Framed! Page 2

  Sam offered his hand. “I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” He couldn’t be all bad. Not if Jocelyn was in love with him, and by all appearances, Jocelyn was starry-eyed over him. The man had a job to do and had done it, that was all. She widened her smile. “I appreciate y’all coming.”

  Jocelyn gave her another hug. “Call me if you need anything.” She looped her arm through Sam’s and headed toward the line of parked cars.

  A few brave souls from her mother’s generation approached Charla, offering weak sentiments of comfort. Charla accepted their gestures amid tears and clinging to her trembling dog. Ava shifted away. How sad that her mother really had no one to confide in, talk with, share her grief with. For the first time, pity for Charla rose within Ava. Her mother had no friends or confidants. Only Bosworth, the son of Charla’s father’s driver, who’d served Charla since she was a young woman. He’d stayed with the family through Charla’s marriage, and remained her faithful servant today.

  “Ava.” The voice reached right into her heart and pierced it.

  She spun to face Maximilion Pershing. “Max.” Her gasp caught in her throat as her pulse raced.

  “I’m so sorry.” His eyes were the color of hot cocoa and just as soothing. He laid a steady hand on her shoulder. “I know this sounds so lame, but if there’s anything I can do for you…” He paused, swallowed hard, then continued, “I hope you know I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

  Of all the people who offered condolences, Max meant the most to her because he knew the pain she felt. He knew her, and he understood. And maybe, just maybe, he still cared. He’d loved her once. Could he again, despite the history between them? Ava blinked back the tears threatening to spill. “Th-thank you.”

  He leaned closer and pulled her into his arms, hugging her gently, yet firmly.

  Her heart pounded as if she’d just done twenty laps in an Olympic-size pool. Ava allowed herself to melt into his embrace. The distinct smell of his familiar cologne wafted around her. It felt so good for Max to hold her. Then again, it always had.

  “I mean it. I’m here for you.” His words were a caress against her ear.

  For just a moment, time stood still and she was transported back to the day she’d been uprooted from her junior year of high school to go to boarding school, and she’d had to tell Max goodbye.

  Wailing shattered the memory.

  Ava withdrew from Max and spun around. Her mother caught sight of her. For a moment, Charla’s grief disappeared, replaced with the familiar frown of disapproval. “Avvvvvvaaaaaaaaaa!”

  Only Charla Renault could make a two-syllable word draw out to ten. And in front of everyone, too.

  Tossing a please-forgive-me look at Max, she mouthed “I’ll call you” and rushed to her mother. Poor Rhett, the little Jack Russell terrier that never left Charla’s side, quivered and whined.

  She took her mother’s hand and squeezed, nodding to Bosworth hovering on the edge of the crowd. Ava gave the coffin a final glance. Her stomach twisted as her heart ached to shriek louder than Charla.

  Goodbye, Dylan.

  She turned and guided her mother’s wheelchair toward the waiting limo.

  Although he hadn’t known it at the time, Max Pershing had given his heart to Ava Renault years ago. Fifteen years ago, to be precise. Now he knew she still had it.

  Last month, fate had thrown the two of them together again when the Loomis governing body asked him to serve on the Mother’s Day pageant committee, representing the Pershing family. He’d had no choice—his mother would’ve been furious had he declined, so he accepted. Not knowing that his co-chair would be from the other prominent family in the small town—Ava Renault.

  Holding her in his arms just now had confirmed it. No other woman had ever made his heart leap as Ava did.

  She helped her mother into the car, gave him a final sad smile from across the cemetery, then disappeared behind the tinted glass. The Renault driver, Bosworth, shut the back door before slipping behind the steering wheel.

  Every muscle in his body tensed to run after her. To hold her again. To try to smooth some of the pain etched across her face.

  “Surprised to see you here.” Reverend Harmon offered his hand.

  Max shook hands with the man. “It’s a shame what happened with Dylan. Of course, I wanted to be here for the family.”

  Reverend Harmon’s bushy brows shot up. “The family, or Ava in particular?”

  Busted. “Well, it’s no secret there’s no love lost between my mother and Charla, that’s for sure.”

  “But between you and Ava?”

  Reverend Harmon knew their history—knew how they’d been falling in love back in high school, knew how Charla Renault had been unable to accept such an idea and had sent Ava away to boarding school, knew how Charla had brought Ava back to attend the local university when she’d learned Max had been accepted at Louisiana State University. Everyone who knew the story seemed as bewildered as Max over why, when he returned from college, Ava had avoided Max like the plague. Too much parental influence, or had her feelings toward Max changed?

  “That’s ancient history.”

  One of the cemetery workers approached. “Reverend Harmon, most everyone has left. Is it okay to lower the casket now?”

  The man’s demeanor changed in an instant. “Of course.” He nodded to Max. “I’m praying for you.”

  How was he supposed to respond to that? He didn’t want anyone to pray for him. He’d learned years ago that God wasn’t listening. He hadn’t listened to Max’s pleas to bring Ava home and then had turned a deaf ear to Max’s requests to save his cousin, Michael Pershing, from pancreatic cancer at such a young age. But Max couldn’t fault Harmon for his faith. Everyone knew Reverend Harmon was a good man, had a good heart.

  Max stood silently as the reverend said a final prayer over the casket containing Dylan Renault, then the casket was lowered into the grave. Max’s gut knotted.

  People weren’t supposed to die so young. And murdered! In Loomis. The third one in a month. Plus, Leah Farley was still missing, although the general consensus was that she was dead as well.

  The town fed on gossip and suppositions. FBI agents and investigators had barraged Loomis and set up base in the downtown area. Just two weeks ago, they’d focused on Dylan Renault as a suspect in Angelina Loring’s death. Now he’d been shot and killed. What was the city coming to?

  Max headed to his truck, his steps dragging as much as his heart. With everything going on, all the deaths and Dylan Renault’s cryptic dying words, the town hummed with rumors of what was happening. The fact that his and Ava’s mothers continued to feud just added to all the tension.

  And Ava Renault sat right in the dead center of it all.

  He parked outside his condo, the property his mother owned. At least her condo was across the complex from his. He had to agree with Charla Renault on one thing—his mother had made the complex quite a sight with its baby blue paint and gaudy design. He still couldn’t figure out if his mother really had such bad taste or if she’d done it on purpose just to annoy Charla. Their generations-old feud, fueled by competitive business deals and now the lonely older women with nothing to do but stir up trouble, was never-ending.

  Max unlocked the door, tossed his keys onto the buffet in the entry and headed to the kitchen.

  “How was the funeral?”

  Max startled and then faced his mother. “Why are you here?”

  She sat at the dinette table, sipping tea as if she belonged. But she didn’t. This was his home, not hers. Yet she’d never seemed to have gotten the message. “I wanted to know how the funeral went.”

  He opened the fridge and poured a glass of orange juice. “You don’t care. You hate Charla Renault.”

  “Well, of course I do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know who all turned out for the funeral. Anything interesting happen?”

  “Mom, I can’t believe you’d stoop so l
ow. I’m not going to gossip about the funeral.” He shook his head.

  “Don’t make it sound like I’m some horrible person. Charla Renault would be just as curious if it were your funeral.” She sniffed and stood, taking her teacup to the sink and rinsing it out. “I wonder what the police are thinking now since Dylan was their prime suspect in that poor Angelina’s death.” She tsked.

  Max slugged down the rest of the orange juice. “That’s not a very nice attitude, and you know it.”

  “But it’s the truth.” She lifted her purse, sarcasm dripping in her words. “I’ve seen you with that Ava Renault several times in the last month or so. I recognize the look she’s giving you. She’s trying to get her claws into you again.”

  “We’re working together on the Mother of the Year pageant committee, that’s all.”

  Her eyes narrowed for a moment. “Awfully defensive, aren’t you? Maybe you know I’m right.”

  Nope, she was wrong. Ava couldn’t get her claws into him again…she’d never retracted them.

  TWO

  Yesterday left scars upon her soul.

  Ava hadn’t had such a horrible day since her father died. Not only had she buried her brother, her only sibling, but she’d also been hugged by Max Pershing. Not just physically, but a soul hug. Talk about scars.

  Initially, she’d been appalled to find he was her co-chair for the Mother of the Year pageant committee. On uneasy footing, they’d awkwardly stumbled through a couple of weeks of working together. Then, as if the planets were all in alignment, they’d fallen into a comfortable pattern of being together.

  It felt an awful lot like old times.

  Now, her heart fluttered just thinking about being in his arms again. Had she made a mistake in honoring her mother’s demands for so long? Could Max still have feelings for her, or was she merely misinterpreting his kind condolences yesterday?

  “Ms. Ava, Bosworth says Sheriff Reed is here to see Ms. Charla, but she refuses to open her door when I knock.” The maid hovered in the doorway to the dining hall, literally wringing her hands.

  Ava stood. “Don’t worry, Bea. I’ll let the sheriff know Mother isn’t feeling well.” She smoothed down her suit pants. “Tell Bosworth to show him into the library and let him know I’ll be along shortly.”

  “Would you like me to serve coffee?”

  “Please.” Ava smiled as the woman left, then sucked in air. What could the sheriff want? Did they have a lead on Dylan’s killer? Or was he here to try even harder to link Dylan to Angelina Loring’s death? Since her brother was dead, how could they? She straightened her shoulders and headed to the library.

  St. Tammany parish’s sheriff, Bradford Reed, stood with his back to the door, facing the marble fireplace. He touched the gold frame on the mantel holding Dylan’s picture. She recalled the manner in which he had focused on Dylan in regards to Angelina’s death. He’d been so wrong. She knew that in her heart. Resentment clawed at her chest. She said a quiet prayer, hoping to grasp a measure of peace.

  Ava said “amen” and entered the room. “Sheriff Reed, how may I help you?”

  He faced her, a stoic look pasted onto his aging features. “Ava.” His gaze ambled over her shoulder. “Where’s Charla?”

  “Mother isn’t feeling well today, Sheriff.” She gestured toward the sofa. “Would you care to have a seat?”

  Dropping to the sofa, he nodded as she sat in the high-back chair diagonal from him. “Well, I appreciate you seeing me.”

  After the way he’d treated her brother, she had to stretch to put on politeness. “But of course.” She picked imaginary lint from her pants as she fought to remain poised, the urge to ask why he was here nearly suffocating her. But she wouldn’t. It wasn’t deemed proper hostess behavior.

  “I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about your brother, if I may.”

  “Certainly.” More questions, but no answers. After burying Dylan yesterday, she’d hoped for at least some promising news.

  “Good.” Sheriff Reed pulled out a notebook and pencil. “First, what can you tell me about the relationship your brother had with Angelina Loring?”

  So much for hoping. Ava shifted in her seat. “Didn’t you cover all of this when you centered your attention on him as a suspect in her death?”

  A little tic by his eye was the only visible reaction. “We just have to check every angle, every clue.”

  “Then, as I told you before, they went out socially together some, but it wasn’t a serious relationship by any means.” She paused, recalling how Angelina seemed to cling to Dylan as hard as she could. “Well, it might’ve been for Angelina, but Dylan never got serious in any relationship.” Ava tilted her head. “Do y’all now think the murders are related?” Were they finally realizing Dylan had nothing to do with Angelina’s death? His death had to have them scrambling for answers. Unraveling their loosely knit theory.

  Dylan was dead. Correction, murdered.

  “We’re just looking at any and all possible connections.”

  “But she was found dead in the swamp, and Dylan was shot in the back. Do you think they’re related?”

  Sheriff Reed fingered the edge of his notebook with calloused hands.

  “Angelina was shot in the back, too, wasn’t she?” She refused to give in to the urge to glare at him. No wonder they’d searched the mansion when they’d convinced themselves Dylan had killed Angelina. But they would’ve never found a gun—there wasn’t a firearm in the house. Not since her father had died and all his hunting shotguns had been destroyed.

  “We didn’t make the details of her death public for investigative reasons.”

  Because they had suspected Dylan. “But was she shot in the back just like my brother?”

  “Ma’am, can you think of any reason someone would want your brother and Angelina dead?”

  Answering a question with another a question confirmed it—Dylan and Angelina were both shot in the back. Evil had arrived in Loomis. “My brother, no. And trust me, I’ve thought of every possible scenario. A lot of people didn’t like Dylan, but I can’t think of anyone who hated him enough to kill him.”

  “Maybe a bad business deal?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m not exactly in the family business. But neither Dylan nor Mother mentioned anything serious going on at the company.” The thought struck her again that it was high time she did know what went on behind closed doors at the Renault Corporation.

  “Would they have?”

  “Of course.” Ava paused as Bea entered the library with a silver service that she set on the iron-and-glass coffee table.

  After the maid had poured and been dismissed, Ava settled her cup in its saucer and stared at the sheriff. “You know my mother’s ruthless reputation…she isn’t any different at home. If there’d been a business transaction that hadn’t gone well, she’d delight in calling Dylan on the carpet every opportunity she could. We all shared dinner every night, except when I had a wedding or Dylan had a date.” Because Ava sure hadn’t had a meaningful date in longer than she could remember.

  Max’s image floated across her mind.

  “I see. Was that often? That Dylan had a date, I mean?”

  Ava shook her head, banishing Max from her thoughts. “An occasional date during the week and most weekends. Is this really necessary?”

  “The more we know, the better we can work the case.”

  Because now they were looking for a link between the murders. Perfectly logical, but the loss was still too new for the memories not to hurt. Ava took a sip of her coffee and waited.

  The sheriff took a noisy sip from his own cup. The china rattled as he replaced it on the saucer. “There aren’t many young, single women in Loomis your brother didn’t date. And some who weren’t single.”

  Ava folded her hands in her lap. “Not that I see any relevance in this discussion, but Dylan enjoyed being around women. He liked women, pretty much all women. I didn’t know that was illegal, or a reason to
be a murder suspect.”

  “I mean no disrespect, you understand, but I have to do my job. I have others breathing down my neck…”

  “Like the FBI?” No disrespect? He sure wasn’t singing that tune when they’d questioned Dylan relentlessly after Angelina’s body had been found floating in the bayou close to Renault Hall. “I understand, Sheriff, I do, but if you’re trying to link Dylan’s dating a lot and not being serious about any one woman to a reason he would murder or be murdered, I believe you’re looking in the wrong direction.”

  “Where should I be looking, Ms. Renault?”

  “I haven’t a clue. I’m not in law enforcement, Sheriff Reed.” She hated the snippiness that had crept into her tone but couldn’t help it. The whole discussion bothered her, rubbing her fresh wounds raw.

  He cleared his throat. “What about Angelina Loring?”

  “I didn’t know her well enough to give supposition.”

  “But your brother dated her, off and on, for some time.”

  Great. Make her feel more like a heel of a sister. “I didn’t invest a lot of time in anyone Dylan dated. If he got serious, he would’ve told me and I’d have taken the time to get to know the person.”

  “I see.” No, he didn’t, but what more could she say?

  “What about him dating someone else with red hair? Aside from Angelina?”

  “I wasn’t Dylan’s social secretary.”

  “Can you think of anyone he mentioned going out with who had red hair?”

  Why was he hung up on red hair? “Sheriff Reed, is there something I should know?”

  He reviewed his notes, refusing to look at her. “We found a long, red hair on your brother’s clothes and are trying to see how it could have logically gotten there.”

  That was new. “I haven’t a clue.”

  He nodded. “I know the FBI already asked you about Leah Farley.”

  She shifted, crossing her legs at the ankles. “Yes. Do you think there might be a connection there? That hardly seems likely. Leah hadn’t worked for my brother in more than three years.”