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Claire’s mouth hangs open, her eyes wide in shock. “Why, I never!”

“We know,” Bernard says. Quieter, he turns to me and Luna and says, “This has been a long time coming. Looks like I’ll be the one with the tea tonight. Stanley’ll be so mad he missed out.”

Wait . . .

“You came in on squealing tires, running to stop us from talking to Elena. How’d you know we were here?” I already know the answer, but I’m curious to see if she’ll fess up.

“What? I was just coming over to check on Aunt Elena and . . . I saw your car.” There’s an obvious delay as she tries to create a story on the fly.

“Stanley told you, didn’t he?” I deduce.

Claire juts her chin out proudly. “He knows who’ll inherit the estate eventually, and who’ll be taking care of him. Or not.”

“You did not threaten Stanley,” Elena gasps. “That man has given his whole life to the Cartwright family and is basically family himself. How dare you?”

“It’s the truth,” Claire says. “He knows what’s good for him, who’s good for him.”

Luna pipes up to add, “Not you.”

I look at her in surprise, and she blinks rapidly. I’m not sure whether she meant to say that or only think it. But Elena’s look says she’s fully approving, and I suddenly wonder if Alphena might find a mentor in a kind old lady named Elena.

Elena’s heard enough.

“Let’s go talk to that man right now,” she says, brushing off her backside with no shame. “I’m gonna tell him that he doesn’t have to do a thing you say. I don’t want him so much as getting you a glass of water if you’re dying of dehydration. I won’t let you stress that poor man out with this nonsense.”

She starts toward the house, and we all follow like soldiers into war.

CHAPTER

THIRTY

LUNA

“Aunt Elena . . . wait . . . stop . . .” Claire is chasing after Elena, which speaks to how fast Elena is hoofing it across the side yard to the house. It doesn’t help that Claire is wearing heels that keep sinking into the grass, but still, pretty impressive for a woman Elena’s age.

Bernard grumbles, eyeing the holes Claire’s leaving behind, and I have no doubt that he’s cussing her a blue streak in his mind.

Elena barrels through the side door, already hollering. “Stanley! Stanley! Come here, you old coot!”

Nelda pops in first, clearly surprised and concerned. “Elena?”

“Where’s Stanley?” Nelda’s eyes widen in shock at Elena’s angry tone, and her shoulders jump to her ears quickly. Elena yells again, and Nelda disappears as quickly as she appeared with Bernard following behind her. “Staaan-leeey!”

“Ma’am?” Stanley answers, hurrying down the hall. He’s more disheveled than when Carter and I arrived. His hair is standing up as if he’s been running his fingers through it, and his tie is pulled down several inches from its proper place. His eyes jump to Claire, and he visibly shrinks away from her.

Elena whirls on Claire. “What in the Sam Hill did you tell him? He’s terrified of you!”

Claire flinches, but Elena doesn’t really want an answer anyway. She turns back to Stanley, pointing a finger at him. “You listen and listen good, Stanley Hodgins. Whatever she’s told you” —she turns her finger to Claire so that she’s crystal clear— “is a big pile of steaming dog shit and nothing more.”

“Aunt Elena, you’re hysterical,” Claire coos. “You should sit. That’ll help you calm down.”

Claire tries to prod Elena toward a chair, but Elena jerks her arm out of Claire’s grip. “Don’t talk to me like I’ve lost my marbles. I’m as clear-headed as I’ve ever been, and you’re the same overbearing meddler you’ve always been.”

Claire makes a noise of disbelief, clutching invisible pearls. I’m starting to see that reaction as a forced move she thinks makes her look innocent. She did it when Jacob said something she didn’t like, and now she’s doing it when Elena does the same thing.

Elena huffs. “Oh, save the dramatics. You aren’t Scarlett O’Hara, that’s for damn sure.”

“Ma’am?” Stanley leans between the two women. “What’s going on?”

“You tell me,” Elena counters. “Did Claire tell you that you owed her some sort of loyalty? Threaten you?”

Stanley looks back and forth, seeming unsure what to say or who to speak against. “I . . . uh, I . . .”

Elena shakes her head in disbelief, her eyes sad. “She really did a number on you, didn’t she?”

I burrow into Carter’s side, not liking the tension, and he takes my hand, running his thumb over the sensitive skin. Between the distraction of his touch and the support of his arm pressed along mine, I settle, but I don’t like the arguing.

“Not that you’re hysterical, but sitting down to get all this into the open might not be a bad idea.” Carter’s recommendation is much more well-received than Claire’s, mostly because it comes from a well-intended place rather than Claire’s condescension. I think he’s also suggesting it thinking it’ll help me feel more comfortable.

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