by Kendel Lynn
My cell vibrated and I eased out of Juliette’s room.
“Hey, Juliette,” I said. “Thanks for calling me back. You doing okay? How’s Sam?”
“I’m the same,” she said. “And alone. They both went up to check on Sam. The intern needs to stitch my forehead. Said it’s better if they aren’t here. What’s up?”
“I’ll be quick. Did you move Daphne’s tablet?”
“Move it? No, not at all. Isn’t it there?”
“Nope. At least, not in the basket.”
“You think Daphne came back for it? Maybe she snuck in when we were out searching for her?”
“Possibly,” I said slowly. “Who’s been here?”
“No one. Me and Tucker. That time Zanna came over, but you were there. The Sheriff showed up once. No, twice.”
“The actual Sheriff or the investigation team?”
“Both, I guess, the first time,” she said. “But they didn’t really investigate. Not like a search or anything. Just fingerprints. Asked for her hairbrush. Sprayed stuff, used a blacklight, but they didn’t take anything. The second time, it was just the Sheriff. Oh! And Alex came by once. He needed something. Wanted a picture of Daphne, I think.”
“Did you leave either of them alone? Even for a minute? The Sheriff or Alex?”
“Ummmm.” She paused a second.
I considered asking her about the torn scrap pages, but didn’t want to explain how I knew about them. At least not yet.
“Yes, both of them,” she said. “But for only a minute. Like, not even two minutes.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll ask the Sheriff about it.”
“You don’t think Daphne came back? It’s possible though, right? Why would someone else take her tablet? It’s password-protected.”
“It was probably the Sheriff,” I said. “For evidence.”
What I didn’t tell her was that passwords can be broken. I’d done it myself, and on the very tablet we were discussing. The Sheriff would’ve needed a warrant. But the real question was, if he grabbed the tablet after being in the apartment less than two minutes, how did he know exactly where to find it? The answer: He wouldn’t. But Alex would.
After inspecting every drawer, shelf, and cupboard in the apartment, I gave up. The tablet was gone, and there wasn’t a single scrap of information on Daphne or her whereabouts.
Using the prep list Juliette gave me earlier, I gathered up the cake decorating supplies, notes, and tools Carla would need to recreate Juliette’s designs. I added seven utensils I couldn’t identify but looked important. With two trips to my car, everything jammed in wheel well to wheel well, I then drove to the Cake & Shake.
Their parking lot still overflowed like a 1950s summer hangout. The only thing it needed was a string of carhops roller skating trays of shakes to and fro. Teenagers and college kids in pairs and groups hung outside their cars, sipping, stirring, and talking in the dusky glow of late evening.
I wedged the Mini in an almost legal spot on the sidewalk and wiggled my way through the line, up the porch steps, and into the shop. Find Daphne posters were taped to the walls and cake cases. The staff wore the matching pink Find Daphne tees under their aprons.
“Two Roasted Bananas Foster and a Churro Dulce de Leche,” Tess hollered. She ran the register, a red retro one with white paint on the outside, but a digital keypad on the faceplate.
“Hey, Tess,” I said. “I know you’re swamped, but can we talk?”
She glanced at me, then the next person in line. “It’s really not a good time. We close in three hours. Can you wait?”
“It’s about Juliette and her car accident,” I said.
“She called. Said she was going to be okay.” Tess’s brow raised with equal parts worry and doubt. “And you’re decorating her cakes?”
“She’s fine,” I said. “And not me personally, but I do have a few questions. I only need a minute.”
“Quinn,” she hollered over her shoulder. When the kitchen door swung open and a girl leaned out, Tess continued, “Cover me a minute?”
“Sure,” she said. The girl wiped her hands on her apron and took the next order.
“Let’s go in here,” Tess said.
I followed her into the kitchen. It was chilly and smelled of sweet sugar and berries and cinnamon. Pedestal trays held plain cakes next to stainless mixing bowls filled with whipped frosting. Piping bags and rubber spatulas dotted the center table.
She led me to a tiny office, and we sat in the cramped space. “I told the police everything I know.”
“I’d like to hear it for myself,” I said. “Make sure I don’t misunderstand any details. You told Juliette that Farrah came in this morning? Shouting about Daphne and Juliette?”
“She was bananas,” Tess said. “Pushing people out of her way. Put her finger in my face. As if I was the next Eligible. She said the show should be hers, that Juliette sabotaged her. Said she probably planned it all along. She demanded to know where Juliette was.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I didn’t know,” she said. “She was out searching for Daphne with a hundred other people. She could be anywhere.”
“Why did she think Juliette sabotaged her? I thought it was Daphne who told the producers about the stolen beads.”
“She did,” she said. “Well, they both did. Daphne and Juliette. Daphne told Juliette who said they should tell Jona.”
“What did Farrah do when she found out?”
“She had a massive meltdown. Threatened she’d go public. Contestants aren’t allowed to talk to anyone outside the show. They almost didn’t let her finish filming the episode. But Tucker calmed Farrah down. She definitely spilled tea in the confessional. You know, where we tell the audience what we think. The whole show was heavily edited.”
“What about today when you told her you didn’t know where Juliette was?”
“She called me a liar. Said she’d get what she deserved. I said I had no doubt she would get exactly that. She tipped over two shakes on the counter and stormed out.”
“And you called Juliette right away?”
“Almost right away,” she said. “She’d made a huge mess. Ice cream, strawberry sauce, whipped cream. It was all over me. I went in the back, washed my hands, and called Jules. Told her to watch herself, that Farrah was melting down.”
“Tell me about Daphne using your credit card and driver’s license.”
She missed a beat, coughed. Took a sip of water from a bottle on the desk. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “What does this have to do Juliette?”
“I visited the airport earlier,” I said. “I checked on Daphne’s flights—”
“I should get back,” Tess said. “With Juliette gone and me running the shop and now helping Carla Otto with cakes—”
“I’m completely grateful for all of those things, but I’d still like to know about Daphne using your credit card,” I waited patiently. Legs crossed, sitting back in the chair. All the time in the world.
A full minute ticked by.
“Are you suggesting Daphne stole my credit card?” she finally said.
“Tess,” I said. “I’m not the police. I’m not going to arrest you for allowing Daphne to use your credentials. But I know she didn’t steal your card. You let her use it. And your driver’s license. What I want to know from you is why. And when.”
Another minute ticked by while she fiddled with the string on her apron. It wrapped around her waist and tied with a bow in the front. She bit her lip.
“Cross my heart,” I said. “Just tell me why.”
She chugged more water. Twisted the cap in place. “About two months ago, Daphne asked if she could borrow my old license. It was from Georgia, where I used to live. When I moved here, to South Carolina, I never surrendered it when I got the new
one. Said I lost it. I’d just forgotten to take it with me and didn’t want them make me go get it.”
“How did Daphne know about it?”
“I don’t know how she remembered,” Tess said. “It was like two years ago? She had her old license, too. The one from Tennessee.”
“Did she say why she needed it? Your Georgia license?”
“She said Alex might be cheating on her with his old girlfriend in Charlotte. She wanted to follow him. She paid me for the charges on my card. It’s not like it’s illegal to let someone charge on your card when they pay you back.”
“You sound skeptical,” I said. “You didn’t believe her?”
“That it wasn’t illegal?”
“No, that Alex was cheating.”
“Oh, I definitely thought he was cheating. But that she wanted to stalk him by herself? I don’t know. I offered to go with her, but she said she needed to do it alone. I made her promise not to confront him.”
“Did she tell anyone else?”
“She made me swear not tell anyone, especially Juliette. She’d go bonkers if she thought Alex cheated on Daphne. After the whole Down the Isle mess, Juliette was protective of her.”
“Protective from Alex?”
“Daphne was obsessed with Alex cheating on her, even though she didn’t think he was, like, ‘the one.’ But you know, that finale devastated Daphne. Getting left at the altar and all that. Juliette was sensitive to that. I mean, it wasn’t Juliette’s fault. She was really good to her.”
“I thought they were all friends,” I said.
“They are. We all are. I mean, it was years ago, right? We all got sent home at some point. Me, Farrah, Daphne. Juliette won, we lost.”
“How long were you on the show?”
“For six episodes,” Tess said. “I never had a chance. I was Farrah’s roommate. Of all the luck. But water under the bridge, right?”
“Tess, can you grab the caramel cream?” a voice called from the front.
“Look, I gotta get back. Juliette’s counting on me. I can’t let her down. This place will fall apart without me.”
Tess offered to send me home with a cake and shake for dinner and I accepted. It had been a long day, and I still had to deliver supplies to the Big House.
My thick Strawberry Shortcake Custard sufficiently depleted, I pulled into the porte-cochere. Carla helped me unload, and I thanked her for graciously accepting this enormous responsibility—decorating twenty plus cakes in eighteen hours—on top of the enormous responsibilities she already committed to—preparing BBQ for three hundred people.
“It’ll be a walk in the park,” she said. “That poor girl has too much to worry about.”
“You’re wonderful,” I said. “What time you need me here in the morning?”
She laughed right out loud. “You’re adorable,” she said. “I already called Chef as soon as you called me. He’s sending his pastry team first thing. I need to be beachside before sunup to get the brisket in the smoker.”
“I can help, Carla,” I said. “No need to be impolite.”
“Sweetie, you find that missing girl. You leave the food to me. I’ll infuse it with so much love, she’ll have no choice but to come home.”
“If only it were that easy.”
FIFTEEN
(Day #8: Saturday Morning)
After leaving Carla late the night before, I left voicemails for Jona, Sheriff Hill, and Farrah. It seemed no one was taking my calls. However, when a knock in the gray of morning rattled me from an exhaustion-induced sleep, I thought perhaps someone had finally decided to communicate with me. Which was fantastic, as long as they didn’t mind if I communicated with freakishly fluffy hair whilst wearing a faded Dodgers tee and ripped sweatpants.
Sunshine had yet to peek through the skylight as I padded downstairs. I opened the front door, but the knocking continued. It was coming from the patio slider.
“Parker?” I said, as it glided open. “Kinda early, don’tcha think?”
I blame my sleep bubble for taking an extra two seconds to realize she was in uniform, and then to hear a siren chirp from the alley that ran between my cottage and Ransom’s house.
“Oh my God, you found her,” I said. “Out here? On the beach?”
“No,” she said. “Not yet. Can you come outside?”
“Hang on a sec,” I said and slid my feet into the flip-flops by the door. “So you didn’t find her? But you found something?”
“It’s not about Daphne,” she said. “But it’s not good news, either.”
Sand crunched against the wood slats as we crossed my patio, then the three steps to the beach. Gorgeous rays of orange burst from the horizon over the deep blue sea. A smattering of clouds reflected hues of pink and yellow as the sky slowly lightened with the early sunrise.
“Where’s Ransom?” I asked as we passed his house. No lights shone through the seagrass hedge.
“Down the beach talking to the captain.”
“The captain? He’s here?”
About a hundred yards away, a crowd had begun to form, and was growing larger, as early morning joggers and dog-walkers ambled over, the police presence interrupting their routine.
“What’s happened?” I asked
“Looks like off-roaders rutted the sand,” she said. “Like, you could swim in those ruts.”
“What? Wait, the captain is here. Let me get dressed and meet you there.”
I quickly turned back, ran to my cottage, shaking the sleep from my foggy brain. I figured I had five minutes to make the magic happen. Which allowed for a mostly thorough toothbrushing, real pants, and a hat to cover my crazy sleep hair.
I approached the damaged end of Oyster Cover Beach and stared. Humungous grooves crisscrossed a quarter mile of sand. The seagrass had been either smashed or uprooted, and the wood plank path leading up to the park was broken.
The entire area was a disaster. Right where the Ballantyne Beach BBQ was to be held. Today.
I joined Ransom, Parker, and Captain Finnegan near the epicenter. “You think joyriders did this?” I asked. “Not bulldozers?”
“From the tire treads, it looks like four-wheelers of some kind,” Captain Finnegan said. He stood tall, his gray hair military trim and his slim build runner-ready. “It’s good you’re here, Elliott. I called the Ballantynes, but couldn’t reach them. Didn’t want to leave a message.”
“They’re inflight from Dallas,” I said. “Tod’s picking them up later this morning. But don’t worry about the Ballantynes. We can get this cleaned up before the party.” My words conveyed a confidence I did not feel. “We have all day.” Nine hours, give or take. We’d need give, not take.
“Well, that’s the thing,” he said, sounding both apologetic and firm. “We revoked your permit.”
“You can’t do that,” I said. “Sir. Obviously, we’ll pay to have this fixed. The BBQ is today. We cannot possibly cancel. We have over three hundred people attending. Sir.”
“I know you’re good for it, Elliott,” he said. “But this is coming from the Mayor. He was awakened by complaints starting at four a.m. He was not happy.” He turned to Parker. “Corporal, let’s move the tape another foot.”
“Wait,” I said. “Please. There must be something we can do. A fine? Extra fees? How about we restore the beachfront, but host the party farther down, away from where the damage happened?”
“We cannot allow it,” Captain Finnegan said. “It’s out of my hands. It’ll be the lead story. You know how it’ll look granting the Ballantyne special privileges. Not when we’re in the middle of our ecotourism campaign. The Loggerheads are endangered, as you well know.”
“What if we use the Tidewater Inn? They have permanent facilities set up. We wouldn’t need a special permit, and we wouldn’t impact any natural resources that aren’t already
in play.”
“Last minute on a Saturday?” Parker said. “They’ll have a wedding booked for sure.”
“Shit, the wedding,” I said. “Captain, our permit carried through the BBQ this afternoon until the end of day tomorrow for the Pete/Turnbull wedding.”
“Not anymore,” Captain Finnegan said. “Parker, that tape.”
Just as they walked over to other officers, Tate Keating jogged up with his camera flashing. A large professional piece with an enormous lens. He clicked and shuttered, taking pictures from every angle, the words “crime scene” on yellow tape I was sure centered in every shot.
Ransom wrapped me in a hug, then kissed my forehead. “The Ballantynes will understand. They’ve done a lot to protect the turtles. Probably more than anyone.”
“I know,” I said. “This will break Vivi’s heart. Not just the damage, but the lack of humanity. Who would do this?”
“It’s too soon to know,” he said. “Had to have happened in the middle of the night. I didn’t hear it, but it’s by the park entrance. We’ll check video surveillance, canvas the beachfront homes. See if anyone was out late and saw something.”
“I didn’t hear it either. How do you quietly destroy a beach like this?”
“And why?”
“To disrupt the BBQ? We’ve heard from a few mild protestors angry about us using the beach, saying the Ballantynes are afforded too many favors.”
“Mild protestors? Is there such a thing?”
“You know, calls, letters, things like that.”
“Send a list to me. We’ll check them out.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m sure Mr. Ballantyne will want to be involved in the restoration. Even though we won’t use it for the BBQ, he’ll still want the beach repaired quickly. There could’ve been Loggerhead nests here.”
“You going to be okay? Anything I can do?”
“Yes. You can tell me what Alex has confessed to so far. And if there’s a deal on the table.”
