eventually the truth will come out.

Life has taught me that it always does…with some prodding.

"Why is there no pineapple in this kitchen?" Gilly slams his spatula on the counter. "I swear I ordered a pineapple!"

"What about one of these things?" Ford holds up a random piece of fruit and stares at it quizzically.

"Really, son? That's a papaya." Gilly rolls his eyes. "How am I supposed to serve coconut shrimp if there's no grilled pineapple to go with it? This is a disaster."

Gilly buries his head in hands. It's bad enough that Ford dropped the first serving tray and also handed his father sugar instead of salt accidentally. We are behind schedule, and there is a room full of first-time beachgoers waiting for their meals.

"I'll go and get one, Dad," Ford volunteers as he unties his apron.

"I don't think so." Gilly holds out his hand in protest. "You'll come back with a bushel of apples or some other nonsense. No, one of the girls will go to the mini-market down the street."

Bree's eyes go wide.

"But we still have work to do," Bree responds.

"I'll go." I nudge her shoulder. If Gilly has a breakdown, then Cherie will have a breakdown. "I won't be long."

I take off my apron and almost leave my hairnet on until I enter the main hotel and see Presley standing in the sitting room. My heart pounds, and I whip off the unflattering hairnet holding back my curls. I haven't seen him all day, and I'm not sure that I'm ready to. I walk as quickly as I can to the nearest exit, bumping into Cherie in the process.

"Poppy, what are you doing?" Cherie mutters. "Get back in the kitchen."

"Gilly needs pineapple," I respond. "My hands are tied."

"I understand." She takes a deep breath while still keeping a foolproof smile on her face. It is uncanny the way she composes herself so flawlessly, even in the face of utter ruin. "But I can't afford to let anyone leave the kitchen right now. I'll send Frankie."

"But she's serving—"

"I can deliver drinks until she's back," she continues. "I might as well have her do something useful." Her eyes dart to the sitting area where Frankie is taking cocktail orders. Cherie snaps her fingers until Frankie turns around. "Just one pineapple?"

"Better make it a whole box just to be safe," I respond.

Frankie trudges her way toward us.

"Yes," Frankie says through her teeth. She looks at me as if there's a bitter taste in her mouth.

"I need you to run down to the mini-mart and grab as many pineapples as you can carry," Cherie instructs her.

"Why can't Poppy do it?" Frankie argues.

"Because Poppy is needed in the kitchen." Cherie nods as if Frankie has already agreed. "Wait right here. I'll go grab some spare cash."

"I'm nobody's errand girl," Frankie murmurs as soon as Cherie is out of earshot.

"It wasn't my idea to send you," I inform her. "I was just about to go myself until Cherie stopped me."

"Sure." Frankie hands me her serving tray. "Why don't you serve the drinks while I'm gone. You know, since my job is so incredibly easy."

"I get that you're mad at me, but eventually you'll see that Bree and I are just trying to help," I respond.

"
Help
?" Frankie laughs, looking me up and down. "You think nosing around the hotel and bugging the locals is
helping
? You've only been making things worse."

Cherie's high heels click against the wood floor as she returns with the money. She promptly hands it to Frankie and then stares at me with a look of confusion on her face. Frankie clenches her jaw as she marches out the front door.

"Poppy, what are you still doing here? Get back to the kitchen." Cherie snags Frankie's serving tray. "I'll handle this."

Cherie smiles as she walks away to tend to her guests.

I take a moment to stare out the front door and onto the crowded street. I would rather be outside than in a hot kitchen with a crazy chef. Footsteps thudding toward me break my concentration. My torso freezes and I look ahead, expecting to see Presley. Instead, Ford comes to a sudden halt in front of me.

"Oh, good," he says, out of breath. "You're still here."

"What is it?"

"Dad needs a few more things." Ford hands me a wrinkled piece of paper with a few more ingredients scribbled on it. I skim through them.

"Peppercorns, garlic, and we're out of flour?" I narrow my eyes. Ford holds up his hands the same way Gilly does when he's frustrated.

"Don't look at me," Ford responds. "I'm not the one who used it all."

"All right." I shove the list in my pocket. "If anyone asks, I went to meet Frankie at the mini-mart."

"Got it." Ford sprints back to the kitchen, and I brave the heat.

I push my way down the sidewalk, heading to the nearest convenience store that's next to the gas station on the corner. It's a five-minute walk when the sidewalk is empty, but now is the perfect time for a stroll on the beach and pre-dinner cocktail.

I do my best to get the mini-mart as fast as I can, but I can't see Frankie anywhere. When I reach the store, a blast of air conditioning rushes over me as the bell on the door chimes. I search for the items on Gilly's list.

"So now you've come to spy on me?" a familiar voice startles me.

"Gilly needs more stuff," I respond. The mini-mart is small enough that she must have seen me come in.

"Well, it's not his fault that Cherie overloaded him with work." Frankie watches me grab a bag of flour. "Jokes on her, though, because last minute pineapples mean outrageous prices." Frankie holds up two.

"Is that all they have?"

"Beggars can't be choosers," she replies.

I join her at the register, and the total cost of everything uses up all the spare change Cherie gave to Frankie. I grab a grocery bag and jog to keep up with Frankie. I think she's trying to lose me in the crowd on purpose.

Frankie pushes past a group of giggling beachgoers and hardly thinks twice as she steps into the intersection. The light is red, and cars are stopped at the crosswalk. She sprints, forcing more distance in between us.

The revving of an engine catches my attention. My chest pounds, and my eyes dart from car to car until I realize that one in particular has decided not to stop for pedestrians. The car zooms forward, and I scream as loud as I can.

"Frankie!"

Frankie stops, glancing around the crosswalk.

I drop my grocery bag and run toward her as fast as I can.

But I'm not quick enough.

A handful of tourists begin screaming as the rogue driver enters the crosswalk and swerves. Frankie stares like a deer caught in the headlights until she's forced out of the way by the man next to her. The car swerves, almost as if it is aiming for her, but it misses by inches.

The car speeds off down the street, and a crowd of people surround Frankie on the corner. I push my way to her. She can barely talk, let alone move. I grab her hand.

"Come on," I whisper. "The shock will wear off. Excuse us. Thank you. Excuse us, please." More than anything, the two of us need some air.

"I…" Frankie opens her mouth, but she has trouble being her usual, mouthy self.

"You don't have to say anything," I respond. "Just consider yourself lucky."

She places a hand on her heart as we veer away from the busy sidewalk and closer to the shore. Luck was on her side, especially considering that no one got hurt. But my mind races as I think back to last night when Frankie was pushed into the ocean.

She's cheated death…or a madman…yet again.

Frankie's demeanor changes completely. Her expression softens as I do my best to fan her face. She looks like she did when Presley and I took her to the hospital. Her snide attitude is gone, and her eyes are heavy. Frankie glances down at the pavement.