by Robin Caroll
“There’s no way she could. I can’t believe you’d even consider such a possibility. As if your brother would stoop to fathering a child with that…that tramp.”
“Mother!”
“Don’t you Mother me, Ava Scarlet Renault! I won’t allow any such test. Nothing will mar the Renault name, not even you.”
Ava stood on shaky legs. “I’ll give you time to adjust to the idea. Surel—”
“Get out. I’ll not have this discussion anymore. I can’t believe you’d even consider such a preposterous suggestion.”
Ava walked to the door and left without another word. She made it down the hall and almost to the stairs when Bosworth stopped her. “Is Ms. Charla upset? I thought I heard her voice raised.”
What, did he have radar tuned into the nuances of her mother’s moods? No, it wasn’t his fault. She offered a shaky smile. “She’s upset with me. She’ll be fine.”
Bosworth’s brows formed a firm line over his eyes. “I’ll just go check on her.”
“I wouldn’t advise it, but be my guest.” Ava turned and made her way up the stairs.
Once in her room, she threw herself across the bed and clutched a pillow to her chest. Her fists pounded the satin pillow-case.
Why, God? Why is this so hard?
With eyes pinched closed, little Sarah Farley’s image filled her mind’s eye. Blond hair—did it have a hint of strawberry in it, like Ava’s? But her eyes…no denying they were the same shape and color as the trademark Renault eyes.
Just like Ava’s and Charla’s.
Ava bolted up and flung the pillow on the bed. If Sarah was Dylan’s, then there was still a piece of her brother left. Could she live with not knowing the truth? But Charla had made it clear she’d never allow Dylan’s samples to be tested.
She moved to her desk and booted up her laptop. Time to do a little online research to see what she could find out about DNA paternity tests.
Time to be proactive.
“What’s this I hear about you working at Renault Corporation?” Lenore met him in the foyer, looking none too happy. Matter of fact, by the redness of her face and narrowed eyes, Max would take a guess that hot fury ran through her veins.
“I just helped Ava out for an afternoon.” He tossed his keys on the buffet and let out a heavy sigh. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with his mother tonight. But he’d have to tell her, so might as well get it over with, take a hot shower and forget this whole miserable day.
“And blew off your own job. What are you thinking, Max? You’re my son and I love you to distraction, but sometimes you just don’t think.”
“Mom, come into the kitchen and have a drink with me. I have something to tell you.”
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head before he turned and walked down the hall. Her heels clipped on the marble tile behind him. “What? Don’t tell me you’re involved with Ava Renault. Seriously, Maximilion, I don’t think I can stand by and watch her destroy you again.”
“It’s not about Ava.” He opened the fridge and pulled out a soft drink. He tilted it toward his mother.
“No, I don’t want anything to drink. I want to know what’s going on.”
He bent over the center island, resting his elbows on the granite counter. “I’m the prime suspect in Dylan Renault’s murder.” There, he’d just thrown it out like casting a rod and reel. Now to wait for her to yank the bait.
“What? How on earth did this happen?”
Tired of the whole thing, Max relayed the events of his afternoon to his mother, downed his soda, then tossed the can in the trash.
“I’m calling Bradford. I can’t believe he’d put my son through such nonsense. With nothing to go on.”
“Mom, don’t make it worse.”
“How could I make this worse? You’re a murder suspect. I don’t know why Bradford didn’t call me first.”
“He couldn’t. The FBI agent took charge of the investigation. Well, at least their questioning of me.”
“All because of some stupid necklace Ava Renault told them was yours?” She stabbed the air in his direction. “See, this is just another reason why I want you to stay away from that girl. She ran to the FBI and pointed the finger at you.”
“She didn’t. They found the medallion on Dylan’s body. Ava just identified it.”
“But she told the police. If she’s such a wonderful person, why didn’t she ask you about it first?”
Now that was a good question. Why hadn’t Ava asked him about the medallion?
Lenore was on a roll now, pacing, her heels clicking on the tile. “Oh, no. She sees the thing and can’t wait to run and tell the FBI. What kind of woman does that? Especially when you just blew off your own company to help her with hers.”
Wait a minute.
He held up his hand to his mother and strode toward the door.
She trailed him. “Max, where are you going?”
Grabbing his keys off the table, he marched to his car.
The 1999 red convertible Mercedes-Benz glistened in the security lights under the parking cover. He pressed the button on the fob and opened the car door. The car’s automatic seat moved into his preset settings. A trace of Interlude perfume wafted past him. Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder at his mother. “Have you driven my car lately?” She was, after all, the only person besides him who had keys to it.
“Um, I drove it to the store that day my car was getting a tune-up.”
It’d be nice if she’d let him know when she drove his car. Actually, it’d be nice if she asked beforehand.
He slipped into the driver’s seat, flipped on the dome light and inspected the console. His gym membership card, two white golf tees and some loose change filled the area.
No medallion. No chain.
After getting back out of the car, Max slammed the door shut, hit the button to lock the doors and engage the security system and stormed toward the condo. So much for finding something. He’d just turned the knob when Sheriff Reed whipped into the lot.
The man barely had time to get out of the cruiser before Lenore got in his face. “I can’t believe you’d question my son, Bradford. Make him feel like a murder suspect. What are you do—”
Gravel spinning on concrete, another deputy’s car pulled into the parking area.
“What’s going on here, Bradford?” Lenore’s hands punched onto her hips.
The sheriff ignored Lenore, not even meeting her gaze, and headed toward Max. For years, Max had wondered if there was a romantic connection between his mother and the sheriff. Now, he certainly hoped not.
“Here’s a warrant to search your condo, office and automobiles.” He handed Max a folded group of papers. “Feel free to call Mr. Tanner. They’re all complete.”
“Who is Mr. Tanner, Max?” Lenore moved beside Max and snatched the papers from his hands.
“My attorney.” Max nodded at the sheriff. “I’ll go call him now.”
He left with his mother still ranting and raving at Sheriff Reed. But all Max could think was how he was being set up. He hadn’t a clue how the medallion got into Dylan’s pocket—how it’d even gotten out of his car.
And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why Ava hadn’t asked him about it before telling the sheriff and FBI it was his.
She didn’t need Charla’s permission.
They could run the DNA test on her. Sure, it wasn’t as conclusive and precise as using Dylan’s DNA, but it would determine if Sarah and Ava were related.
But did Ava want to do that?
What if Sarah was her niece? Why hadn’t her brother told her and their mother? Of course, considering her mother’s reaction to Leah, Ava could understand Dylan not mentioning anything about her, if there’d been something. What went on between him and Leah? Why the secret? How could he have denied Sarah all her life, having her live right under their noses and not say a word?
Maybe she didn’t know her brother as well as she’d like to believe.
Maybe Dylan hadn’t known Sarah was his but he’d suspected and that’s what he’d meant by his cryptic last words. Did Leah know? Had they argued? If so, then maybe she’d been the one to kill Dylan.
Except she was considered dead.
Ava shut her laptop and lay back out across the bed. The moon’s light tickled past the curtains and sent beams across the ceiling.
What about Leah? If she knew Sarah was Dylan’s, why had she married Earl? Maybe she’d tricked Earl into marrying her, then let him think the little girl was his. But why? The Renaults were the most affluent citizens of Loomis.
God, what do I do?
Ava rolled onto her stomach. The questions barraged her. If Sarah was Dylan’s daughter, then she wanted to know. She had to know.
She sat upright and stared out the window into the bayou. She’d call Mr. Fayard tomorrow to see what the law had to say on these tests and what her options would be if the test proved positive that she and Sarah were related.
A breeze blew the curtains open. Across the way, Ava could make out Pershing Plaza.
Max.
She leaned forward, resting her forearms against the windowsill. How did Max play into all this? Why had he given his medallion to Dylan? Nothing made sense. She was too confused to ask Max about it yet.
The sound of a woman shouting carried on the breeze. Ava stilled, listening. It sounded like…
Ava opened the window more and stuck her head against the screen.
Yep, it was Lenore Pershing’s gravelly voice shouting. Who was she lighting into? Hopefully, not Max.
No, she shouldn’t care. She didn’t care.
Ava slammed the window shut and moved to the bathroom to remove her makeup.
Once in her pajamas, she updated her notes on Jocelyn’s wedding, with a memo to herself to call Cathy in the morning to finish up all the little things left. It looked like the wedding would go off without a hitch.
The investigation wasn’t so lucky.
The evidence seemed to mount against Max. On one hand, she just couldn’t believe Max capable of murdering anyone, much less someone who meant a lot to her. But how’d Dylan get Max’s medallion, and have it on him when he died? And their meeting the week before…
Now that she thought about it, Max sure seemed eager to jump in and help her at the Renault Corporation. Was it possible the Pershing business was in financial trouble? Could Max have killed Dylan, then offered to help her in order to gain access to the Renault Corporation’s finances?
No, Max wouldn’t do such a thing. Never. Despite the evidence.
Or was that just her heart’s wishful thinking?
NINE
The sun crested over the trees behind Renault Mansion, casting splays of light between the pines and cypress trees of the bayou. Little beams caught in the branches, twinkling like diamonds in the rough. Ava stared out the window, marveling at God’s creation all around her. After a restless night, she reveled in the tranquility of this beautiful Saturday morning. She lifted her coffee cup and took a sip of the strong brew. A distinct hum reached her ears, and she turned from the window.
Charla had her wheelchair on its highest speed, racing into the dining room. “Have you seen this?” She stopped beside Ava and slammed the Loomis Gazette onto the table. Rhett startled at the thump.
“Good morning, Mother.” She struggled not to register surprise over seeing Charla out of her suites.
“Just look at the front page,” Charla snapped.
What now? Ava lifted the paper and popped it open. Her eyes scanned the headlines, and her heart jumped.
Business Rivalry Gone Too Far?
Max Pershing Implicated in Murder of Dylan Renault
Oh, no.
“Read it. Read all about how that vile Pershing killed your brother.” Charla crossed her arms over her chest.
Ava’s stomach knotted as she scanned the article.
Loomis, La.—Family feud gone too far? Sheriff Bradford Reed gave a statement early this morning that through the combined effort of the Loomis Sheriff’s office and assisting FBI investigators, evidence recovered at the scene of Dylan Renault’s murder has been identified as belonging to Maximilion “Max” Pershing.
Pershing, 32, is the major stockholder of Pershing Company, with subsidiaries of Pershing Land Developing and Pershing Real Estate.
Sheriff Reed further stated that Pershing met with the victim at the scene of the crime the week before the murder occurred, with no logical explanation given. Furthermore, Pershing has no alibi for the time of the murder.
The Pershing family, who has long been at odds with the Renault family, made no statement.
Closing the newspaper, Ava stared at her mother. “I just can’t believe Max would be involved in Dylan’s murder.”
Charla’s eyes narrowed. “It’s just like those Pershings…cowards. Shooting my boy in the back.”
Ava had to admit—the way the article was written, all the evidence pointed to Max. And it was new to her that Max didn’t have an alibi.
“This is a prime example of why I refused to let you date that dirty rat. He’s a killer.” Charla’s voice rose.
“Mother, I don’t think Max murdered anyone, much less Dylan.”
“Why would you defend him? Against your brother?” Charla glared. “What kind of woman are you that you wouldn’t care that he murdered your brother—shot him in the back in cold blood?”
“I know Max. He couldn’t have done such a thing.” But the evidence sure looked convincing.
Charla wheeled around so fast that poor little Rhett almost fell off her lap. “You know Max? How about knowing your brother? How about demanding justice for his murder?”
“Oh, I want the person who killed Dylan to answer for his crime. I just don’t think that person is Max.”
A heavy pause filled the air.
“How dare you defend the man who killed your brother? I raised you better than this.” Charla’s voice reached the level of shouting, something Ava hadn’t heard from her in years. “I will not tolerate such disrespect. Not in my own home.” Her face turned as red as the buoys on the other side of the swamp.
“Calm down, Mother. Your blood pressure—”
“Forget my blood pressure. You’re a traitor.”
Bosworth stormed into the doorway, then halted with a jerk. “Charla!”
She turned in the chair to glare at him.
Ava held her breath. She’d never in her life seen the servant speak in such a way to her mother.
Charla wagged a finger. “This isn’t any of your concern, Jon.”
“But you’re too upset. You should retire to your room to rest.”
“Rest? When my own daughter is turning traitor? How can I rest?”
“Mother, I’m not a traitor. I’m just after the truth. All the police have is circumstantial evidence and a theory that Max was involved.”
Charla huffed. “Evidence is evidence.”
“Ma’am, please. Let me escort you back to your suites. I’ll have Bea make you a cup of tea.” Bosworth’s face was wreathed in worry and concern.
Her mother hesitated a moment, then nodded at him. As he moved to stand beside her, Charla made a final statement. “Ava, you stay away from those Pershings. I mean it.”
Ava clamped her lips together as Bosworth and her mother crossed out of the dining room and headed down the hall. Their voices were mere murmurs with the hum of the wheelchair.
Could it be true? Could Max have been involved? Everyone else seemed to think so—her mother, the sheriff, even the newspaper reporter. Was it possible she was letting her emotions blind her to the truth? The evidence?
Perhaps. But she had another issue to deal with first.
Leaving her now-cooled coffee, Ava made her way into the office and closed the door. She dialed the number for Paul Fayard, realizing he most likely wasn’t in the office on a Saturday, but she wanted to leave a message. If s
he didn’t, she just might change her mind, and she needed to know the legal ramifications of the situation.
Waiting for the voice mail to click on, Ava flipped through the inventory sheet of Dylan’s personal things the deputy had left with her. She scanned it first, something niggling that didn’t seem right, but she couldn’t figure out what.
The message came on and Ava asked Mr. Fayard to return her call as early as possible to answer some legal questions she had which had nothing to do with the Renault Cooperation. She hung up the phone. Actually, that wasn’t quite right. If Sarah was proven to be Dylan’s daughter, then she was a legal heir of the Renault fortune.
Ava’s world was crashing down around her, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
Except demand answers.
She retrieved the paper from the dining room table and snagged her keys from the foyer. It was time to just expose everything. Lay it all on the line.
And the only way to do that was to talk to Max.
It was time for the truth.
No rest for the weary.
Lenore had shown up at his condo bright and early. So much for a lazy Saturday sleep-in day. The sheriff’s office had gone through the condo until the wee hours of the morning. The place was trashed.
Now, Max had awoken to his mother clanking around in the kitchen. He dragged himself to the bathroom, stepping over the emptied drawers and piles of his stuff, courtesy of the Loomis parish sheriff’s office, and stood under a fast burst of hot water.
His mother meant well—her heart was in the right place. Tragic events called for comfort food, that was her motto. He could expect the full gamut when he tromped downstairs. Eggs over easy, bacon, toast, orange juice and coffee. But she’d also pick at his insecurities while he ate. Been there and done that one too many times. The only break he’d gotten in her regimen was the five years spent at LSU in Baton Rouge.
As he shaved, his thoughts went to Ava. What could she be thinking right now? That she’d taken the information about the medallion being his to the police before even asking him said a lot. Despite the old feelings beginning to blossom again, he couldn’t believe she’d turn him over to the police. First chance he got, he intended to discuss the situation with her.
