Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet (5 page)

"Well, I don't know about that," I respond. "The police are keeping a lid on everything they find. Actually, Archy, maybe you can help me?"

"I can certainly try." He smiles, showing off a chipped tooth. He shoves a piece of fish in his mouth as he listens.

"You've lived here a while," I begin.

"All my life." Archy and Dave chuckle.

"So you knew Lacy Leigh Nichols before she was famous, right?"

"Better than a frog knows his lily pad," Archy answers. "Poor girl lost her mama when she was a teenager. Her Aunt Gracie did all the parentin'."

"She must have had tons of friends." I nod when Dave asks the three of us if we want a basket of fish and chips.

"Eh." Archy pauses and scratches the side of his scruffy cheek. "A couple, maybe. I can't remember the names of them."

"Do you know of anyone in town who might've wanted to hurt her?" Presley chimes in. His voice overtakes the conversation, making Archy think twice about his answer. He clears his throat before letting out a wheezy cackle.

"Are you askin'
me
if I know who killed the poor girl? I didn't even know she was murdered. The rumor round town is drugs or whatnot." Archy shakes his head and shoves another chunk of fish into his mouth. "Sorry, I can't help you."

"There must be someone she had a spat with," I go on. "Come on, Archy. You can't sit there and tell me that she had zero enemies. She up and left Gator Bay, got famous, and then never came back until recently."

"Well…" Archy wrinkles his nose as he stops mid-chew to think through his answer. "I reckon that Millie Lepkins wasn't very fond of her." Dave places a basket of fish and chips on the counter. I slide it to Bree.

"Oh, yeah." Dave chuckles. "Millie and Lacy Leigh were a hot topic back in high school. I think they might've fought once."

"Hey, that's right." Archy lets out another cackle. "Little Millie works down at the bakery now."

"Good to know," I respond.

The three of us eat our lunch as a fan rotates back and forth in front of our faces. Tourists laugh and giggle around us, but the three of us are lost in thought. Archy finishes his free meal and nudges my shoulder as he starts his journey back to the beach.

"Eh, that's the one." Archy tightens his grip on his fishing pole.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Lacy Leigh's best friend," he continues. "I remember her name now. It was Frankie…something."

I wipe the sweat from my brow as the three of us walk to the Gator Bay Bakery. A glorious smell emerges as a customer holds the door open for us on his way out. I breathe in the scent of fresh-baked goods, a smell I know all too well.

Bree's face lights up as she approaches the counter. Her eyes are as wide as two mini cupcakes as she studies each sugary dessert behind the glass. A variety of cupcakes are displayed near the register, and my stomach rumbles just looking at them.

"When was the last time you made cupcakes?" I comment. "Such a simple dessert. It's only cake and a dollop of frosting on top, but it tastes like so much more than that."

"Cherie is all about fancy delicacies." Bree shrugs. "Oh, those key lime pie cupcakes remind me of the ones I used to make back in Connecticut."

"You should try one," I respond.

"Nah." She hangs her head. The fact that she's no longer the assistant head baker at a little cake shop near the coast is starting to get to her. Bree pretends she doesn't care, but I see the look in her eyes whenever we pass the bakery on our days off. She misses it. A lot.

"One key lime pie cupcake, please," Presley says loudly. A woman greets him from behind the counter and begins preparing his order.

"Anything else?" The woman has short, frizzy hair that's pinned back with a colorful assortment of hair clips.

"Yeah," Presley continues. "One banana pudding cupcake, one coconut cream, and throw in one of those chocolate raspberry cupcakes as well."

"All for you?" Bree criticizes him.

"Believe it or not, I know how to share." Presley pulls out his wallet as the woman behind the counter rings up his total. "By the way, is Millie in today?"

The woman pauses—eyes darting from one corner of the room to another.

"What do you want with Millie?" the woman asks, handing Presley his box of cupcakes.

"We just stopped in to say hi," Presley answers.
Hi, and a whole lot of other things
. "She is in today, right?"

"Who are you people?" The woman looks me up and down as if the mere sight of me offends her.

"I told you," Presley repeats. "We're friends."

"I think you should leave." The woman's expression darkens as she gestures towards the exit.

"Hey, Millie," another woman says as she emerges from the back room. "Am I supposed to re-order those paper cups or the foam ones? I forgot again." Millie's co-worker stares at her with a vacant expression.

"Millie?" Presley says out loud.

Millie puffs out her chest. She glances at her co-worker and glimpses outside. Without another word, she sprints for the door—smacking the glass on her way out. Presley and I lock eyes, unsure what to do next. My chest pounds, and Bree snatches Presley's box of cupcakes.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Bree practically shouts.

Presley chases after Millie as Bree and I follow him outside. But Millie is halfway down the block. She runs so fast that I can barely see the top of her head bouncing through the crowd. Presley races after her, heading towards the beach.

"Come on." I grab Bree's arm and jog after Presley. I pump my arms, channeling my inner athlete. It has been a long time since I've run long distance, not to mention leap as high as I used to. The closest I've come to exercise since pastry school involves yoga, walking, and lots and lots of sleuthing.

Bree falls behind, but I push through the crowd. Presley disappears in front of me, but I know where he's headed. I keep an eye on the aqua skyline in front of me. Against the sugar sand, it has a way of making me forget that I'm living in one-hundred-degree weather.

I stop to catch my breath and scan the shoreline in the process. Millie is starting to slow down, and Presley is finally catching up with her. He lunges forward, wrapping his arms around her as she flails. I race to help him.

"Ugh! Get off of me!" Millie shouts. "Geez, what's your problem?"

"Why did you run?" Presley responds. He keeps her captive with little effort—hardly breaking a sweat as she wiggles in order to break free.

"Why did you lie?" Millie barks back.

"Listen, we just want to talk," I chime in. I pause to catch my breath again. "I'm sure you've heard about what happened to Lacy Leigh Nichols."

"Are you two cops or something?" Millie frowns as she glances down at my flip-flops.

"No." I nod at Presley. "Go on. Let her go."

Presley reluctantly obeys, and the two of us watch Millie carefully as she rubs the sides of her arms. She takes a deep breath, looking to the ocean as if the crashing waves not too far from us bring her comfort.

"Look, we heard that you and Lacy didn't get along back in high school," I say. "We're just trying to piece together what sort of person she was."

"You're reporters," Millie guesses. "I hate reporters. First they act all sympathetic to get information out of you. And then they twist your words and make you look like a fool in front of everyone."

"Is that what happened to you?" I ask. Millie stays silent. "Well, we're
not
reporters. I work at Magnolia Harbor, and this guy…" I point to Presley. His arms are folded, displaying a set of bulky biceps.

"I worked for Lacy," he finishes. "I was her bodyguard."

"Hmmm." Millie studies his stoic stance. "That makes sense. But I'm afraid I can't help you. I haven't spoken to Lacy Leigh in years."

"You must have seen her at least once this year." I wait, hopeful that Millie might be able to give us something useful.

"She came into the bakery last time she was here asking if I did anything gluten-free or dairy-free or whatever it was. She didn't even recognize me." A brisk ocean breeze rushes across her face, and she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Did she have problems with anyone in town?" I eagerly ask.

"Recently? I have no idea." Millie takes a deep. "I better get back to the bakery, but here's a little advice. You can't trust a stranger, especially a stranger who asks too many questions."

"Got it," Presley responds. Millie takes her shoes off as she starts her journey through the sugar sand.

"Wait," I call after her. "One more thing."

Millie turns, rolling her eyes.

"What?" she replies.

"Lacy Leigh must have had a best friend growing up," I begin.

"She had a few."

"Anyone we know?" I raise my eyebrows, hoping to confirm what Archy had said at Amberjack's.

"You should know one of them." Millie laughs. "I think she works at Magnolia Harbor too."

Presley and I look at each other.

"Frankie," I whisper.

"What should we do?" Presley keeps his arms folded as he watches Millie trudge through the sand and back to the main road.

"I don't know," I answer. "Frankie isn't exactly the easiest person to talk to. Plus, if she's hiding something, she won't just blurt it out. We need to think of a game plan." I tilt my head towards Millie. "Apparently, waltzing right up to people and being straightforward doesn't work."

"You think she's telling the truth?" A look of concern spreads across Presley's face.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"You know, after that weekend in Oregon, I thought being drugged and tied up by psychopaths was the worst thing that could happen."

"I'm surprised you remember any of that," I add. The weekend he's referring to wasn't a pleasant one. Especially since I spent most of it avoiding two high-heeled devil twins.

"Bits and pieces," he responds. "I've blocked the rest out, minus the moment I saw you on the beach. Do you remember that?"

"How could I not." My cheeks feel warmer than usual. "You were running around with your shirt off."

"A common occurrence when one visits the ocean." He chuckles.

"Right." I laugh in response, but my insides are bubbling like soda fizz.

"Poppy…" The tone of his voice softens. "I'm really freaked out. Is that weird?"

"Not at all. One day you're minding your own business and just like that someone close to you is gone. I'd be worried if you
weren't
freaked out by all of this."

"I've been so on edge about everything," he continues. "I've even had trouble eating."

"You mean you normally eat
more
than you have been?" I raise my eyebrows.

"Okay, I'm exaggerating, but you know what I mean. It would be a shame to drop dead now. Especially since…" He takes a deep breath. "Especially since our paths have crossed again."

I gulp—my heart racing a million miles an hour. I remember our first kiss. We were both young and oblivious to what life had in store for us. But a part of me wonders if kissing him again will be like hopping in a time machine.

"Poppy!" Bree waves a hand at us in the distance.

I jog to meet up with her, and there's no sign of Millie on the beach or in the crowd of tourists. Bree frowns and hands me the cupcake box from the Gator Bay Bakery. It feels significantly lighter than I remember. I carefully open the box, and my jaw drops.

At least half of every cupcake has been eaten.

"I have a problem." Bree sighs.

"Just one batch." Bree twiddles her thumbs in between gathering ingredients. "
One
batch is all I'm making. I just need to get over my baking bug, and I haven't made things
my
way in a long time. Cherie hates it when I veer from the menu."

"Pray that Gilly shows up because I can't make seafood gumbo the same way he can," I respond.

After returning to Magnolia Harbor Inn and Spa, a pile of dishes was waiting for us in the kitchen. Presley stepped away to talk with Detective Sugars, and Bree had a hard time looking me in the eyes after scarfing almost a full box of cupcakes.

"What do you think?" Bree studies a bag of flour and bunch of bananas. "Vanilla cake with banana buttercream frosting or banana cake with banana buttercream frosting? Or what about banana cake with caramel buttercream?"

"Sounds like Bananas Foster in a cupcake," I reply.

"It does, doesn't it?" An irrepressible smile forms on her face as she lets herself experiment like she used to.

"And promise we'll put these cakes in the dining room for Detective Sugars and his men," I continue. "We're not eating all the leftovers."

"I promise," Bree agrees. "I'm just baking to pass the time. I'll get back to my seashells tomorrow."

"Uh-huh." I nod politely, but seashells aren't as satisfying as that warm cake smell.

Bree starts with her first suggestion, mixing up a vanilla cake batter and scooping it evenly into cupcake liners. As the cupcakes bake, she whips up a banana buttercream to swirl on top.

"And now for the banana curd," Bree announces. She adds her ingredients to a saucepan, and begins stirring. "This will need to rest in the fridge. Oh, it's been so long since I've made any kind of curd."

A light knock echoes through the kitchen. I look up, expecting to see Presley with a sour expression or even Miss Hattie Mae delivering a compliment about our lunch efforts. Instead, my eyes went wide as Gilly entered the room.

"Gilly, where have you been?" It's a valid question, but one that I'm not so sure he'll answer.

"Away," he responds. He washes his hands, eyeing me as I look through his recipe book for a beginner's guide in Cajun cuisine.
No such luck
.

"Detective Sugars—"

"Detective Sugars is an idiot," Gilly interrupts me. "He's a lousy detective. Everyone in town knows that he can be bought with a plate of biscuits 'n' gravy. The old fool listens to his stomach more than he listens to the law."