Читать книгу Framed! - Robin Caroll - Страница 13

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.”

“But evidence now suggests there might be a link between your brother and Mrs. Farley.”

“Because of his last words, right?”

“Yes. Do you have any idea what they could mean?”

“As I told you before, Sheriff, I have no idea what Dylan was trying to relay with his final words. No idea whatsoever.” She only wished she had an answer.

“But Mrs. Farley most likely wouldn’t have liked whatever explanation there is for his words, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t say.” Wait a minute. Were they now going back to the theory that Leah had killed Earl, Angelina, and now Dylan? Actually…now that she thought about it, Leah did have a connection to all three of them. A very strong connection.

“I see.” He stood, pocketing his notebook. “So you wouldn’t have any personal knowledge about Mrs. Farley looking into real estate prior to her disappearance?”

“Just what I’ve heard about town.” Now where was he going?

“Or anything about a connection between Earl Farley and Georgia Duffy?”

“No.” Grasping at straws, that’s what he was doing. Although, rumor had it that Georgia and Leah’s husband, Earl, might’ve had something interesting going on. Still, Ava knew firsthand how rumors were often untrue.

“Heard anything about Mrs. Farley firing Ms. Duffy as her real estate agent?”

“Sure, the town was talking about it, but I don’t believe gossip, Sheriff.”

He let out a harrumph. “I think those are all my questions for now.” He passed her his business card. “If you think of anything else, even if it merely strikes you as odd, call me. A deputy will be by to deliver Dylan’s personal effects that we’ve released. We’re still going through some effects taken from his office.”

His personal effects. How impersonally stated.

Ava stood and accepted his card. “Bea will see you out.”

As if on cue, the maid appeared in the doorway. The sheriff paused at the door and glanced back at Ava. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She just bet he was. “Thank you.”

Alone again, Ava plopped into a chair. Her thoughts drifted to her last conversations with her brother. Dylan had told Ava that he’d broken off things with Angelina because she’d started to get too serious, talking about love and future. To her brother, such discussions were the kiss of death in a relationship.

A long, red hair? Maybe they were still reaching to link him to Angelina’s death. But she’d been found six days before Dylan was shot. It didn’t make any sense.

Nothing made sense except her grief.

Maybe the sheriff had stumbled onto something about it being work related. Maybe it was something Dylan was involved with that he kept hidden from Charla. Ava could certainly understand—their mother hunted for reasons to interfere in their lives. But Ava had no way of knowing what Dylan had been working on. Ava stiffened her spine—all that would change now.

Her mother had pushed Ava into following a female career. How many times had Charla lectured that a man of stature, one Ava was expected to find and marry, wouldn’t be interested in a domineering businesswoman? Ava laughed at the irony. Charla Renault had always been a shrewd businesswoman, taking over her father’s business when he died. Marriage hadn’t stopped her, didn’t even slow her down when she had children. As a matter of fact, she’d never even taken her husband’s name when she married. Nor did she give her husband’s last name to her children.

“May I take the tray, Ms. Ava?”

She nodded at Bea, determination settling into her chest. Charla was in no condition to oversee anything, much less the multi-million-dollar corporation bearing the family name. All the hard work and time Dylan had invested in the company shouldn’t just go down the tubes. The time had come for Ava to take the bull by the horns, as her father would’ve said. Ava stood and crossed the hall to the study. Hovering over the desk, she made her decision and called her assistant at I Dream of Weddings. Cathy would have to take over the planning for the Halloway wedding in New Orleans next week, because she would make sure the Renault Corporation continued to be successful.

After instructing Cathy to not book anything in the immediate future that she, herself, couldn’t oversee, Ava pressed the speed dial number for the Renault Corporation.

It was time to take control, to become the businesswoman she knew she could be. One who could run a corporation as intelligently as Charla Renault, but with a heart—and a soul.

Now was Ava’s time.

The last vestige of the sun’s rays streaked across the February sky. Max smiled, loving this time of the year, driving home from work when the day had already given way to welcoming the night.

It’d been a long day. Busy, but productive. There were so many calls today from locals wanting to invest in real estate that if Max didn’t know better, he’d think people needed tax write-offs. But it was the wrong time of year and he did know better—the influx of people with money to spend was directly due to Dylan Renault’s death. People were nervous over the leader of Renault Corporation being dead, and from what Max had witnessed at the funeral, it didn’t appear Charla Renault was in any condition to take over the helm of the investment corporation.

Max didn’t like what’d happened, yet he wasn’t stupid. His own business would suffer if he didn’t provide the service his company was founded upon. But he didn’t have to like making a profit off Ava’s loss.

Speaking of Ava, she hadn’t called like she said she would. He tried not to be disappointed, tried to rationalize that she probably had a million things to do, but his heart sank to his toes. Max entered his home, his mouth watering for the stir-fry he planned to make. He’d been so busy he’d only had time to gulp down a sandwich from the vendor who made daily visits to the offices along Main and Church streets. His stomach rumbled at the memory.

“Working late?”

Max glared at his mother. “What are you doing here again? You can’t just keep letting yourself in, Mom. This is my home.”

“I just miss you is all.” She used the tone of hers that bordered on whining. How often she’d lamented the fact he’d moved into his own condo years ago.

Did she really think he’d just live with her forever?

“Look, I’ve had a long day at work, and all I want to do is make a little stir-fry, catch the news and call it an early night.”

His mother smiled. “Can I join you? I’ll help cut the vegetables.”

He opened his mouth to protest, then stopped. His mother didn’t have many friends, mainly because she’d spent her life dedicated to him. While he’d never asked her to, she’d sacrificed everything to see to his happiness. Max let out a sigh. “Sure. Grab the squash and zucchini from the fridge and start chopping.”

He’d just set up the wok when the phone rang. “Hello.”

“Max?” Just the way Ava said his name made his stomach quiver, and it wasn’t from hunger.

“Ava. Is anything wrong?” His mother’s hand froze, knife poised over the squash. She arched a well-drawn eyebrow. Max moved into the living room.

“No. Yes.” Ava hesitated. “I don’t know. Sheriff Reed was here, asking questions. He’s got me all confused.”

“How so?”

“Trying to make a connection between Dylan and Angelina Loring and Leah Farley. All these deaths.”

“I thought the police had wrapped them all up. Well, except for Dylan’s.”

“They liked Dylan for Angelina’s murder, but now…well, they found a long, red hair on Dylan’s clothes, and I don’t think it was Angelina’s. Not by the questions the sheriff asked. And I’m still trying to figure out why Dylan was even at Renault Hall.” She sighed. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe he went by just to check out the property. Maybe he was considering getting the area appraised.” He tightened his hold on the phone.

Ava snorted. “Not hardly. Mother forbade us to even step foot on the property.”

“You never know. Things change. So do people.”

“I suppose.”

He hated hearing the pain in her voice. It did strange things to his gut. “Do you want me to come get you and take you somewhere?”

“No, I just wanted to vent a little.” Her voice hitched as she drew in a shaky breath.

She didn’t have anyone to talk to—certainly not her mother, by the way she’d carried on at the funeral.

“We can go somewhere and talk.” He ached to hold her again. Smooth her silky hair and tell her everything would be okay. “I meant what I said. If there’s anything I can do for you…”

“I appreciate that, but maybe I should just call it a night.”

“You can call me anytime, you know.”

“Thanks, Max.” The smile came through in her voice.

“Good night, Ava.” Turning around to head into the kitchen, he nearly ran smack into his mother hovering in the hallway.

“You’re going to see her? Ava Renault?”

He nudged past her and set the phone on its base. “No, I just made the offer.”

“Why?” His mother cut the knife through the air. “She’s not good enough for you, never was. She’s nothing but trouble.”

After setting the temperature on the wok, he sliced a chicken breast. “Mom, she’s not trouble. She’s grieving, for pity’s sake.”

Lenore pointed the tip of the knife at his face. “You mark my words, Maximilion, if you get tangled up with her again, she’s gonna break your heart. For a second time.”

He didn’t bother answering, just reached for the bell peppers.

And hoped his mother was dead wrong.