Free Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet by A. Gardner Page B

Presley didn't lure Lacy into his room, wait for her to eat his poisoned tartlets, and get back to her room and make up this little room-swap story?"
    "Because Presley would never do something like that," I say through my teeth. It's hard to be mad at someone like Bree. She never swears or takes my things without asking. She's just as good of a friend as she is a pastry chef, but maybe her common sense blew away in the ocean breeze.
    "We have to be open to all theories, remember?" she adds. "And this theory makes the most sense right now. I just don't want to see you get hurt."
    "No," I answer. "No, it couldn't have been Presley. He was with me when Frankie was pushed overboard. Explain that then."
    "Killers do have accomplices sometimes."
    "I think I'm finished here." I stand up, leaving most of my coffee untouched.
    "Poppy," Bree responds. She finishes her beignet in one large bite. "Poppy, don't be mad at me. We have to think like Detective Sugars."
    "You're right," I say quietly. "But it wasn't Presley. I'll prove it."
    "How?" Bree replies. "It's not like you can just walk right up and ask him."
    "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."
     

 
CHAPTER TWELVE
     
    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,