Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet (6 page)

"Okay," I mutter.

"Welcome back," Bree responds more cheerily than usual. "Now we don't have to scramble to fix dinner."

"I hear you two stirred up trouble in town today," Gilly comments.

"What do you mean?" I casually peek at the cupcakes rising in the oven.

"I mean you can't just go around asking all sorts of questions, Poppy. It makes you look guilty."

"So does running off after an interview," I point out.

"I have my reasons," Gilly snidely responds. He snatches his recipe book, taking back his domain. "And what are you up to?" Gilly watches as Bree tastes a bit of her banana buttercream.

"Just a little side project," Bree responds. "I won't get in your way."

"In the meantime, Poppy, you should get started on dessert. I think a chess pie would complement my supper nicely." Gilly begins gathering ingredients.

I go into taste-tester mode and join Bree as she licks another spoonful of frosting. The melt-in-your-mouth sweetness of fluffy buttercream is enough to help me forget about the crazy day I've had. A faint jingle down the hall ends my moment of relaxation as soon as it begins.

Muffin.

Muffin enters the kitchen followed by Cherie. She grins when she sees Gilly hard at work.

"Glad to have you back," Cherie says, clasping her hands behind her back. "Mama will be relieved."

"Any news on the investigation?" I ask.

"None yet," she responds. Though if Cherie does know something, I doubt I'll be the first person she shares it with. "No one has officially said what happened to Lacy Leigh. They're still waiting on some tests."

"I'm sure it was just an unfortunate accident," Gilly adds. "You know, drugs or maybe even alcohol?"

"None that she acquired here." Cherie pressed her lips together—her eyes narrow. "I've assured the detective in charge as well as the press that Magnolia Harbor Inn and Spa had
nothing
to do with this." Cherie exhales loudly, observing the work going on at Bree's station. "And if you see Frankie, tell her the downstairs bathroom needs restocking."

"She was here this morning," I point out.

"Well, she's run off again." Cherie shakes her head. "I don't know why I haven't fired her already."

"Probably because finding decent help in these parts is difficult enough." Gilly holds a stern expression.

"Oh, don't get your berries in a twist," Cherie bites back. "I'm not really going to fire her. Mama wouldn't allow it. If you see her, send her straight to me."

Cherie calls to Muffin as she turns to leave.

"We've got to talk to Frankie," I whisper. "Her name keeps coming up, and why has she never mentioned that she and Lacy were BFs?"

"You'll have to find her first," Bree whispers back. "And good luck with that."

"Do you think she knows what happened to Lacy?" I sample another spoonful of banana buttercream. Bree shrugs.

"Only time will tell."

*   *   *

I toss and turn before a strange noise wakes me up. I open my eyes to a darkened bedroom. My covers are up to my neck, and I'm sweaty in places I shouldn't be sweaty in. I slowly sit up and glance around my bedroom. It looks just as I remember. My suitcase is open in the corner. Even though I've been here for a while, I still haven't fully unpacked. A gust of wind makes the window creak. The noise that pulled me from dreamland.

I lie back down and close my eyes again, but my thoughts won't give me a break. All I can think about is Lacy and the look on Presley's face when he barged into her hotel room.
What killed Lacy, and was Presley really meant to be the one lifeless on the floor?
I hope that Presley is just being paranoid himself, but the more I let my mind wander the more I think that he may be right.
Darn
.

Another creak grabs my attention, startling my heart rate. I gulp as I sit up, realizing that the noise came from outside my door.
Someone is out of bed
. I stare at my doorknob, terrified that it will twist open like the opening scene in some sort of horror movie.
Maybe it's just Muffin?

Creak.

Like a frightened mouse, I tiptoe to my door and press my ear against the thick wood.

Creak.

The noise sounds even more distant this time. No jingle. No pitter-patter of tiny paws.
It can't be Muffin.

I take a deep breath and cautiously open my bedroom door. The hallway is dark and eerily silent. My imagination runs wild, and all at once, I quietly knock on Bree's door.

"Bree," I whisper into the creepy silence. "Bree, are you awake?"

Creak.

My heart pounds, and my palms feel cool and clammy.

"Bree," I say through my teeth.

Bang!

The sudden noise makes me jump, even though it seems to be coming from the other end of the house. I race to find its source. With fists balled up tightly and jaw clenched, I inch closer and closer to the kitchen.
Who would be in the kitchen at this hour?

My curiosity gets the better of me, and I peer inside. A mess of flour is all over the counters. The oven is on, and the table in the corner is covered with rows and rows of…cupcakes.

Bree glances up in a panic as she retrieves a fallen bowl of chocolate frosting.

"Poppy," she blurts out. "This isn't what it looks like."

I stare at her. Speechless.

I haven't seen her like this since pastry school. There were nights when she would be up for hours baking and recipe testing just to calm her nerves. One time in particular she went wild with an armload of wild pecans. She made everything from pralines to tassies to sandies.

"Really," I finally respond. "Because it looks to me like you've finally cracked."

"What do you mean?" Bree attempts to hide the dozens of cupcakes she's produced throughout the night by standing in front of them. It doesn't work.

"I mean you're back to nervous baking." I place my hands on my hips. "I thought you said you'd kicked that habit—no problem."

"Oh, you try replacing butter and sugar with…seashells." Bree rubs her forehead. There are bags under her eyes the size of miniature doughnuts. "Poppy, I know you love it here, but…"

"I know," I confess. "You're ready to move on to something else."

"The beach is beautiful, and the pay is nice." Bree sighs. "But I miss having my own place, and I miss…" She sniffles. "I miss the cupcake shop." A tear trickles down her cheek. It's just like Bree to have a breakdown over something like cake. Or her high school crush, Todd.

"I understand." I smile.

"So you aren't mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" I ask.

"Because I've been applying to other jobs without telling you, and I think I might have found one," she replies. "It's back east. Closer to home for me."

"Oh." I do my best to keep a smile on my face, but imagining working this kitchen without her is like giving up coffee cold turkey. It seems impossible.

"I haven't accepted the position yet," she clarifies. "But…now you know."

To deal with the turmoil in my chest, I grab the cupcake nearest to me—chocolate on chocolate. I take a bite, hoping that the rush of sugar will help me think of what to say next. Maybe Bree is right. Maybe we've overstayed our welcome at Magnolia Harbor, and it's time to move on.

"I've thought about moving back west," I say in between chews. "But I'm so used to the South."

"I know what you mean." Bree joins me and grabs a chocolate cupcake of her own. "I would stay if there wasn't already a bakery in town."

"What if I worked on a cruise ship?" I suggest.

"Now there's an idea."

"You're right, though. As usual." I dab a smear of frosting from my cheek. "I can't imagine living under Cherie's watch for the rest of the year." I glance at the cupcake. "Is there coffee in this?"

Bree's eyes light up as she nods.

"The palate of a true pastry chef," she comments.

"Now I'll never be able to go back to sleep."

A massive display of cupcakes is sitting on the dining room table. Everything from peaches and cream to old-fashioned caramel were placed on porcelain cake platters, and it looks as if the inn is hosting a wedding. Or one very large baby shower full of hungry, pregnant women.

A smile is on my face as I enter the kitchen. Bree and I stayed up most of the night discussing our futures.
Her
future plans and my
lack of
future plans. In the meantime, we tried coming up with explanations for Cherie as to why the inn is filled with enough cupcakes to feed the entire police force. The best we came up with was sleep-baking. Much like sleepwalking.

"Has she said anything yet?" I ready myself for a busy morning, expecting that Cherie will want to suck up to Detective Sugars by serving him a hardy breakfast.

"Nope." As usual, Bree is the first one in the kitchen, and she's beaming. She looks more like she did the first couple of months in Gator Bay.

"Twenty bucks she tries to take the cost of supplies out of your salary."

"I wouldn't put it past her," Bree mutters.

Gilly enters the kitchen with his son, Ford. Ford wastes no time snagging a cupcake and taking a huge bite. Gilly shakes his head, most likely in disapproval of his son's poor breakfast choices.

"Did I miss the memo?" Gilly asks. "Is there some sort of event going on here today?"

"Just the usual," I respond.

"Hmmm." Gilly shoots a stern look in my direction. The same sort of look he gives to Ford when he drags his surfboard inside.

Footsteps thud through the hallway. Lots of footsteps. I glance at Bree.

"She's sending a whole army after you," I tease her.

But it isn't Cherie who enters the room. Detective Sugars eyes every counter and every bare surface as he makes his presence known. A team of officers are behind him, and the sight of them makes my stomach churn like I downed a glass of expired milk.

Oh, no.

"I'm sorry to do this folks, but there will be no cooking going on in here today." Detective Sugars walks past me and to the window.

"What?" Gilly protests. "But we still have guests to serve."

"Not until this kitchen is searched for traces of harmful substances," the detective replies. "All of you need to clear out."

"So…" My throat is tight. I can hardly say the words that are on my mind. There is only one explanation for the sudden intrusion, and it involves my strawberry tartlets. "So…"

"I'll need to speak again with each one of you," Detective Sugars continues.

"So it's true then," I stammer.

"Yes, I'm afraid that it is." Detective Sugars hangs his head.

"Wait a minute," Gilly cuts in. "What are you two talking about? What's true?"

"We've received preliminary reports supporting the theory that Miss Nichols did not take her own life. No, it seems that she was poisoned."

I force myself to take a deep breath.

This is bad news. Very, very bad news.

"In my kitchen?" The tone of Gilly's voice goes up a notch. "Impossible."

"Nothing is impossible, sir," Detective Sugars replies. "Those are the facts."

"Well, it couldn't have been
my
cooking," Gilly points out.

"You all had access to the strawberry dessert that was delivered to her room," the detective replies.

I avoid making eye contact. My stomach can't take it. My head feels like it's been shoved in an oven, and I lean against a counter in order to stay standing. My worst nightmare has come true. Again.

I am now a prime suspect in a murder investigation.

*   *   *

"Don't panic," Bree says as she straightens up my room. Another habit she has a hard time avoiding.

"I'm not panicking," I respond, out of breath. "What makes you think I'm panicking?"

"You're twitching." Bree raises her eyebrows. "And you haven't been able to sit still all morning."

"Blame it on those chocolate cupcakes you just
had
to infuse with fresh coffee." I take a deep breath, but Bree is right. My chest hasn't stopped pounding since sitting down with Detective Sugars and explaining again that I didn't poison my strawberry tartlets. Who knows if he even believes me.

"You didn't eat one this morning," she adds. "I know you're worried, but I have just as much of a chance as you of getting into trouble."

"I don't get it." I wave my hands in the air and finally plop onto my mattress. "Who would want to kill Presley? Why here? Why now?"

"So you believe his theory that the poison was meant for him?"

"It makes sense," I answer. "Don't you think?"

"Yes," she admits. "I guess I just don't want to admit it. You know what this means, don't you?"

"Presley is in trouble?" I take a shot at guessing, but I have no idea what she's getting at.

"No," she huffs. "Presley is hiding something. I don't think he's the guy that you think he is."

"Oh, come on." It's hard for me to look at Presley and see someone other than the man I met in college all those years ago. He still acted and spoke the same. He even looked as if he was still just a twenty-year-old football player. "What could he possibly be hiding?"

"Something worth dying for is my guess." Bree sighs. "Why else would anyone bother sneaking into the kitchen and poisoning his strawberry tartlets? Whoever did it had to know that he can't resist food of any kind."

"I asked him if he was into something shady," I comment.

"Like he's going to tell you the truth. You were practically children last time you saw each other."

"Are you sure this has nothing to do with the fact that he said you were on a diet?" I ask.

"No," she immediately responds.

"So…" I gulp. If Presley is hiding something, then I have to figure out what it is. It's the only way to make sense of everything that has happened, not to mention keep me from being hauled off to jail. "What now?"

Bree's nervous expression settles into a mischievous look. We can't bake until the police are through in the kitchen, and we can't leave town. Bree's next best option has to be sleuthing, something that will either save us or lead us to quicksand. Judging by the events of yesterday, digging up secrets in this town won't be easy.