Framed!

by Robin Caroll

  His heart thumped hard against his ribs. “Send him in.”

  Sheriff Bradford Reed ambled into the office, his gait as worn and tired as the man himself.

  Max stood and shut the office door. “What can I help you with today, Sheriff?”

  “I’m gonna need you to come down to the station for questioning.”

  What? Max’s pulse raced. “Whatever for? I answered all your questions yesterday, did I not?”

  “New evidence has surfaced that puts you at the scene of Dylan Renault’s murder.”

  No way. The old man must be mistaken. “What kind of evidence?”

  “We’ll discuss that at the station.”

  “Are you arresting me, Bradford?”

  “Not yet.” The sheriff finally made eye contact with Max. “Either you can come with me now or I can get a warrant and have you picked up and brought in. I thought it’d be easier for you this way.”

  Warrant? Hauled into the station? This was serious—more than a sheriff rushing through evidence. “Should I call my lawyer?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  Just as he’d told his mother hours ago, he had nothing to hide. The truth would clear him of any implication. He’d told the sheriff everything he knew. Maybe this was just a scare tactic. Didn’t law enforcement play mind games to catch their man? Only problem was, they were way off base if they thought he was involved.

  “So, which way is it gonna be?”

  “I’ll follow you out.” Max opened the door and waved the sheriff through. He gave a brief nod to Patsy as he passed her desk. Her eyes were wide with concern. He gave her a quick wink.

  Once in the parking lot, Max stepped toward the crosswalk.

  “I’ll need you to ride with me.”

  Max paused. The sheriff’s station was just across the street. Why on earth had Reed driven over? Maybe he should call his lawyer.

  The sheriff waited, holding open the back door to the cruiser.

  Nah. He’d be fine. He had nothing to hide. Max slipped into the backseat and nearly gagged. The air reeked of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol. Had Chuck Peters been picked up and hauled into a cell to sleep one off again? It sure smelled like it.

  Sheriff Reed put the car in gear and sputtered across Church Street, then eased into the parking lot. He took his time opening the back door with the protected locks.

  Max pulled his long frame out of the car, grateful he hadn’t had to ride far. His legs would’ve cramped in such tight quarters. He glanced around, taking note of the townsfolk rushing about on their lunch hour. Great. Within an hour, both Ava and his mother would have heard about his trip to the sheriff’s station.

  The only question was…would Max be coming back out?

  SIX

  How would Charla react?

  Ava paused outside her mother’s door, wondering if she should bother to say anything. Charla had never found out about the necklaces, but now that Ava’d given a statement identifying it as the one she’d given to Max years ago, it wouldn’t be long before Charla knew everything.

  Yet, with the way she’d secluded herself lately, Charla wouldn’t have opportunity to hear all the gossip. A silver lining, perhaps?

  Rhett barked at the door. Ava rapped softly on the wood. “Mother?”

  “Just leave me alone.”

  Ava let out a sigh. Same old, same old. It was getting tiring mighty quick. While wanting to turn and leave, she fingered the papers the lawyer had brought with him after the deputy had left. She had to get these signed. The lawyer, Paul Fayard, sighed behind her. Slowly, she gripped the door and inched it open. “Mother?”

  “I said, leave me alone.”

  Shock rocked Ava to the core. Her mother sat in her wheelchair, still wearing her bed jacket. Turning to the lawyer, she motioned for him to wait.

  “You’re a mess.” Ava crossed the floor, slapped the papers onto the writing table and twisted open the blinds. Sunlight streamed into the room.

  Charla squinted and held her hand up to block the light. “Stop that!”

  “No, I won’t.” Moving to stand before her mother, Ava fisted a hand on her hip. “I know you’re mourning Dylan. I am, too, but you’ve got to start taking care of yourself. When was the last time you had a shower? Yesterday? Day before?”

  Her mother turned her head, avoiding Ava’s stare. “I don’t want your help.”

  “Then maybe I should call Jocelyn.”

  Charla’s glare could melt the moss off a cypress tree. “I don’t need to talk to anyone. Especially not a child shrink.”

  “You need to talk to someone.” Ava lowered her voice as she moved a step closer to her mother’s wheelchair. “You aren’t dealing with your grief in a healthy manner.” She waved at the tray on the ottoman. “You haven’t even eaten the lunch Bea brought in. You’re losing weight. Do you want to just waste away?”

  “Is there a healthy way to deal with the loss of my only son?” Moisture made Charla’s eyes brighter. “I’m dealing in my own way, which I’ll continue to do.” She sniffed. “Now, what do you want?”

  That sounded more like the old Charla. Maybe she would work through her grief on her own.

  Ava retrieved the papers from the desk and handed them to her mother. “Until you’re ready to return to the office, someone needs to oversee the Renault Cooperation. I’d prefer it be a Renault.”

  Charla chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. “You? Are you suggesting I allow you to manage the company?”

  Ava bristled, praying the lawyer on the other side of the door didn’t hear Charla’s snide comments. “I do run my own business, Mother.”

  “A wedding planning business. Not exactly a Fortune 500 company.”

  “Which you encouraged me to become. Still, I know basic business accounting. I spent yesterday going over the files on Dylan’s desk and was able to understand his system.” Thanks to Max, but she wouldn’t go into that little detail just yet.

  “So you want to try your hand at running my company?”

  “Unless you intend to start going back to work immediately, yes.”

  Charla’s brows formed a crooked line over her cold, emotionless eyes. The Renault green eyes. “Fine.”

  “Our lawyer’s waiting outside to notarize your signature.”

  “Paul? Well, don’t leave him out in the hall. Bring him in.” In a flash, a glimmer of the old Charla Renault came through. She smoothed down her silver hair and gestured for a pen. Ava retrieved one quickly and passed it to her mother before opening the door.

  Paul Fayard stepped into the room, not bothering to hide his surprise. “Mrs. Renault.” He stood off to the side of the wheelchair as if leery of getting too close.

  “Here, I’m signing.” Charla scrawled her name across the bottom line, then handed the papers to the lawyer, but glared at Ava. “Don’t mess up my company.”

  Ava didn’t bother to reply, just stood as Mr. Fayard signed the papers under Charla’s handwriting and affixed his seal.

  Her mother stared at her for a long moment before waving them away. “Let me be now. You’ve worn me out. I need to rest.” Again, her demeanor changed in an instant.

  Ava left her mother’s suites and headed toward the front door, struggling with emotions that left her raw. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Fayard. I really appreciate it.”

  “Is she going to be all right?” The lawyer who’d been representing the Renaults for nearly a decade wore his age in the lines around his eyes.

  “She’ll be fine. We’re adjusting to Dylan’s death.”

  “And I’m sure not having his murder solved isn’t helping.” He slipped the papers into his designer briefcase. “I’m sure this is difficult for you as well. With Dylan having been a suspect in Angelina’s death, and her working for you.”

  “It’s tragic about Ms. Loring. I feel for her mother. But I don’t get emotionally involved with any of my clients, or my employees.”

  “I understand
.” But his words had been just a tad too snippy for her not to think there might be more than he was saying. Her throat tightened. “The sheriff is working the case.”

  Paul Fayard threw back his bald head and laughed. “Bradford? He’s on the fast track to retirement and getting a cheap gold watch.” He sobered. “Is the FBI helping in the investigation?”

  Ava shrugged. “From what I understand, they are.”

  “Then maybe you’ll get some answers.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I heard through my legal connections that the FBI has determined the hairs found on Earl Farley and Dylan’s bodies came from a wig. Natural hair, but from a wig.”

  Ava stiffened at the announcement. Why hadn’t she been told this? “So, the other murders aren’t solved? They may truly be connected to Dylan’s murder?”

  “From what I hear, anything’s game. And they believe Leah Farley could very well be dead.”

  “But they haven’t found a body.”

  He shook his head. “Honey, there’s a million places in the swamp to hide a body that nobody will ever find.” He shrugged. “But I hear forensics should be concluded on her car very soon.”

  “I thought it was burned so badly no evidence could be recovered.”

  “You’d be amazed at what modern technology can do these days.”

  Ava squared her shoulders, reeling from the revelations learned. “Well, again, thank you for coming by.” She extended her hand. After they shook, Bosworth appeared at Mr. Fayard’s elbow.

  “If you need anything, you know how to reach me.”

  She nodded, her hand automatically reaching for her necklace, only to remember Deputy Bertrand had taken hers for evidence along with the one she’d given Max.

  The one found in Dylan’s pocket when he’d been murdered.

  She shuddered at the thought as she passed through the garage and slipped into her car.

  Her heart warred with her head as she drove down Main Street. Just when the old feelings she had for Max were brought front and center, all this happened. What was she supposed to think, to feel?

  Stopping at the light on the corner of Main and Church, she glanced at Pershing Real Estate. Georgia Duffy, standing by her red convertible, waggled her fingers in a wave. Ava gave a curt nod, then drove another block.

  Something about Georgia rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe it was the fact that Georgia had dated Max after he returned from college. She knew because even though she’d avoided the gossip and going out in public places where she could see Max on a date, her mother had taken great delight in rubbing their relationship in Ava’s face.

  Wait, Georgia had red hair. If Dylan had been seeing her, that would explain why Ava didn’t know. Dylan would never have told her, knowing how just the mention of Georgia’s name set Ava’s teeth on edge.

  Maybe her aversion to the woman was silly. But Georgia, even in high school, had gone out of her way to flaunt her good looks around. She’d been the popular girl in school, the one everyone liked, while so many had avoided Ava because of her mother. Ava had always felt like the ugly duckling around her, so when she’d heard about Max dating her, Ava had seen red.

  She parked her car and strode through the glass doors of Renault Cooperation. The receptionist smiled as Ava waltzed by. Ava jabbed the up button in the elevator and tapped the toe of her shoe as the car rose.

  Once inside Dylan’s office, she shut the door, grateful she hadn’t run into Mildred this afternoon. But what to do? She didn’t want to be here without Max—didn’t even know where to begin, but she also didn’t want to go home and face the tomb of a home Renault Mansion had become. If only she could determine what she wanted.

  Max. Her heart’s instinctive response jolted her.

  With everything pointing to him as a suspect…could she continue to think he couldn’t be involved? Her heart so wanted to believe that the young man she’d fallen in love with could never be involved in her brother’s murder. Yet logic screamed to look at the evidence. A secret meeting at the crime scene the week before the murder, a flimsy excuse, at best, for the reason of the meeting, Max’s medallion in Dylan’s pocket…what all did it mean?

  Lord, I can’t believe Max would have anything to do with Dylan’s murder. I pray You’ll send me wisdom and guidance.

  Mildred opened the door to Dylan’s office, files in hand. She stopped short when she spied Ava. “Oh. I didn’t know you were here.” Her expression clearly showed her disappointment.

  “I am and will be. Mother gave me control over the Renault Cooperation this morning.” She shouldn’t have enjoyed the widening of Mildred’s eyes, but she couldn’t help herself. “In the future, please knock before you enter my office.”

  A cotton field took up residence in his mouth.

  Max stared at the medallion in the plastic bag Sheriff Reed waved in front of his face. “Don’t bother to deny it’s yours—Ava Renault already identified it as the one she gave you.” He lifted another bag that held Ava’s necklace, hers still on its chain. “Matches hers.”

  Ava already knew. She’d identified it. What could she be thinking right now? “Yes, it’s mine.”

  “Care to explain how it was found in Dylan Renault’s pocket when we arrived at the scene?”

  What? “Excuse me?” Sweat lined Max’s palms.

  “Your medallion was found in Dylan’s pants pocket. How do you suppose it got there?” Sheriff Reed tossed the bags onto the table.

  The cramped interrogation room grew still and close. Heat crept up the back of Max’s neck. “I have no idea.”

  “Really?” The sheriff turned to his deputy and tossed a snide look. “You confess it’s yours, but you have no idea how it came to be in Dylan’s possession? Guess you think it’s just some strange coincidence?”

  This was going from bad to worse. “Look, the last time I saw the medallion was when I put it into my car’s console the day I broke the chain.”

  “How’d you break the chain?” Deputy Bertrand interrupted.

  “Playing racquetball.”

  “When?” Sheriff Reed jumped right back in.

  “Uh, I’m not sure. A month ago maybe.”

  “Where?”

  Max shifted against the hard wooden chair. The questions came fast and furious. “Clancy’s Gym.”

  “Who were you playing with?” The sheriff and deputy tag teamed him. Both lawmen bore down on him, leaning over the table.

  “I—I can’t remember right now.” Who had he been playing with?

  The sheriff straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. “Special Agent Sam Pierce from the FBI would like to talk to you.”

  The FBI? This was serious. “Should I call my attorney?”

  The door opened and the FBI agent sauntered into the room. “Do you need a lawyer?” The man’s dark look and stature commanded attention. Not to mention his accent—not Louisiana or Cajun, very out of place.

  “I’m innocent, if that’s what you’re asking.” Max struggled not to fidget.

  Sam paced in front of the table. Max had seen him around town, talking to people about Leah Farley and her disappearance. He’d also been called to the scene of Angelina Loring’s death. But all those had been solved, or so they’d thought for a while. Until Dylan had been shot. Now it seemed everything was opened wide again. Well, except for the attempted kidnappings.

  “You know, Max, I’m not from here. I don’t know all the dynamics of this feud your family has with the Renaults, but I know y’all don’t like each other.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “So I have to ask myself, with such a long-standing dislike of one another, why would Dylan Renault ask for a meeting with you about anything? And how did a medallion of yours end up in his pants pocket?”

  Max swallowed against the aridness of his tongue. They were going to build a case against him and charge him with Dylan’s murder!

  “We’d like you to give us a sample of DNA and your fingerprints,” Sheriff Reed said.
/>   Sam darted a glance at the aging sheriff.

  DNA and fingerprints? Oh, yeah, they were going to charge him with this crime. Max gritted his teeth. “I’d like my lawyer now.”

  The FBI agent let out a heavy sigh and nodded to the sheriff. “Get him a phone.”

  Sheriff Reed ambled out the door, his deputy on his heels.

  Alone in the room with Sam, Max struggled to breathe normally while his heart raced. They were probably watching him through that double-sided mirror. He was innocent—he had nothing to hide, but this G-man acted like he’d found a smoking gun in Max’s hand.

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that over the years in my career?” Sam leaned against the cinder block wall. “Want to guess how many times it was a lie?”

  Max clamped his lips together. He shouldn’t say another word until his lawyer got here. Thank goodness Pershing Land Developing kept an attorney on retainer. Sure, he was a real estate lawyer, but he worked for a law firm that surely had someone with experience in situations such as this.

  A criminal situation. Murder. The implications raced around Max’s brain.

  “Know what I think?”

  Max raised his gaze to Sam’s face and lifted his eyebrows. The smooth FBI agent wouldn’t get him to say a thing without a lawyer present.

  Sam kicked off from the wall and towered over the table. “I think you did meet Dylan at Renault Hall the week before he was killed, and I don’t think it had anything to do with the land value. I think it had to do with his sister, Ava.”

  Max sucked in air.

  “I think Dylan heard the rumors floating around town about you and her working together on that pageant committee. I think he got worried his sister was going to get involved with you again, and he wanted to stop it. I think that’s what the meeting was about.”

  Max fought not to react or respond.

  “Gossip says too many people saw you together, looking rather cozy. Bet that just burned Dylan up. So, what, did he meet with you and ask you to stop seeing his sister? Was that it?”