Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet (15 page)

"What do we do?" Bree turns and looks at me, and I automatically turn to Presley. If the hole was small enough, I would suggest that Presley do the gentlemanly thing and stand in the mud in order to lift us across. But the gap is too wide. None of us can jump it either.

"Why are you looking at me?" Presley responds. "I can't just wave my hands and make the boardwalk magically fix itself."

"Too bad," Bree mumbles.

"If we want to keep going the only way through is…down in the mud," Frankie says. "How deep do you think it is?"

"Would anyone care to be the guinea pig?" I throw the question out there expecting Presley to raise his hand first, but the three of them look at me. "Me? You've got to be kidding. Presley is the tallest."

"But you're the lightest," Bree points out. "If Presley gets stuck, how are we supposed to pull him out?"

Bree does have a point, but I'm not in the mood for a full on mud bath. Especially when that mud contains more than just dirt and rainwater. I look down at the challenge ahead of me.
What the croissant did I just get myself into?

"If I cross, we
all
cross," I reiterate. "I'm not showing up at Raymond's house looking like a pile of human brownie batter all by myself."

Bree covers her mouth, hiding a few giggles. I fan the space in front of my face and side-swipe a mosquito out for blood. My heart pounds as I observe the swamp below us. There isn't a whole lot of water, but there's enough mud to make me wonder how difficult it will be to lift each leg from its muddy enclosure.

I sit on the edge of the boardwalk, and Presley takes my hand. My shoes are in the other. He slowly lowers me into the mud, and the moist dirt squishes between my toes. The mud covers my calves, and from below the boardwalk I feel like I'm in another world.
I feel like gator bait
.

Presley kneels at the edge of the boardwalk and watches me carefully. I attempt to take my first step towards the other side. It's difficult to free my leg and move it forward. I pull as firmly as I can, careful not to lose my balance. With some effort, the mud releases my leg from its grasp.

I take a couple of steps and look back. I am now out of Presley's reach. I'm on my own. My next step catches me by surprise as my foot sinks deeper and deeper into the dirt. I gulp, holding my arms out for balance. The mud is now past my kneecaps. I never expected it to come up as far as my shorts, but it's definitely a possibility. I pause and take a few breaths. Those breaths are interrupted by more mosquitos.

"You're almost there, Poppy," Bree shouts. "Keep going."

I listen to her advice and cautiously move forward. Our bayou adventure is going to take us longer than planned. I glance up at the cloudy sky, grateful that the sun isn't beating down on my forehead. But clouds mean thunderstorms. We can't get caught out here in the middle of a downpour.

I keep moving forward one step at a time until I've reached the other end of the rickety boardwalk. I grab the wooden pathway above me and use all the strength I have left to pull myself out of the mud. My first attempt is a terrible one. I try again, trying to jump as much as I can to free my legs from the sludge.

Clapping fills my ears when I finally pull myself up and assess the damage. My legs really do look like two giant brownies.
Unappetizing
brownies at best. I resist the urge to wipe them off because all I have are my hands and my T-shirt.

"Who's next?" I ask, reaching out a hand. Frankie volunteers as she takes her shoes off. She slowly lowers herself into the mud and copies my technique for freeing each leg from its messy prison. When she finally gets close enough, I take her shoes. She reaches for my hands, and I lean back, helping her up onto the boardwalk.

"Bree, you're next," Frankie announces.

Bree huffs.

"Aren't you glad I made you wear shorts today, instead of that sunflower dress thing?" I comment.

"You two just be ready for me." Bree wrinkles her nose as her feet hit the mud, and she spends a little too much time swatting flies and mosquitos away from her face.

"Pick up the pace," Frankie blurts out. Out in the swamps, where no one is breaking into her apartment or trying to run her over, she has an easier time being her usual, loud self.

Bree frowns. The mud makes squishing noises whenever she moves, and every time she looks down she makes a new face—looks of disgust. I attempt to distract her by reminding her that we don't have much time.

"That's it," I say out loud. "You got it. Every step you take is a step closer to dry land…or wood."

"Ew. Ew. Ew." Bree chants as she forces herself to keep moving. When she's finally within reach, I let out a sigh of relief. Frankie and I grab her hands and pull her onto the boardwalk. Bree gasps when she looks at her legs.

"Sick," she mutters, wiping her feet against the wood.

Presley is the last one to cross, and he's been taking notes. He rolls up his shorts and carries his shoes in one hand as he takes longer, deeper steps. He makes it to the other side quicker than any of us. The three of us back up as he lifts himself up onto the wobbly wood.

"Well," he breathes, "that was an adventure. We're all in this to the end."

"Um," Bree responds, shaking her head. "Do we have to do that again in order to get back?"

I rub my forehead.

She knows the answer to that.

The second half of the boardwalk sits above more than just mud. A swamp is beneath us, and the water is higher than the mud near the beginning of our journey. I scratch my arm.
Another mosquito bite
. The constant buzzing around my ears is going to drive me crazy pretty soon. It makes the humidity seem mild compared to the insects hoarding around us.

"There's grass up ahead," Frankie mentions.

"Thank goodness," Bree mutters. She avoids looking down at her legs because every time she does, she shudders. "I don't think this bridge can hold all our weight anymore. Was it always this unstable?"

"Not from what I remember," Frankie replies. "This doesn't even look like the same place anymore. The owner has let it go wild."

"The question is have the alligators gone just as wild?" Bree chimes in.

"Let's hope not, for our sake," I answer.

The boardwalk ends, and it's a relief to step into the grass. A field of brilliant green surrounds us, and right away Bree rubs the mud on her legs against each grassy blade. Her experiment starts working, and soon her calves look almost back to normal. The rest of us copy her, leaving spots of mud stains behind us.

A breeze rushes by, and the four of us take a look at our new playground. There is no train or footpath. There are no signs of any buildings in the distance. All that can be seen is open space surrounded by more swampy-looking areas.

"Which way now?" I ask Frankie.

"His house is at the end of the property from what I remember," she answers. "Straight ahead?"

"We don't have much of a choice at this point." I clear my throat. "As long as we don't run into anything with pointy teeth, I guess we'll be okay."

The four of us walk straight across the open field. The grass sways in the wind, and being surrounded by an intense amount of green calms my nerves. I enjoy the open air and the fact that there aren't any bugs trying to sing in my ears.

Ten minutes pass and we're faced with another bump in the road. Trees crowd the rest of our view, and we have no choice but to keep moving. Presley looks up at the tallest branches. He places a hand on a tree trunk as if testing its durability.

"I bet you I could find Raymond's house if I climbed this thing," he says.

"We don't need you falling and breaking your leg," I respond. "Besides, if you can't run, you're practically gator food."

"I don't think we should keep going," Bree comments. "We've wandered long enough, and I still refuse to believe that Lacy Leigh trudged all the way through here. She probably met her uncle in town somewhere."

"Even if that's true, we still need to speak to him." I wipe the sweat from my forehead. "He's our only chance at finding out what Lacy was really up to the day before she died."

"Don't forget," Frankie adds, "Lacy told me it was something big. Bigger than this town has ever seen. Whatever that means. She never did get the chance to explain it all to me."

"That's why we need to keep walking," I continue. I take the first step into the trees that would inevitably lead to more mud and more swamps.

A crack of thunder breaks through the sky. It sends shivers up and down my spine. Bree's eyes go wide as she follows me. Now we really don't have time to waste. I walk faster through the trees, pushing aside branches as I avoid random, muddy slush piles.

"It smells like rain." Bree's voice is frantic. "Do you think it's going to rain? We can't be stuck out here if it starts raining."

"We get it," Frankie shouts. She walks ahead of me to escape Bree's complaining.

"We'll be just fine." Presley tries to calm her down, but it doesn't help.

Where are you, Raymond?

Another crack of thunder. Another bout of complaining from Bree, and Frankie jogs towards something in the distance. A tiny wooden shack sits at the edge of the swap. The four of us run to it just as a third burst of thunder echoes through the trees.

The door swings open, and the little shack smells like a molding garden shed. A drop of rain hits my skin, and I immediately step inside. At least the shack has a roof. I push a cluster of rusty landscaping equipment out of the way in order to fit all of us. Cobwebs and dirt are in every corner, but when it rains in Alabama…it pours.

"Get in," I say to Bree. She reluctantly follows my instructions.

Rain beats down on the antique shingles. A few drops turns into a few more, and a few more turns into thousands. Water rushes down every edge of the shack, and water drips slowly inside from a leaky spot in the roof. I take a deep breath. It's better than being soaked.

"At least we're dry," I point out.

"This must be where Raymond kept his tools," Bree comments. She wipes her hand on her shorts after brushing against a spider web.

"We must be getting close then," Presley responds.

"I'm sorry," Frankie adds, twirling a strand of her dark locks. "This place looked so different when I was a kid. There were walking trails. Signs. Little maps that spelled out where everything was. Not to mention that there were fences everywhere."

"Fences?" I repeat.

"Yeah, all along the boardwalk and surrounding every section of swap," she confirms. "I think they were there to keep the gators in, but it looks like Raymond took them all down after he closed."

"Any chance he got rid of the gators too?" Presley takes a peek outside. The sound of water hitting the trees makes it sound way worse than it is. But regardless, it's pouring enough that one step outside will soak me to the bone.

"Beats me." Frankie shrugs.

We stand in the tiny, wooden shack waiting out the rain. Presley leans closer to me, but his body heat only adds to the stuffiness in the room. Bree and Frankie avoid making eye contact, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Presley trying to make
more
eye contact.

"You know," Bree says, breaking the silence, "when we came to the Gulf Coast, I never thought I'd be huddled up in some shack in the middle of the bayou on the hunt for a murderer."

"That's not really the type of thing one aspires to," Presley mutters, making Frankie crack a smile.

"Very funny," Bree goes on. "But you're not the one who is going to be yelled at by her uptight boss when we get back to Magnolia Harbor." She points to Frankie and me. "All of
us
have a lot to lose here if this doesn't go right."

"Bree," I scold her. "I think the mud is getting to you."

Bree keeps her mouth shut, and we wait out the rest of the passing storm in silence. I can't help but think about my last semester of pastry school and the killer who struck at the local farmer's market. Bree and I searched and searched for the person responsible, but in the end we failed to look right on our own doorstep.

If only answers were delivered to everyone with a pretty, pink bow.

"I think it's safe to keep moving," Presley says, taking a step outside.

He freezes in place.

I touch his back. His muscles are flexed, and his hands are balled into tight fists. My heart starts racing, but I don't know why. I'm too nervous to ask Presley what's wrong, but I follow his gaze towards a nearby tree. My gut reaction is to climb to the top of the tiny, little shack and hope that I can live off of fallen leaves and dead twigs.

A pair of eyes is staring at us.

The beady eyes of one of nature's fierce killers.

"Is that?" I gulp.

"Yeah," Presley says quietly. "That's one big gator."

I've never much thought of what I'd do if I crossed paths with an alligator. Okay, I haven't given it
any
thought. Coming from someone who grew up on the other side of the country and has only ever seen one on television, those oversized reptiles never seemed real.

Until now.

Not far from us is an armored predator that blends in with the trees. The alligator stays perfectly still. It knows we're here. Maybe it knows we're lost? This is bad.
This is really, really bad.

Presley slowly backs his way into the shack and shuts the door. However, I doubt the wooden door in between us and the wild is strong enough to resist a full-fledged attack from an adult-sized alligator.

"Say something before I start to lose it," Bree says immediately.

"There's a…" Presley takes a deep breath and wipes the sweat from his forehead. His complexion is paler than usual, and the muscles in his arms look as if they're still fully flexed.

"We saw an alligator," I blurt out.

"What?" Bree grabs a strand of her strawberry-blonde hair and holds onto it tight.