Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet Read Online Free PDF Page B

butter them all up, hasn't she?" Frankie murmured.
    Frankie jumped suddenly, nearly dropping her tray. A faint jingle echoes through the room as Muffin enters the kitchen unannounced. Frankie's expression goes sour. Like Bree, Muffin keeps a close eye on her too when she's cleaning the rooms upstairs.
    "And this would be?" Presley stares as Muffin does a complete walk-through.
    "Muffin," I say quietly. "She thinks she's the manager around here." Muffin's beady eyes look up at me. "She's Cherie's cat, and don't let her catch you out of bed after hours."
    "There you are, my sweetheart." Cherie makes kissing noises as she enters the kitchen. Her light-blonde hair is perfectly in place, and her cream-colored blouse is wrinkle-free. There are times when her fair complexion and innocent, southern stare reminds me of her mother Hattie Mae. Then Cherie opens her mouth. Her looks may be as sweet as honey, but her words are usually bitter. "Mama has been looking for you."
    Muffin runs to her owner.
    "Ma'am," Frankie whispers as she quickly exits the room to check on Mr. Wheeler.
    "What's going on in here?" Cherie examines Bree's impromptu lunch idea.
    "Lunch is served," Bree responds.
    Cherie strolls to the nearest counter and picks up a heavily seasoned french fry.
    "Hmmm." She takes a tiny bite, leaving zero indication on her face as to whether or not she approves. "I guess this will have to do. Bring the food out, and then you girls can have some time off before dinner. But do keep in mind that Detective Sugars wants us all to stay within city limits."
    "No problem," I agree.
    Cherie scoops up Muffin and gently strokes her fur as she leaves the kitchen. Bree breathes a sigh of relief. I run my fingers through my ponytail. The fresh ocean air will do us all good, and I'm itching to start digging into Lacy Leigh's past. Maybe Bree and I can figure out who Lacy was so scared of?
    "Coffee anyone?" I suggest.
    "If it's iced coffee, I'm in," Presley answers.
     
    *   *   *
     
    The three of us are dressed like tourists. Bree is wearing her usual sun hat, and even in a Hawaiian shirt, Presley still looks like a Greek statue. I adjust my sunglasses as the three of us stroll down Gator Bay's Main Street filled with shops and places to eat—a portion of which lies next to a boardwalk.
    "I had no idea you even owned a shirt like that," I say.
    "A friend gave it to me as a joke." He runs his hands over the brightly colored tropical design.
    "The joke's on him, I guess."
    "Is it always this crowded?" Presley comments as a stranger bumps his arm in passing. The afternoon sun beats down on us, and my skin feels damp as though I've just jumped out of the shower.
    "Only when the famous Lacy Leigh is in town," I reply.
    Our walk into town wasn't a peaceful one. Cars and cameramen were lined up for blocks. Every news station in the area was on site trying to get the latest on Lacy Leigh Nichols. Word of her passing has spread, and I'd never before heard the phone at Magnolia Harbor Inn and Spa ring off the hook.
    It'll only get worse.
    "Why don't we just keep walking and never go back?" I tease.
    "Because this boardwalk runs into a marsh," Bree responds. She grabs a tube of sunblock from her purse and slathers her arms in yet another layer.
    "Would you rather make Cherie's wedding cake or end up as gator bait?" I joke. "This is all hypothetical, of course. I bet it's been years since Cherie has been out on a date."
    "Is this a trick question?" Bree finishes rubbing sunblock into her hands and arms before eyeing an ice cream shop up ahead with a giant vanilla cone displayed on the roof.
    "Ice cream before five?" I smile, knowing that sweets are her weakness in times like these. Either eating sweets or baking them.
    "A girl can window shop, can't she?" Bree forcefully looks away. "I need more seashells." Since exchanging her habit of nervous baking for collecting beads, Bree tends to be more irritable than usual. Part of me wonders how long the