Framed!

by Robin Caroll

  “Well, there’s physical evidence that links Dylan’s murder to Earl’s, but I don’t see you following up on that connection.”

  “Actually, we are. And we’ve learned Max had an altercation just before Christmas with Earl. Right in the middle of Loomis Park.”

  Her limbs trembled. She leaned against the doorframe. “But that’s just rumor, Sheriff. You know how the people in this town love to gossip.”

  He stood facing her. “Maybe so, but that eyewitness says he saw a red car, a convertible, speed away from Renault Hall after your brother was shot.”

  Ava’s heart hiccupped. “But you said he’s unreliable.”

  “Which is why we’re checking out Max’s car right now.”

  Max’s red Mercedes-Benz.

  Which had had the medallion in the console that’d been found in Dylan’s pocket.

  Great. Just great. Two more clients backed out of real estate deals. Made the grand total of eight lost clients since the weekend newspaper ran the article on him being implicated in Dylan’s murder.

  Max slammed the file drawer shut, wishing he could slam that FBI agent’s head instead. How could he honestly think Max would shoot Dylan? Fishing. That’s what all this was. They had nothing to go on so they were tossing out nets, trying to catch something.

  Too bad that something had snagged him.

  His intercom buzzed and Patsy’s cheerful voice filled his dark office. “Ava Renault on line one for you, boss.”

  He didn’t even bother to thank his secretary, just pressed the button and lifted the phone. “Ava.” Maybe she had good news. Or anything but bad.

  “I’m leaving the sheriff’s station. Can you meet me for lunch now?”

  “Bitsy’s?”

  “No. Too busy. How about Super Burger?”

  It must be serious if she wanted to meet for a hamburger. Even as a teenager, Ava hadn’t been wild about fast food. “Sure. I’ll leave right now.”

  He told Patsy he would be out for lunch, then headed to the parking lot. Ava’s voice had sounded stressed. What now?

  Whipping onto Church Street, he spied the agent’s car parked in front of the sheriff’s station. They were probably going over his car with a fine-tooth comb. Waste of their time and energy. Time they could be spending trying to find the real killer.

  One block up, he passed the pawnshop where Leah and Earl Farley had lived directly above. A piece of yellow crime-scene tape fluttered from an upstairs window. He ignored the arguments raging in his mind and turned into the parking lot of the burger joint. Ava’s Jaguar sat parked beside a clunker of a Chevy.

  She was easy to spot as soon as he entered through the glass door with a bell hanging above. A vision among the ordinary. He twisted and turned through the crowded burger dive that was already packed with early lunchers. The cloud of grease and pepper aroma hung about eye level. The air reeked with the smell of pungent onions. He dropped into the vinyl booth seat across from her.

  “I ordered you a burger with everything except onions, and a tea.” She smiled at him and smoothed the paper napkin.

  She still remembered how he liked his burger. They belonged together, on so many levels. He knew they did. If only they could figure out who was framing him for murdering her brother. The underlying tension between them wouldn’t go away until they knew.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  The waitress appeared with their iced teas, set them on the table along with lemon wedges and rushed off.

  “You having a burger, too?” He winked, already knowing the answer.

  “Um. No. I’m having the house salad.”

  “I figured.” He squeezed the lemon over his tea, then dropped the wedge into the glass. “So, what’d you find out?”

  “Seems there’s an eyewitness of sorts,” she began, and then filled him in on all she’d learned from Sheriff Reed.

  The waitress returned and plopped their plates down in front of them. Never before had a burger and fries looked so unappealing. Just the greasy aroma threatened to send him running outside.

  “And that’s why they impounded your car.” She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

  When he said nothing, she clasped her hands over her salad. “I’m going to bless the food.”

  He ducked his head, numbly doing as instructed.

  “Father God, we thank You for the many blessings You’ve bestowed upon us. Sometimes, in situations such as what we’re going through now, it’s hard for us to understand Your will. But, Father, we trust in You with all our hearts, and lean not on our own understanding. Bless this food for the nourishment of our bodies and our bodies to Your service. Amen.”

  Words failed him. She’d prayed the exact same Scripture that girl had quoted to him. Was God trying to get his attention?

  Ava applied a thick layer of pepper over her salad before she lifted her fork and met his gaze. “I think their witness is Chuck Peters.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Who else could it be? He fits everything the sheriff told me. Unreliable. Avoids the police. Wouldn’t hurt anyone. They wouldn’t immediately follow up on anything he reported. He’s the logical explanation.”

  “Makes sense.” But that still didn’t explain how Chuck saw the Benz there. He brought the question before Ava.

  She took another bite of her salad and chewed slowly. “It’s very likely he’s mistaken.”

  “I’d think finding Dylan shot and dying would be enough to sober him even if he was three sheets to the wind.”

  “True.” She wiped her mouth with the paper napkin. “Who else has a red convertible?”

  “Georgia.”

  “And she was in New Orleans, or so she says.” She yanked her little leather appointment book from her purse and jotted down a note. “I forgot to call and verify she was at the pageant. I’ll do that this afternoon.”

  He took the first bite of his burger, hoping it didn’t come right back up, and glanced at some of the papers from Ava’s book.

  He nearly choked.

  Max swallowed without finishing chewing. He sputtered and coughed. Drank half a glass of iced tea. Sucked in air.

  “Are you okay?”

  He nodded despite his watering eyes. When he finally caught his breath, he tapped the edge of one of the papers. “What’s this?”

  She glanced over her handwritten notes before staring at him with confusion circling her expression. “Just some wedding business stuff. Why?”

  “Whose wedding?”

  “My friend’s. Jocelyn Gold.”

  “Who’s she marrying?” He wadded his napkin into his fist.

  “Sam.” Her face took on a pained look. “Oh.”

  “How can you plan the wedding of the man who’s doing his best to convict me of a murder I didn’t commit?” How could she do this to him? He couldn’t even describe how he felt, just that a part of him went numb. Knowing how FBI Agent Sam Pierce was fighting to put Max behind bars, Ava would still plan his wedding?

  She set down her fork and tossed the crumpled napkin into the bowl. “Jocelyn’s one of my dearest friends.”

  “And Sam Pierce is my mortal enemy.”

  “He’s just doing his job, Max.”

  “Like Bradford Reed did when he hounded Dylan about Angelina’s murder?”

  Her eyes told him he’d hit his target. “I’m so sorry, Max.”

  “Then stop planning his wedding. Let him figure out how to do that.” He snorted. “Maybe then he’ll leave me alone.”

  “I can’t back out on Jocelyn. Not now.”

  Again, he was second fiddle to Ava.

  “Then I guess that says it all.” He stood, threw a twenty on the table and strode out of Super Burger.

  “Max, wait.” Ava’s voice trailed behind him.

  He didn’t stop. Couldn’t. His emotions were too raw. Knowing how he was being set up, she still planned the glorious event for the head FBI agent? Not even considering how i
t’d make him feel?

  He got into his truck and sped away. He caught sight of her in his rearview mirror, standing alone by the curb.

  Alone.

  She’d made her choice, and once more, it wasn’t him.

  The pain of that realization made him pull over to the side of the road and slam the steering wheel with the side of his fist.

  She couldn’t win for losing.

  Ava turned and slipped into her car, heading back to the Renault Corporation. What was she supposed to do? Jocelyn was her friend and asked her to plan the wedding. She couldn’t very well deny her friend simply because the groom was an FBI agent who came across as a hardnose. Did Max turn down real estate deals because it was someone she didn’t like? Not hardly.

  It was different. Yeah, she knew that, and she probably should’ve realized how it would hurt Max. But with everything else going on, she just hadn’t considered it. Now she was stuck in the middle. Jocelyn or Max? It always came down to choosing with him. First her parents or him. Now her friend or him. Was God trying to tell her something?

  Father God, I’m a mess. I need some serious wisdom.

  She parked and headed into the building. A gust of a breeze kicked around the door as Ava marched across the foyer and slipped inside the elevator. At the top floor, she moved toward Dylan’s office. Her office. Movement from inside captured her attention.

  That Mildred! She was going to let the woman have it with both barrels.

  Pushing open the door, she came up short.

  Her mother’s wheelchair was moved up to the desk, Mildred hovering just over her shoulder. Charla looked up at her entrance and frowned. “Well, well, well. How nice of you to join us, Ava.”

  “Mother.” Ava gave a curt nod, then lifted her stare to the secretary. “That will be all, Mildred. I’ll brief my mother.”

  A long moment followed where Mildred just stared at Charla. Finally, Charla nodded. “I’ll buzz you when I’m ready to go back to my own office.”

  Mildred shut the door behind her.

  “It’s nice to see you in the office. I wa—”

  Ice in Charla’s stare stopped Ava. “What was Max Pershing doing in my company? In your brother’s office?”

  EIGHTEEN

  No explanation was satisfactory.

  Ava stammered and stuttered as her mother interrupted and ranted. After the weeks of shutting herself off from the world, Charla chose now to revert back to her old self?

  When her tirade came to a halt, Charla glared. “What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?”

  Taking in a deep breath, Ava silently prayed for strength and wisdom. And for God to give her the words to touch her mother’s hardened heart. “I tried to tell you he was only helping me out. Only for a day.”

  “I’ll not have that murdering rat step one foot inside my company again. Or around you, Ava Scarlett.”

  “I’m not seventeen years old anymore, Mother. You can’t send me away to boarding school this time.”

  “Then I’ll make sure you never enter the Renault Corporation again. Not even as a mail clerk.”

  Ava shrugged, not even angry. “I have my own business, in case you’ve forgotten. I only stepped in here to oversee things until you had your feet back under you, and from what I’ve seen today, you’re back in true form. So I’m not needed.”

  “Then I’ll disown you.” Charla wagged a bony finger at Ava. “I’ll write you out of my will.”

  “You don’t get it, do you, Mother?” Ava shook her head. “I don’t want your money—I never have.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  Ava softened her tone as well as her expression. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted from you is your love and blessing.”

  “My blessing to see that man? Never. I won’t allow it.” Charla’s voice rose even louder than before.

  “I’m a grown woman, Mother. I’m quite capable of choosing my own dates.”

  “He murdered your brother. Don’t you care?”

  “Of course, I care.” Ava moved to sit in the chair directly in front of her mother’s wheelchair. “But I don’t believe Max had anything to do with Dylan’s murder. I believe with all my heart that he’s being framed.”

  Charla harrumphed.

  “I know you can’t see it, but Max is a good man. He’s kind and gentle, and if I decide to become involved with him, I’d like for you to accept that.”

  “Never.”

  Ava stood and sighed. “Then I guess there’s nothing for us to talk about anymore. I won’t have you threatening me with the Renault money. I don’t need it, and if you’re going to hold it over my head to manipulate my decisions, well, then I don’t want it.”

  The anger in Charla’s eyes was replaced by something else. Something Ava hadn’t ever seen in her mother’s eyes when she looked at her daughter. Something that looked like—respect.

  “I love you, Mother. But I can’t stand the threats. Not anymore. I just don’t have it in me to keep fighting you.”

  Charla jutted out her chin in a defiant pose. “I’ll have nothing to do with him or his vile family.”

  “That’s your choice. I won’t force Max on you, but you can’t force me to not see him if I choose to do so.”

  “Well, that’s your choice, I suppose.”

  It was the closest she’d ever come to winning an argument with her mother. Ava didn’t know whether to be elated or depressed. But it was the proffered olive branch, and she was smart enough to take it.

  “Fair enough.” She pressed a kiss to her mother’s temple.

  Charla didn’t jerk away from her touch. “Fine.” Her voice was thick with emotion. Which emotion, Ava couldn’t tell. “I’ll see you at home tonight?”

  “Of course, Mother.” She left the office, a sense of connection to her mother calming her. Maybe they could build a relationship after all.

  The late afternoon sun warmed the February air. In just a week or so, full Mardi Gras revelry would be in force. And Jocelyn’s wedding. A wedding on Fat Tuesday…just like Jocelyn to want to be different.

  Ava headed toward her office on Main Street. She needed to bring Cathy up to speed and take care of some tasks. Like making sure everything was set for the Halloway wedding. And for Jocelyn and Sam’s.

  Just thinking about the wedding reminded her of Max’s reaction. Sure, she could understand him being upset, what with Sam being one of the investigators working the case, but she and Jocelyn were friends.

  She pulled into the parking lot and sat for a moment before she went into the office. Maybe this was another sign from God that she and Max shouldn’t be together. That he no longer shared her faith made it impossible for her to consider getting involved with him again, no matter how defiant she’d acted with her mother. She let out a sigh, got out of her car, walked to the building and pushed open the glass door.

  Cathy sat at the front desk, busy typing on the computer and talking to the soon-to-be Mrs. Holloway. “Yes, ma’am. The musicians have already gotten set up in the ballroom. They’ll rehearse tonight and be ready for your wedding in the morning.”

  What was it with people wanting a morning wedding these days?

  Cathy made a gesture with her hand to indicate the woman was in a chatty mood.

  Ava smiled, tossed her purse onto the couch adjacent to the desk and plopped down beside it, even going so far as to stretch out. Every part of her body wanted to be down for the count. She rested her head on the tapestry throw pillow and closed her eyes. The lack of sleep was catching up with her.

  Now that she thought about it, Max’s attitude toward her planning Jocelyn’s wedding wasn’t too different from her mother’s in regards to Max. Could her life get anymore complicated?

  Her cell phone rang. She grabbed it from her purse and flipped it open. “Hello.”

  “Ava? It’s Clint. Clint Herald.”

  Oh, yeah, her life could get more convoluted. She suddenly lost her ability to speak.

&
nbsp; “Hello? Ava?”

  “Yes. I’m here. Sorry.” Why was Clint calling her? How’d he get her phone number? Oh, yeah. She’d listed her cell phone in the phone book as a second number for I Dream of Weddings.

  “Look, I wanted to call you. Sheriff Reed told me you were willing to have a DNA test…” He paused, as if waiting for her to jump in the conversation.

  Her tongue remained in knots.

  “I just wanted you to know that it’s nothing personal. The reason I won’t let a test be run on Sarah.”

  “Oh?” She finally found her voice, and she sounded like an imbecile.

  “She’s been through so much already. Even Ms. Gold doesn’t think I should put her under any further stress.”

  “She’d never know what it was for. It’s a swab in the mouth.” Wow, she sounded like she was pleading. Begging. Maybe she was. Just to have a part of Dylan…the not knowing drove her up a wall.

  “The thing is, until Leah comes back, I don’t think I should do anything.”

  “Do you really think Leah will return?” Sad, but she had to admit, had Dylan just gone missing and not been found dead, she would cling to hope that he was alive somewhere. But after all this time and not returning for her daughter, the situation didn’t look good for Leah.

  “Yeah. I do. I feel it.”

  Could he be right and the FBI wrong? Sam sure thought Leah was dead. So did the sheriff. Then again, they both thought Max had killed Dylan. “I pray you’re right. For Sarah’s sake.”

  “Thank you. The prayers are truly appreciated.” Another pause. “Well, I just wanted to let you know my refusal wasn’t personal.”

  “I appreciate that.” She closed the phone and stared at Cathy, still on the phone, without really seeing her.

  Was Leah Farley still alive? If so, where was she? Hadn’t there been talk right after she disappeared that she murdered her husband and ran off? And didn’t someone say Leah and Angelina had argued just before then? Obviously there was a connection between Leah and Dylan. Could Leah be alive and picking off her enemies in Loomis, one by one?

  “Maximilion Pershing, you’re under arrest for the murder of Dylan Renault.” Sam Pierce barged into the office, Sheriff Reed on his heels. “Please stand and place your hands behind your head.”