Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet (17 page)

"Did she seem stressed about anything?" I ask.

"Of course she was stressed." Raymond practically barks his answer. "She's Lacy Leigh Nichols. Comes with the territory."

"And you two were just catching up?" I make the assumption, knowing that it has to be false.

"We were at first," he admits. "But then…" Raymond scratches the back of his head. I can't help but wonder when the last time was that he washed it. It seems to be caked in dirt just as much as his denim. "Lacy Leigh said she had something else to discuss with me."

"What did she say?" I urge him on.

"It don't matter now anyway. She's gone."

"It matters to us," Frankie adds. "Please, Raymond. I think it's fair to say that we almost died in search of this information. You've got to give us something."

"Big Bertha is blind," Raymond replies. "The cataracts did her in. She goes by her sense of smell."

"She still has teeth, doesn't she?" Frankie snidely responds.

Oddly enough, her forthcoming attitude is enough to get Raymond to answer.

"Lacy Leigh wanted to buy my land," Raymond confesses.

"Any idea why?" My mind carries me from the rickety old shack to the swamp and back to the alligator watering hole.
What would Lacy do with a place like this?

"Yeah," Raymond says quietly. "She was about to do something that would change this town completely."

"The first time Lacy Leigh returned to Gator Bay was to make me an offer I couldn't refuse," Raymond explains. "I said no at first on account of that my gators would have to be relocated somewhere else. But Lacy Leigh kept comin' back."

"That makes sense," I say quietly, remembering the hassle we all went through to prepare for each and every one of her arrivals.

"This last time she came, I finally agreed." Raymond sighs. "She had the papers all ready for me to sign and everything. But Saturday came and she never showed up. I guess our deal is off. Maybe that's what's best for old Big Bertha and Captain Crunch. They ain't got much time left anyway."

"What was Lacy going to do with your land?" I boldly ask. "It's mostly swamp, isn't it?"

"The parts you've seen." Raymond glances out the window. I'm too anxious to look along with him for fear that I'll see two giant alligators waiting on the porch. I don't know how Raymond sleeps at night. "What folks don't see is the stretch of land on the other side of the lake. It's prime real estate."

"Prime enough for what?" Frankie crosses her arms like she's growing impatient. All of us are, but at the moment I don't mind. Because as soon as we're finished here, we'll have to find our way back.
I don't even want to think about that
.

"A luxury resort," Raymond finally answers. "Lacy Leigh wanted to put Gator Bay on the map. A fancy hotel. A spa. One of them fancy golf courses. She said she'd attract VIPs from all over the country."

"What?" Frankie's eyes go wide.

At first thought, a luxury resort built by the famous country singer Lacy Leigh Nichols doesn't sound like a bad thing for the residents of Gator Bay. It would mean more tourists. With more tourists comes more profit. Unless these
big spenders
never left their suites.

"You heard me right," Raymond responds.

"A luxury resort?" Frankie repeats. "
That's
what this is all about?
That's
what Lacy Leigh was so excited to tell me about?" She jumps to her feet, and Raymond instinctively grabs his gun a little tighter. "Now I understand why she wouldn't give any details. She knows something like this will ruin our town."

"Frankie," I say quietly. But Frankie doesn't calm down.

"The mom-and-pop stores around here won't be able to keep up. Tourists will flock to the resort instead of buying and eating locally. Not to mention, there aren't enough people even living in Gator Bay to staff a place like that."

"Sorry, darlin'." Raymond shrugs. "I needed the money. After the accident with Captain Crunch, I closed the farm and spent years chasing the drink. I'm proud to say that I've pulled myself out of my slump, but my debts still need settlin'."

"Who else knows about this?" Frankie continues.

"No one in town but me," he confirms. "Lacy Leigh said she wanted everything to be made official before her big reveal."

"Probably because half the town would have broken out in protests," Frankie mutters. "That's what happened in Seagull Cove after a big chain restaurant came in and stole all the local business. Almost every restaurant in Seagull Cove closed down that summer. Gator Bay can't afford to have an all-inclusive resort right around the corner."

Frankie storms out onto the front porch. Raymond stands up and shakes his head. Bree gasps as I stand up too and prepare to leave. She must be thinking the same thing I am. How do we get back to Presley's car in one piece?

"I'll escort you," Raymond volunteers, grabbing his cooler of raw meat. "There's a quicker path back to the main road. I'll show you just like I showed Lacy Leigh."

"Thank you," I say. A look of surprise crosses Raymond's face. He pauses, and almost reveals a half smile. "I really am sorry about your niece."

"I always wished I would've known her better." Raymond glances down at his muddy boots. They track mud through the house as he retreats to a small cupboard in his kitchen. He tilts his head for me to follow.

Raymond's kitchen is just as bare as his living room. One pot and one pan hang from a rack next to the window overlooking the swamp. A dirty coffee cup is in the sink, and an empty can of baked beans is on the counter.

Raymond pulls something from his cupboard—a stack of CDs, all by Lacy Leigh Nichols. He sets them down on the table and grabs a stack of magazines and newspapers—all ones in which Lacy had appeared on the cover.

"So you're a fan," I comment.

"I always have been," Raymond answers. "This is the only reason I ever make it into town anymore. I remember when Lacy Leigh was just a little thing. She always loved to sing." He clears his throat, and for a minute, I see a glint of pain in his eyes. "She was so young and so full of hopes and dreams."

"I'm sure she knows how proud you are of her." I do my best to comfort him. After all, I might be the only one he's spoken to about Lacy Leigh since she died.

"I hope you're right, darlin'," he agrees. "I hope you're right."

*   *   *

The sky is even grayer when we return to Magnolia Harbor. Raymond's path through the swamps was much quicker, and we arrived in the parking lot without having to brave the mud beneath the boardwalk. Bree counted her steps the entire time. She said it was her way of keeping herself distracted. Otherwise, she'd have had another panic if a tree branch so much as moved. Luckily our trip back was a gator free one.

"Cherie is going to fire us all if we leave any traces of mud in the lobby," Bree announces. The four of us assess the damage. All of us are covered in mud.

"We'll use the side door," I suggest. "Frankie, you can use my shower."

"What about me?" Presley responds. The thought of him sharing my shower makes my cheeks go warm, but I quickly force myself to laugh it off.

"Right," I answer. "Cherie has probably given your room away by now."

"I guess you ladies have no choice but to share your accommodations." Presley grins as he struts through the side entrance first. Bree rolls her eyes.

The hallway leading to our bedrooms is empty. It's also strangely silent. I focus on keeping the floors clean and not much else. Presley heads straight for my room, and Frankie raises her eyebrows.

"You can use my shower first," Bree volunteers. She opens her bedroom door, letting Frankie inside to clean herself up.

"I'll be quick." Frankie shuts her bathroom door, and I stall for time instead of going to my room.

"We're alive," Bree says out loud. "That's the good news."

"Do you really think no one in town knew about Lacy's secret project?" I whisper. "That resort is the perfect motive if you ask me."

"So you're backing away from the Presley theory?" Bree asks.

"I'm keeping all of my options open." I fold my arms, thinking about the solemn look on Raymond's face when he had shown me his collection of Lacy Leigh memorabilia.

"I guess Raymond could've been lying?" Bree hit the side of her as if trying to smack a mosquito. "Sorry, I can still hear all that buzzing in my ears. This is why I was built for the kitchen, not the bayou."

"I don't think Raymond was lying," I respond. "What does he have to gain from lying, and he obviously feels terrible about what happened to Lacy. He was also kind enough to show us out."

"I think he lied." Bree shakes her head. "Big Bertha isn't blind. She came right at me. I'm going to have nightmares about that trip."

"Think about it," I go on. "With Lacy gone, the resort thing won't happen. What if the killer never made a mistake? What if Lacy Leigh really was the target?"

"What about the room swap?" Bree points out. "That's the real reason we've been so stuck all this time. We just can't be sure if the strawberry tartlets were meant for Lacy or Presley. Besides, who would really stand to gain anything from Lacy's death? Every local business in town would be a suspect."

A faint jingling from down the hall pulls us from our conversation. Bree and I lock eyes as we peek out the door. Just as suspected, Muffin is trotting towards us. Bree rolls her eyes again, glancing down at the mud on her feet.

High heels clanging on the wood floor follows. Cherie speed walks towards us, and Bree attempts to keep her bottom half hidden behind her door frame. The look of distress on Cherie's face means that she's not here for a friendly chat about tonight's dinner menu.

"There you two are," Cherie says. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Here we are," Bree responds cheerily. "Sorry if we're a little late, but—"

"Haven't you seen the news?" Cherie butts in. "Half the town has emptied out by now."

"Uh…" Bree bites the side of her lip.

"A hurricane is supposed to be headed our way," she informs us. "An evacuation order has been sent out. All of our guests have gone to a storm shelter. This is terrible for business, I know."

"How long do we have?" I ask.

"I never know with these things." Cherie huffs. "Half the time the storm turns out to be nothing. But safety first, I guess. You'll know something real is coming when you hear the sirens."

"Where is Hattie Mae?" Bree questions her.

"She went to stay with a cousin." Cherie taps her heel. "Come on, you two need to get moving and get out of here. Obviously dinner is cancelled."

"
Obviously
," I mutter.

As soon as Cherie turns to leave, Muffin follows her. I wait until the sound of her heels is a distant echo. Bree nudges me—her eyes as wide as sugary beignets. She takes a deep breath.

"What if it was Cherie?" Bree whispers.

"Are you insane? She wouldn't risk going to jail and losing her job as innkeeper."

"Lacy's luxury resort had the potential to shut this place down," Bree reiterates. "It's possible."

"But Cherie wasn't even here the night Lacy Leigh was poisoned," I add. "I think we would've remembered. The last time she stayed the night, she checked on us like five-year-olds. She even had the nerve to announce that lights-out was at nine o'clock, remember?"

"I guess so." Bree's eyes dart down the hallway and back again. "But just to be sure…"

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" I raise my eyebrows.

"Are you thinking that we should have a look around her office as soon as she leaves?"

"The bayou has changed you, Bree."

"Why not?" she insists. "If anything, it'll put our minds at ease."

"If we get caught, we'll probably be fired," I reply. "Are you sure you're okay with that?"

Bree takes a moment to think through her proposal. If she's right, then breaking into Cherie's office would be like finding a pot of gold. The killer's pot of gold. But if we're wrong? Then the consequences won't be as sweet as frosting.

"Let's do it," Bree answers. "I mean, it's not like we're taking another trip through the bayou. I doubt we'll find anything more dangerous than a pack of hungry alligators."

I wait impatiently for Presley to finish showering. He's taking longer than I expect, or maybe I'm just paranoid? There was a time when I'd be thrilled to have him in my bedroom, but I can't forget his confession at the Steam House.

"Hey, you got any bigger towels?" Presley opens the door with nothing but my towel wrapped around his waist. It leaves little to the imagination, but Presley doesn't seem embarrassed.

"Will you hurry up?" I respond. "There's a nasty storm headed our way. We're not even supposed to be here anymore." Presley glances out my bedroom window.

"Those dinky little clouds?" he comments. "Talk to me when it actually starts raining."

"When it starts raining, it might be too late." I glance at the time, hoping that Cherie has already left the hotel. Presley shuts the bathroom door before reemerging in seconds, fully dressed. He rubs his hair dry as he studies me.

"What is it?" he asks. "Is your blood still pumping from all of those gators? I know mine is."

"Not exactly," I quietly respond.

After a light knock on my door, Bree pokes her head in. She opens her mouth to say something, but stops herself when she spots Presley staring back at her. Bree clears her throat.

"Um," Bree begins. "I'm going to go check on…things. I'll be back in five with an update." Bree quietly shuts the door, and I grab a clean set of clothes to change into.

"I don't get it," Presley says out loud. "What is she checking on?"

"A ride," I lie.

"I can drive us." Presley stares at me quizzically. He knows I'm lying to him, and I hate it. Only because I don't seem to know when he's lying to me.

"Great." I grab my clothes and lock myself in the bathroom. My heart races as I try to clear my head. It's pointless. All I can think about is Raymond's gator farm and Lacy Leigh's secret resort.