Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet (9 page)

"No, but I can prove that he's innocent by finding out who the
real
killer is." I take a deep breath to calm my nerves, grabbing my coffee. Bree lets out a sigh of relief. Leaving my coffee behind is a sure sign that I'm pissed at her.

"Lead the way, Sherlock," Bree jokes.

"Well, since the kitchen is closed, we have all day. I think we should pay Aunt Gracie a little visit."

After a quick visit to Amberjack's, Bree and I stop at a building facing the shoreline. Lacy Leigh's aunt lives in a beachfront condo not too far from town. My stomach does somersaults as we ride the elevator to the top floor and search for number 1004.

"Over there." Bree points to our destination. "Do you want me to do the talking?"

"Let's make sure we have our story straight," I respond. "Chances are Gracie will shoo us away if she thinks we're reporters, and I doubt she would believe us if we say we work for the police department."

"So what do you suggest?" Bree tilts her head, observing the wreath made of seashells on Gracie's front door.

"Frankie and Lacy Leigh seem to have had a good relationship, right?"

"As far as we can tell," Bree answers.

"What if we say we're friends of Frankie's looking for something that Lacy Leigh…borrowed?" I shrug. "It's worth a try."

"It all depends on what sort of woman we're dealing with." Bree takes a step closer to condo number 1004. "My guess is that she's a go-with-the-flow type of person." She gently touches a shell hanging from Gracie's wreath.

"Why don't you start of by asking her where to find a butterscotch Lucy," I suggest.

"It's called a
buttercup lucine
, and they're harder to find than you think."

Bree lightly knocks and takes a step back. We glance at each other and nod.

"Here goes nothing," I mutter.

The door opens, and a woman studies the two of us with a puzzled look on her face. Her hair is the same firecracker-red shade as Lacy Leigh's, and true to Bree's prediction, Gracie is wearing a whimsical beach dress. Actually, it looks more like a swimsuit cover-up than a dress.

"Can I help you?" The tone of her voice matches her carefree appearance.

"Hi, I'm Bree." Bree steps forward. "I just love the wreath on your door."

"Oh, thank you, honey." Gracie smiles. "I made it myself using my own collection of seashells."

I nudge Bree's shoulder. Gracie and Bree have something in common, and although Bree hasn't been a shell collector for long, I know she takes some pleasure in it. Not as much as she does when she bakes, but Gracie doesn't need to know that.

"Your name is Gracie, right?" Bree continues.

"That depends on who's asking."

"We're friends of Frankie's," I chime in. "Hi, I'm Poppy."

"Poppy," Gracie repeats. "Hmmm. If I ever had a daughter, I would have liked to name her Poppy. Please, come in."

Bree and I enter Gracie's condo. We follow her down a long, tiled hallway, passing two bedrooms and a bathroom. The main living area faces the beach. Wide double doors lead out onto a spacious patio that Gracie has decorated with plants and a table and chairs. Aqua waves roll in the distance, and the view is one that would distract me every morning from being to work on time.

"Wow," I say quietly. "This is beautiful."

"Most of my neighbors don't live here year round, but I can never tear myself away," Gracie admits. "Not even in the winter. Now what can I do for you ladies?"

"Well…" Bree looks at me.

"We're friends of Frankie's," I respond.

"You've already said that." Gracie crosses her arms.

"Right." I do my best to smile politely. "We were just hoping…"

"We came to offer our condolences," Bree intervenes.

Gracie takes a deep breath and looks down at her bare feet. When she looks up again, her eyes are glossy. I remind myself why I'm here. I have a killer to catch. Finding out what happened to Lacy Leigh is my only ticket to peace of mind.

"I appreciate that," Gracie responds, "but I've had plenty of people at my door the past couple of days asking about my niece."

"I didn't mean to offend you," Bree goes on. "We're not looking for a story or an inside or anything like that. Honest."

"Where are you girls from?" Gracie narrows her eyes. "You don't sound like you're from around here."

"We work at Magnolia Harbor," I respond.

"Oh." Gracie takes a step back—a friendly expression returning to her face. "Oh, I see. Well, bless your little hearts. You two must be exhausted what with all the media that's been hounding poor old Hattie Mae."

"Frankie tells us that she and Lacy were good friends," I say quietly.

"Oh, that they were." Gracie nods slowly—her gaze drifting out the window. "They spent a lot of time together when they were young. But, of course, as soon as Lacy Leigh left town, I didn't see much of Frankie anymore."

"So sorry to ask," Bree continues, "but did you find anything of Lacy's that didn't belong?"

"Oh, is
that
what this all about?" Gracie chuckles to herself. "Why didn't you say so? You can tell Frankie that she's welcome to stop by and look for anything she might be missing anytime."

"Um, we'll pass on the message," Bree says slowly. She glances at me.

"Tell her she doesn't need to send strangers," Gracie explains. "If Lacy took something of hers, I won't be offended if she comes around asking for it back. Even given the circumstances."

"So…you haven't found anything?" Bree clarifies.

"I kept a room here for Lacy, but she only used it once. I haven't gone through any of her things." Gracie retreats to the kitchen, which overlooks the family room. She takes out a serving tray and three glasses.

"Was that the last time you saw her?" I throw the question out there, unsure how long we would be allowed to stay.

"I saw her the day before she died." Gracie sighs, filling a clear pitcher with ice. "But she only stopped in for a few minutes."

I twiddle my fingers. Her information doesn't align with Presley's, who claimed that Lacy Leigh spent the day with her aunt. If Lacy wasn't here on Friday, then where had she been? I watch as Gracie lifts her serving tray and heads for the patio.

"Will you open the door for me, dear?"

 Bree rushes to her assistance. The humidity hits me as soon as she opens the door. The waves crash in the distance, birds chirp as they soar through the breeze, and I'm grateful to have shade and something cool to drink.

"Thank you." Bree sits at the table first, admiring the view.

"It's nice to have normal visitors for a change," Gracie admits. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all." Bree grins as she pours us all a drink.

"You wouldn't believe how many reporters I've had at my door, not to mention the entire police department." Gracie puts her feet up on the railing. "I've practically been out here all weekend. It's the only thing that keeps my mind from turning to puddin'. I assume it's the same over at Magnolia Harbor. How is Hattie Mae and that daughter of hers?"

"Stressed," I respond. "The phone never stops ringing, and the press would take over the entire hotel if it weren't for Cherie baring her fangs once in a while."

"Oh, my." Gracie chuckles and takes a sip of her drink. I give mine a little taste. It's fruity. It's fizzy. It tastes a lot like summer in a glass.

"Gracie, what is this called?" I ask.

"Let me guess," she responds. "You two were expecting sweet tea? I have some if you would prefer it."

"No, this is perfect," Bree comments.

"It's called a southern breeze," she says cheerily. "I thought it up myself. Well…the non-alcoholic version." She pushes forward a plate of red, square bars that look like red velvet brownies. "Here. I made these this morning."

"Is that red velvet?" Bree asks. Being more of an expert on the subject than anyone else I know, Bree studies the closest bar to her. In pastry school, Bree made a red velvet cake from scratch that tasted like a slice of chocolaty heaven on a plate. It was her own family recipe.

"I call them my Roll Tide red velvet bars," Gracie answers. "My very own specialty. Lacy loved them. She never could say no to sweets."

"I really am sorry about what happened," I respond, taking a nibble of one of her red velvet bars.

"I practically raised that girl." Gracie sets her drink down and gazes at the picturesque sky. It's a clear day, and the sun is shining like a clump of gold above our heads. "I just wish I could've spent more time with her. I mean, the last time we spoke was only for a few minutes."

"Some memories are better than none," I point out.

"That is true." Gracie dabs the corner of her eye. "But I should've asked her to stay for lunch or something. Maybe things would have ended differently."

"Gracie, you can't blame yourself for anything that's happened," Bree chimes in. "You had no way of knowing what would happen the next day."

"I knew she was up to something." Gracie sniffles. "Instead of letting her borrow my car again, I should have put a stop to it." Gracie wipes a tear from her cheek and sits up straight. She grabs her glass and gulps down a good amount of her southern breeze concoction.

"Where was she going?" I ask.

"Oh, I don't know exactly." Gracie grabs a red velvet bar and hastily takes a bite. "But I have my suspicions." She talks as she chews.

"Have you told the police?" Bree responds, eagerly leaning forward.

"You mean Detective Sugars and his men." Gracie takes another bite. "Oh, I know Detective Sugars, all right. He lived around here back in the day."

"So we've heard," I mutter.

"Well, I made the mistake of dating him." She shakes her head. "Just thinking about it now gives me the shivers." She quickly swallows and places the rest of her dessert on the table. "To be honest with you girls, it feels good to get this off of my chest. And I don't have many people I can talk to right now. Lacy was my only family." She tilts her head. "Well…apart from Raymond."

"Raymond?" I reply.

"Yes, he's my brother, but he's a bit funny in the head." She rolls her eyes. "He owns a gator farm just outside of town. It was open to the public once upon a time until the…
incident
."

"When was the last time you spoke with him?" Bree asks casually.

"A long time ago. I've always said he shouldn't be allowed wild animals in his condition, but no one listens to me." Gracie places a hand on her chest. "Bless his heart. You know, there was something that he and Lacy Leigh did have in common. The both of them track mud through the house."

"Do you think he knows about Lacy?" I ask.

"No idea." Gracie sighs. "I don't even think he owns a television. Of course, I assume he might read the paper. And I'm sure he's scared off a good amount of journalists." She glances at her pitcher, realizing it's close to being empty. "Oh, goodness, I should get us all a refill. It's amazing how much of this stuff I can go through in one summer."

"I'll help you," I volunteer. I open the door for her, letting Gracie carry her refreshment tray back to the kitchen. A gentle knock on the door startles her. She chuckles as she excuses herself.

I glance around the family room. It's filled with beige furniture and beachy décor. Another piece of artwork made up of seashells is mounted on the wall, and a picture of Lacy Leigh at the Grammys is sitting on Gracie's coffee table.

"Perfect timing," Gracie's voice travels through the long hallway. "I was just having a chat with some of your friends."

My heart practically stops when Frankie enters the kitchen. Her eyes go wide, and she clenches her jaw as she studies me. Frankie hesitates to take a step closer, but Gracie is oblivious to her hostile body language. She continues mixing more of her favorite summertime drink.

"Hello, Frankie." I gulp.

"Poppy," she quietly answers. "What are you doing here?"

"That's funny. I was going to ask you the same question."

"Do you ladies want more bars?" Gracie cuts in. "Because I can always make more."

"I'm okay," Frankie says first, forcing a fake smile.

"Me too." I keep my eyes fixed on her, wondering what she'll say next.

"Gracie, is it okay if I grab something from Lacy's room?" Frankie smiles wider when she looks at her.

"Of course." Gracie nods. "The police have already searched it all. In fact, your friends here were just inquiring about something you lost."

"Just a T-shirt I lent to Lacy once," Frankie answers. "Normally, I wouldn't bother, but I would like to keep it as a memento."

"I understand, honey." Gracie readies her serving tray for another trip outside.

"Poppy," Frankie mutters. "Why don't you join me?"

My stomach curls as I reluctantly follow Frankie into Lacy's old room. It looks similar to the rest of the condo. Most of all, it looks like no one has lived in this room for years. The walls and dresser are spotless, and plain white bedding looks as if it has never been slept on. Frankie quickly shuts the door behind me and folds her arms. A disappointed look spreads across her face.

"What do you think you're doing?" she scolds me. "When I said you might as well pump Gracie for information, I didn't mean it literally."

"Frankie—"

"You have five minutes to get out of here," she continues. "Gracie is fragile enough, and she doesn't need people like you taking advantage."

"I'm not taking advantage," I argue. "I'm…investigating. I don't think you get it. I'm in a hole here just like everyone back at the hotel. If I don't do something about it, I could be serving time for a crime I didn't commit."

"Let the police do their jobs, and quit butting into people's business." Frankie takes a step closer. She isn't taller than me, but she stands on her tiptoes as discreetly as she can.

"Tell me what Lacy was up to the day before she died, and I'll leave."

"What do you mean?" Frankie blurts out.

"So you do know what Lacy was doing?" I conclude. The forced look of bewilderment on her face gives it away. "Frankie, I don't think you understand. I might be able to help."