Page 36 of The Belle and the Biker

"It is a big deal, though. And not anybody would have done it. You kept that hotel going on your own for years until your mother got her wits back, and that hotel is the town's biggest employer."

Carol Abernathy just about lost her marbles after her husband died of a heart attack about ten years ago. Wandering the streets in her pajamas, drinking too much, suffering major OCD and panic attacks to the point where Callie would have to go fetch her from stores because she was afraid to touch doorknobs.

I made some unkind remarks about Carol back in the day, and I wince remembering. I wish I could go back in time and swallow them like hard, bitter pills.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter. They saved the town, and our hotel is practically booked into the next century; life is good. Also, am I paranoid, or is someone following us?" Callie glances in the rearview mirror.

I follow her gaze. I've made a couple of turns and realize she's right. The same car has stayed behind us the whole time, and it's closing in on us faster than it should in this weather.

The car has North Carolina plates. So it couldn't be my New York stalker—could it?

I speed up and make a quick right turn without signaling. The car does the same and accelerates, closing the gap between us. It doesn't matter if it's the New York shooter or not… That's just creepy.

"I'm calling 9-1-1. Take the left turn up ahead," Callie directs me. "Go to Farmer Waldorf's house. There's always a ton of people there."

I know the area well enough to know where she's telling me to go. I accelerate, and we fishtail but stay on the road. We go around the corner really fast and then zip down a driveway through thick underbrush. Farmer Waldorf's house has a bunch of vehicles parked in front, and to be extra safe, I drive behind a tractor. Hopefully, the driver won't risk following us down there. My heart's hammering in my chest as I peer through my rain-drenched window. Callie's still on the phone as the car speeds off.

As Callie talks to the emergency dispatcher, I call Aunt Hepzibah to let her know what happened. She offers to send Carlisle and a few of the men who work for her, but I tell her that the sheriff will be there any minute.

A few minutes later, a deputy escorts us back to the sheriff's department in Bitter End. They're in an old brick building on Main Street, a few buildings from the courthouse. I fill Sheriff Buckley in on everything that I know. He calls New York and talks to the detective who was assigned to the murder.

Unfortunately, the car that was following us seems to have vanished. I didn't see the license plate number, and neither did Callie. Sheriff Buckley insists that we look at pictures of different types of cars before he finally gives up in defeat.

"I'm not a car person," I say apologetically.

"You did your best. In the meantime, I wouldn't drive anywhere around here by yourself until you've got this figured out."

"I won't be staying in the area," I sigh.

"You going back to New York, then?"

"No, I don't know where I'm going, but if I stay here, I'm afraid I'd be putting my great-aunt in danger."

"Let me know where you end up," he says. "Call my office directly and check in with me. And I'll stay in touch with the New York folks to see if they find any leads."

"Thanks. I appreciate that."

He hesitates, looking as if he wants to say something. I sit there waiting. Finally, he blurts out, "How's the family?"

Which family member in particular? I wonder.

"They're fine, thanks. I mean, they're all crazier than a bucket of June bugs, but you already knew that."

"Not driving Naomi too crazy, are you? Poor girl always ends up being the peacekeeper for your bunch."

"You're interested in Naomi?" I nod my head enthusiastically. "Naomi's a very nice girl."

"I am not." Did I just make a thirty-something-year-old man blush? Hmm. This could work. He's single, ex-military—which is always hot—and maybe ten years older than her, which is certainly acceptable.

"A very nice, single girl," I clarify. "Hard worker. Talented hairdresser." Well, that was stupid. What does he care about how well she cuts hair? Next, I'll tell him she's also good at folding sweaters. "Cute as a button," I add lamely.

He clears his throat. "I should get back to work now."

Hmph. I'm not letting this go. If I could fix them up, that would earn me about a million karma points and a month's worth of pages in my book of good deeds.

"Can I tell her you asked about her?"

"No, you may not. Run along now. Deputy Willis will follow you home."

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