Page 65 of The Belle and the Biker

"I enjoyed knowing you over the years. It has been a privilege. You will do well in life. Crash McClanahan is a fine gentleman who will care for you adequately. Harold is an inappropriate choice and should be avoided at all costs. Take care."

Is he dying?

Frantically, I call Aunt Hepzibah.

When she answers, she's in an absolute tizzy. "Can you believe it?" she squalls.

"What's happening there? Is Carlisle all right?"

"No, he is not 'all right,'" she says, aggrieved. "He's moved out. To Bitter End."

"Why would he do that?"

"Well, I threw him out. Because of that vile bitch Mae Abernathy."

"Aunt Hepzibah, if you're having some kind of episode, I am coming right back to Sugar Hill to deal with it. Today."

"Do you know what that Benedict Arnold did to me? It was raining the other day, and he was shopping in Bitter End. He saw Mae Abernathy with Beauford Spillwell and walked them to Beauford's car using his umbrella." Her voice vibrates with rage.

"All right, I can understand how that would upset you, but he was raised to be a gentleman. He's a Southern man. He could no more stand there and watch a lady get rained on than he could will his heart to stop beating."

"I wish it would stop beating," she says bitterly. "If there is one thing I cannot abide, it's disloyalty."

He's lived there since his late twenties when he came there fresh from butler training. He has devoted himself entirely to her. I believe he's casually dated over the years but never married. He just lived his life serving my cantankerous, impossible great-aunt and staying by her side when many others spent their lives coming up with excuses to avoid her.

I am angry on his behalf, but I suck in a breath and hold it so I don't scream or swear. I want to tell her off, but there's no point in doing it when she's this emotional. I'm going to wait a week or two and then try to reason with her.

"I disagree with your decision." You demented old cow.

"Also, I don't know why you'd want to lead Harold on, but he keeps sending flowers to the house and stopping by, uninvited, to ask when you'll be back." You wanton hussy.

"I have done nothing but refrain from openly insulting him!"

"Well, there you go. For a nebbish like Harold, that's practically a marriage proposal."

"Why would he want me when he's got all those other bimbos chasing after him?"

"Probably because he thinks you're playing hard to get."

"I'm not playing, believe me." A sudden thought occurs to me. "You didn't, by any chance, tell him where we went, did you?" I ask. I don't know why I'm even asking, given that my problem started in New York City with a stranger, but I'm still trying to figure out how the shooter knew to follow us to South Carolina.

"Most certainly not."

I bite my lip. "Never mind. Silly question." We're back to the most likely scenario being that the shooter either is law enforcement or knows someone in law enforcement.

"Only kind you ask." She sniffs haughtily. "The whole of your side of the family doesn't have enough brains to fill a teacup. If you'll excuse me, it's time for Tiddlywinks to take her morning constitutional."

"Oh? Is there also an afternoon constitutional?"

"There you go again, asking more silly questions. Of course, there is, and also an evening constitutional."

"Did you get her collar monogrammed?"

"Collars." Plural. Tiddlywinks will have an entire wardrobe by now. "Of course. Since I knew you'd never have gotten around to it."

After a few more minutes of back-and-forth haranguing, I finally get off the phone with her.

I call Carlisle immediately. It goes straight to voice mail, so I leave a message saying that I hope he's all right and asking him to call me.

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