A/N: Long time, no see, eh?

Well Summer 2009 is finally here, people.

I think I've lost my Gone with the Wind mojo, Alicia had to threaten to whip me to set me into motion, because the truth is that ever since the LOST season finale (if you watch Lost, you know what I'm talking about), I have not been able to write anything apart from Lost related stories.

I have the rest of this story mapped out though,I know exactly where I'm going, but the thrill is not there, which makes me sad. But don't let that unfinished House MD fic on my profile fool you, I am not a quitter, I have come this far, so I'm determined to finish this!!

Thanks to everyone who takes a moment of their time to review, you guys are fabulous and have been since day one, I can't believe I have been writing this for a year now, I honestly never thought it would go on for so long, because if I had, I probably never would have launched myself into it, lol.

I'll admit I'm a bit p-off, because I wanted to post this on this storie's 1st birthday, which I thought was today, but apparently it was yesterday. *sigh*

--

Ever since that French investigator, Victor Renard had paid her a visit at the store the other day, she had not been able to shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in the pit of her stomach.

She honestly did not know what to make of his visit; she was not even exactly sure what it meant. She supposed it made sense that he would come and ask her questions about Ashley, especially since she had known him all her life.

Renard's questions had lacked the casual tone that they should have had if he his sole purpose had been to seek trivialities about Ashley and his life, instead their subtext had been crystal clear. It was obvious she was not the first person he had come to in the course of his investigation. He had not been very subtle when he had asked her if her only ties to Ashley had been ties of friendship, the tone he had used implied that he already knew the answer and was merely assessing her own honesty.

She wondered if the eventuality of her admitting to him that she had once loved Ashley had even crossed his mind. Surely not, he was probably just counting on the reaction of outrage that if would provoke in her to prove his point, and she had served him on a silver platter exactly what he had been looking for.

Scarlett had been pacing up and down her room for the past half hour, she could not get any rest, and the same thought kept resurfacing in her mind, what if Rhett had killed Ashley.

It was true he had despised the man, from the very instant he had met him, they were too different to ever see eye to eye, and her infatuation with the plantation golden boy had only made things worse.

For years she had used her love for Ashley Wilkes as a last resort against Rhett, every time she would fail to come up with a cunning comeback to one of his snide comments she would rub her devotion for the other man into Rhett's smug face, and satisfaction would rise in her as a dark shadow would take over Rhett's eyes.

Rhett hated Ashley, but he also thought the man was a waste of space, so why would he go as far as to murder him, if he did not think he was worth the trouble. Also, Scarlett could not imagine Rhett hitting another man with a stone until death followed; she thought that if Rhett was ever to commit murder, he would do so by the means of a revolver or a sword fight, a rock was not a worthy weapon for a man with Rhett Butler's class.

But who knows what a person is capable of doing in desperate situations, her mind trailed off once again. What would be his motive for murdering Ashley?

Surely not her. Rhett had made it clear long ago that he didn't care for her or even her virtue anymore as long as her actions did no harm to Bonnie's future and reputation. That being said, she was rather fond of the idea that two men would duel over her graces and charms.

She imagined herself as one of the princesses from the fairytales of her childhood, the dark knight and the white knight fighting to obtain the rights to her heart. Although she was not certain who was the white and who was the dark knight in this metaphor, since she loved neither of them. The flame she had once carried for Ashley was now as dead as he was, and the affection she had once had for Rhett dissipated under years of hard feelings and resentment.

Nevertheless she liked the general idea.

She did not know what to think anymore, Renard's interest in her private affairs and his obvious innuendos had fogged her mind. She had seen how Rhett had flinched when he had heard Ashley's name, but even more she had seen how this had spiked Renard's curiosity.

That's what he had come fishing for, Renard must be convinced that Rhett is behind Ashley's death, she thought. But this conclusion did not bring satisfaction and peace of mind along with it, instead it triggered worry and apprehension in her –what if Rhett really had murdered Ashley?

She remembered back to the night of Ashley's murder.

That was the night Rhett had come home stinking drunk -the drunkest she had ever seen him, he couldn't even stand up all by himself anymore. And the alcohol on his breath alone would have been enough to anaesthetise most of the boys who had to undergo amputation during the war without any pain relief whatsoever.

Could he really have assassinated Ashley Wilkes?

After all, you never know what a person is capable of, and even less when the person is under the influence.

What would become of her if Rhett went to jail? She would be left along to face the cruel harpies of the Old Guard, who would not only blame her for Ashley's death, but also for Rhett's imprisonment.

But more importantly, if he had killed Ashley, should she be afraid? She had seen his rage on the night of Ashley's last birthday, she had been terrified, petrified of what he might do to her. Should she be afraid now?

Meanwhile, Rhett was downstairs in the dinning room, with a glass of Brandy in his hand, also rehashing the day's events, especially Renard's impromptu visit.

Had they met in other circumstances, Rhett was sure he would have probably got along with the man, he appeared to be a well read man, a sharp individual who had the eye for details. But not above stooping as morally low as he needed to to get the answers he was seeking.

Yes, had he met him a couple of years ago, not only would Rhett have more than likely befriended the man, they would have probably become friends.

Rhett sipped his drink slowly as he wondered who on earth could the private investigator be working for.

Surely not Miss Melanie, she was to stricken by grief to envisage seeking extra help to find out who had murdered her beloved husband.

Aunt Pitty Pat? Surely not. That woman couldn't hold a thought longer than she could hold her breath, and she would never have the nerve, nor the means to hire a private detective.

The person who had employed Renard had to be someone with sufficient resources to pay him. It could be Henry Hamilton, yes, perhaps it was him indeed.

Rhett made a mental note to remember to look into that when he would be in town the next day.

His thoughts then wandered off to what Renard could have possibly said to upset Scarlett, granted the fact that Scarlett was the sort of person who was easily upset, but nevertheless, he wondered what the man had said or insinuated to get her in such a state.

Of course, it was to be expected that if Renard was investigating Ashley Wilkes' death that he would sooner rather than later come to Scarlett with questions. No doubt had he spoken with a member or two of the old guard first, and they had been more than delighted to casually bring up in the course of the conversation the incident, which had occurred on Ashley's last birthday.

The old hens of Atlanta truly and bitterly hated Scarlett O'Hara, and had ever since she had set her foot on the platform of the train station at the young age of seventeen.

"Actually," he thought. "They're probably convinced that Scarlett is the one who killed Ashley."

This thought was enough to make him laugh out loud. He couldn't in a thousand years imagine Scarlett murdering Ashley, or anyone for that matter. She was too delicate an individual, and wasn't all that fond of getting dirty.

Perhaps, it was the fact that Renard had suggested that Scarlett was in love with Ashley that had set Scarlett off this afternoon. That would certainly explain why she had not been willing to discuss her outburst with him on the way home.

Whatever Victor Renard was looking for, only time would tell if he found it.