Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet (16 page)

"Oh, please," Frankie interrupts. She pushes past me and opens the door to see for herself. "If it's a small one, we'll be fine."

Frankie takes a couple of steps before she too freezes and slowly walks backwards. She shuts the door—her hand on her chest as if her heart might burst out. My thoughts are buzzing. We can't stay in this shack forever and wait it out. Eventually we'll have to come up with a plan. Besides, I don't know how many more rainstorms this rickety garden shed can take.

"That's a big one," Frankie says, out of breath. "Yep. That thing could swallow me whole." She puts as much distance between herself and the door as she possibly can. "Okay, don't panic, Frankie. You can handle this."

"Does anyone know anything about alligators?" I ask, searching for a solution. The three of us turn to Frankie, a long-time resident of Gator Bay.

"Me?" Frankie points to herself. "Well, sure, every once in a while a gator comes out in the open, but all I had to do was lock the door and call the cops."

"Do you think the gator is stalking us?" I eagerly ask.

"How should I know?" Frankie shrugs in frustration. "But we can't just hang out in here. Gators have a superior sense of smell. If one has found us, there might be a whole lot more on their way."

"
Surrounded
by alligators," Bree murmurs. She fans the front of her face as best she can. "This is it. We're done for. We're finished. Bye-bye little cupcake shop on the coast somewhere. My dreams are about to be crushed by a wild animal with scales."

"Calm down, Bree." I do my best to speak softly—the opposite of everyone else. I know we're in a dangerous situation, but Frankie is right. We can't stay here and stink up the place with the enticing scent of scared human. We have to find Raymond. We're in too deep now to turn back.

"Easy for you to say," Bree replies. "You're like a toothpick compared to me." She rubs her hands around her torso. "Look at this. Look at
all
this. Those pests will be coming for me first."

"Unless they're in the mood for a light appetizer," I joke. It doesn't lighten the mood. "Okay. All jokes aside, we have no idea what we're up against if we stay and no idea what we're up against if we leave. I think the bottom line is we either have to find our way back to the car or find Raymond. We can't be that much farther from his house." I pause, letting the three of them process my proposal. "I think we should keep moving. What do you guys say?"

Presley opens the door a crack and observes our surroundings. When he opens the door a little wider, it gives me hope. Presley breathes in the swampy air and actually takes a step outside. Bree gulps and covers her eyes.

"It's gone," Presley announces. His eyes are wide with shock. "The gator left." His eyes dart all around us searching for a pair of devil eyes.

"It seems that now is our chance then," Frankie comments.

"What do you think, Bree?" I watch as Bree closes her eyes and begins muttering. "Bree?"

"Fine," she huffs. "But just so we're clear, I'm never visiting another gator farm as long as I live."

The four of us scan the trees and puddles of mud around us. We appear to be alone now. Frankie leads the way forward, and Presley stays behind us, keeping an eye out for any unwanted visitor. The rainstorm made the ground muddy. I hop over puddle after puddle trying to keep my shoes as clean as possible, but it's pointless.

The sight of another building not too far away makes me want to sing at the top of my lungs. I breathe a sigh of relief—a permanent smile on my face. The only thing standing in between us and civilization is a murky lake.

Frankie steers clear of the water and begins trekking along a path around it. The lake has to be alligator central. I tread lightly, wishing that I could blink and magically transport myself to Raymond's doorstep.

"Uh, ladies." Presley points to something in the distance. I'm afraid to look, but as soon as I do, my feet feel like blocks of ice.

The murky lake may look smooth and glassy, but several heads are watching us travel towards safety. Another gator lifts its eyes out of the water just enough to study each one of us. Though we are a good distance away from the water's edge, alligators can still run on land.

My head starts to spin.

"Keep moving," I say lowly.

"Uh…"

"What is it now, Presley?" Frankie turns around with fiery cheeks.

But words can't describe the scene unfolding behind us.

We've attracted an audience.

An audience eager to taste human flesh.

And that audience is slowly creeping up behind us.

I might die today.

The four of us keep walking, but I can't help but turn around every few seconds to see if any gators are gaining on us. So far, they stay far enough behind. But I doubt it will stay that way for long.

"I'm counting three," Presley says. "There are three of them following us."

"Should we run the rest of the way?" I suggest.

"I don't know if I can make it," Bree admits. "What if I trip and fall? That's an open invitation to be eaten."

"We have to do something," I respond, almost shouting. "Maybe we can outrun them?"

"If we run in a straight line, we might make it," Frankie chimes in, picking up her pace.

"Okay, they're getting closer now," Presley informs us. "They definitely see us as food."

My chest is pounding, and my palms are sweating. The anxiety builds, making me sweat more than usual. My thoughts race out of control, and I have to force myself to not think about being devoured by a ruthless reptile. At this point, I might be too slippery to bite ahold of.

"If you're trying to make me wet myself, you're doing an excellent job," Bree chimes in.

"The house is just there." Frankie points ahead of us. Beyond the lake and up the hill is our saving grace. "I think we should run."

"I think we should run too," Presley adds. "We can make it."

"I hate you all," Bree utters. "But fine."

"On three then," I announce. "One." My heart drums as fast as it can go. "Two." My eyes fixate on my destination, and I prepare myself to sprint my little heart out no matter how much my lungs might burn. "Three!"

The four of us launch forward like we've been released from a giant slingshot. I'm too terrified to look behind me. All I can do is run as fast as I can to our next checkpoint and pray that Raymond doesn't answer his door with a shotgun.

Frankie and Presley are by my side, but Bree is falling behind. I keep running. We are almost there. A shrill scream makes my heart sink.
Turn around. You have to turn around.
My blood runs cold as I picture a gruesome scene behind me—one that I will never be able to erase from my memory.

Bree struggles to catch up. She stumbles again and again, giving her predators the opportunity they need to pounce. The gators behind us see her struggle as their cue, and from a short distance away, they run at her.

I stand frozen.

I have to do something.

I turn back and grab Bree's arm. I yank her forward, forcing her to sprint at my pace. She stumbles again and lets out another scream. The sound of slithering in the grass makes me queasy. An alligator comes within feet of us and opens its mouth. Pointy, stained teeth are what I notice first.

A gunshot pierces the sky, alarming the alligator. It hesitates for a moment, and while I help Bree to her feet, a man emerges from the swamps. He blends in just as much as his reptilian friends, but his face is weathered and wrinkled.

The man is carrying a cooler. He bangs the end of his shotgun against the side, making a loud noise that draws the gators towards him instead. Though they keep walking towards him, he keeps banging on his cooler.

"Y'all get up to the house," the man instructs us. He opens his cooler and pulls out a hunk of raw meat. The largest gator crawls forward. The man rests the barrel of his gun on the top of its mouth. "Open. Come on, Big Bertha." The gator opens its mouth according to the man's instructions and takes its reward.

"Poppy," Frankie mutters. She, along with Bree and Presley, are already walking towards the house. I jog to catch up with them.

Bree sprints the rest of the way, taking no more chances. The house on the top of the hill is average in size. The front porch is rickety much like the wooden shack in the swamp, but from what I make out through the windows, the inside of the house looks sturdy.

"Is that Raymond?" I ask Frankie.

"I guess." She shrugs. "Last time I saw him, I was just a little girl. Lacy Leigh never talked about him when we were teenagers."

"How can you two be so calm right now?" Bree's hands are shaking. "I almost died."

"Deep breaths," I respond, taking her hand. "You're fine now. Nothing is after us."

"Deep breaths," she repeats. She clasps her hands together, but they won't stop quivering. "Breath in and out." Bree puts her back against the wall and closes her eyes. She keeps

them closed until the man from the swamp approaches us with his gun at his side.

"Who are y'all, and what are you doin' on my property?" The man refuses to smile. Instead, he sizes up every one of us.

"We're looking for someone named Raymond," I answer, stepping forward.

"What do you want with him?" the man replies.

"We just want to speak with him about something." I glance at my peers. "We promise not to waste too much of his time."

"Y'all are trespassing," the man informs us. "Never trespass when you're in gator country. Didn't your mama teach you any manners?"

The four of us are at a loss for words. After our horrifying trek through mud, rain, and alligator central, the last thing we expected was a good old-fashioned scolding.

"Sir," Frankie chimes in. "We didn't mean to cause trouble—"

"Trouble," the man butts in. His loud chuckle quickly turns to a cackle. "Trouble? You've done more than cause trouble. I've already been sued once by folks who don't follow the rules. Captain Crunch didn't mean to hurt nobody." He opens his front door. "I ain't about to be sued again by a group of nosey tourists."

The man walks inside his house and quickly slams the door.

"Please," I continue, knocking loudly. "Please, this is important."

"Go away!" a voice shouts from inside.

"But Lacy Leigh's memory depends on it," I blurt out.

The doorknob turns slowly, and the man narrows his eyes.

"What did you say?" he quietly asks.

"I assume that
Raymond
would want his niece's killer to be brought to justice." I gulp, knowing full well that whether he cares to admit it or not, the man standing before me is Gracie's brother, Raymond.

The man looks from me to Presley. He sighs, opening the door wider and bowing his head.

"Come in."

*   *   *

"I'm Raymond." The man pulls up a chair from the kitchen table and sits down. He keeps his shotgun by his side.

Raymond's house has minimal furniture, and most of it looks as if it's been carved from tree trunks. Bree and I share an armchair. Her hands aren't shaking anymore, but she's twiddling her fingers so much that it's distracting.

"I'm Frankie," Frankie introduces herself. "You probably don't remember me, but Lacy Leigh and I used to be good friends."

"Just because I'm old, doesn't mean I have no memory," Raymond answers. "I know who you are." Raymond glances at the three of us. The out-of-towners. "Are y'all journalists or somethin'?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "No, we work at Magnolia Harbor. The inn where Lacy was found."

"We're pastry chefs," Bree blurts out a little too loudly.

"What the devil are you doing on my land?" Raymond sizes up Presley next.

"We were looking for you," I answer. "Though we honestly had no idea we'd have to travel through gator infested fields just to find you."

"What do you expect from a gator farm?" Raymond hasn't smiled once since we've entered his home, and I doubt he will. He glares at me like I'm a silly, little schoolgirl. "Now, what do y'all want?"

"We're on the hunt for Lacy Leigh's killer," I bluntly reply.

"A man has already been arrested," Raymond informs us. "Word travels fast around here. Even to me."

"The police have the wrong man." I glance at Frankie, who knows better than anyone that the psychopath is still out there.

"What makes you say that?" Raymond leans forward in his seat, but his grip on his shotgun remains firm.

"Well…" I look to Frankie for support, but she slumps her shoulders and stares at the floor. Tracks of dried mud are everywhere, but they blend in with the dark wooden planks that make up the floor of Raymond's home.

"We just know," Presley adds.

"And you are?" Raymond raises a pair of bushy, gray eyebrows.

"I was her bodyguard." Presley nods.

"Then you're horrible at your job," Raymond says with a straight face. "You should be fired."

"Sir, Lacy Leigh was never meant to die," Presley continues. "The killer was after
me
, and the killer is still out there."

"So you're out to save your own neck," Raymond concludes. "I can't help you folks." He gestures towards the door.

"Wait." I gulp, wondering if coming here was a mistake. "We know Lacy was here the day before she died."

"She was
not
." Raymond raises his voice—a scowl on his face.

"You called her on her cell phone, remember?" I add.

Raymond flares his nostrils as he looks around the room.

"Yes, what of it," he confirms. "She's my niece. I have every right to call my niece if I want."

"So you called her when she came into town, but the two of you never met face-to-face?" I pause, hoping that Raymond will divulge even a tiny bit of information. Anything to make our hellish journey worthwhile. "Raymond, the person responsible for her death is still out there while an innocent man is paying the price. I know that's not what you want."

"Okay, you want information?" Raymond clears his throat with a raspy cough. "I don't see how it will help any, but I
did
see Lacy Leigh the day before she died. I met her at the edge of the property."