Page 31 of The Belle and the Biker

“What if they never find the guy?”

“It’s way too early to think like that. They’ll keep working on it,” she promises.

If the police don’t have any actual leads on the shooter and the drive-by shooter’s car was torched…what else can they do?

My heart sinks. I can’t stay here freeloading off Aunt Hepzibah forever. We’ll drive each other crazy.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” There’s a hint of mischief in her voice now.

Like any good Southern girl, I pretend to ignore things I don’t want to acknowledge. “Ask you what?” I say innocently.

“How Crash is doing.”

Yes! Tell me everything! Is he dating anybody? Has he asked about me? “I absolutely positively could not possibly care less how that Harley-humping beer-swilling swine is doing.”

“Wow. You seem to feel pretty strongly about that.” Tawny laughs. “Okay, then.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t want him to come to any harm or anything,” I add quickly. “I just don’t have any interest in what he’s doing, or who he’s sleeping with, or how he spends his days, or whether he’s asked about me, or anything like that.”

“Please. Tell me more.”

“I believe we’re done with this line of conversation.”

“Cool. I’m working the lunch shift, and I have to get back on the floor anyway. A guy at the bar needs a punch in the face.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Nothing. I’m in a bad mood. Take care of your prissy little self.” And she hangs up.

Then I remember not asking Tawny if she was getting along any better with Axl. That was selfish of me. I mentally deduct karma points from my ledger.

I send her a quick text. Are things okay with Axl? Texts aren’t as good as phone calls, though. I’ll have to try to do an extra good deed today.

Well, no more time to chit-chat. I need to clear the premises before my mother shows up. I head inside the house to grab my cardigan and purse to head to Bitter End. Carlisle is carrying a cut glass crystal vase of red roses and baby’s breath, which he hands me.

“These arrived for you.”

My heart leaps right up into my throat. Crash is thinking of me! I mean, I did tell him that I’m not a big fan of roses and I’ve always loved sunflowers, but sending any kind of flower is a nice gesture.

How incredibly sweet! He shouldn’t have. He really shouldn’t have.

And…he didn’t.

There’s a card with the roses. I read it and cringe.

“Yore sure looking hot these days! I’d love to come calling on you.”

Signed, Harold Harkwell.

I experience a full-body dry heave. And it’s only partly from the misspellings.

“Please destroy these,” I say to Carlisle. “I mean, utterly destroy them. Eliminate them from the face of the earth.”

“Yes, madam?” He arches one gray eyebrow in polite inquiry.

“They’re from cousin Harold.”

His face puckers in disgust. “Yes, madam.”

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