by Robin Caroll
“Is this DNA test a paternity test?” Not surprising he’d figure it out, what with all the gossip going around in Loomis.
“Not exactly.”
“Ava, the attorney-client privilege is in force between you and me. You can tell me what’s going on.”
She let out a sigh. “I know you’re aware of Dylan’s last words and the implications that came with them. If I agree to a DNA test to run against Sarah Farley, how conclusive would the results be, from a legal standpoint?”
“From Dylan’s autopsy samples? About ninety-nine point nine-nine-nine percent conclusive, and the results would stand up in any court.”
“Not from Dylan. A DNA sample from me.”
“Come again?”
“To show if it’s possible that I’m related to Sarah.”
Another pause dropped over the connection as heavy as the early morning fog over the bayou.
“Why wouldn’t you just use Dylan’s DNA samples? The tests are almost one hundred percent accurate, and there’s no question of their acceptance in the court systems today. Quite the opposite—they’ve become the standard in paternity cases.”
Here it came, the bombshell. The part where his loyalty would side him with Charla. “Well, Mother refuses to even consider granting permission for the test to be run. She thinks the idea is so outlandish, she won’t even discuss it with me anymore.”
That was putting her mother’s reaction lightly.
“Charla is listed as Dylan’s next of kin, and as such, she is the legal representative of any and all of his remains, DNA samples included.”
“So I figured.” She sighed. “So, matching my DNA against Sarah’s—how do those results stand from a legal point of view?”
“They’re accepted, of course, but not as conclusive as using a potential parent’s. Do you think it would make a difference in Charla’s decision if she knew about Dylan coming in and starting the paperwork to petition the court to demand a paternity test on Sarah? I could tell her if you think it’d help.”
What? Good thing she wasn’t driving because she would’ve just wrecked her car. “Did he do that?”
“About three weeks ago or thereabouts. I thought you knew.”
Apparently, there was a lot about her brother she hadn’t been aware of.
“No. I had no idea he’d even thought it possible until his dying words.” Now she had to wonder if maybe he’d been clearing his conscience with that cryptic message.
“He came into the office and asked me to draw up a petition to the court to order the test.”
“What’d the court determine?”
“We put off filing it then as I advised him that if at all possible, getting the child’s mother to agree to the testing would be the best route to go for all involved. We went ahead and drew up the paperwork just to cover all of our bases, but he said he’d meet with Leah and try to get her to agree to the test.”
Now she was getting somewhere. “What’d Leah say?”
“I don’t know. Dylan never contacted me again about the issue.”
Another dead end. Maybe her mother had been right when Leah went missing—she killed her husband and ran. And then came back to kill Dylan. No, that didn’t make sense. She would have never left her daughter, not if she killed to protect her.
But at least now Ava knew her brother thought he might have fathered a child. And obviously one he didn’t know for sure was his, so she shouldn’t feel betrayed by him. Yet she did. He suspected all this and never once confided in her. What kind of sister had she been to him?
“I’m assuming you have a reason for asking?” Mr. Fayard interrupted her thoughts with his question.
“Yes. Sheriff Reed would like the test run.”
The lawyer chuckled. “I just bet he would.”
For the second time, Ava picked up on Mr. Fayard’s apparent dislike of the sheriff. “Why would you say that?”
“Bradford’s so close to retirement that he’s champing at the bit to get this case closed as soon as possible. No deputy will be willing to run for sheriff if there’s a major, multiple-murder case left open.”
That could mean the sheriff would use any and all circumstantial evidence he could muster to try and pin the murders on anybody he could.
Such as Max.
“Max, where are you?”
He sighed and put away his papers so his mother wouldn’t see. “In the kitchen.” Why did she refuse to honor his requests not to just barge in anytime she felt like it? He was so going to get his locks changed and not give her a set of keys this time.
Lenore stepped through the doorway. “It looks much nicer since the cleaning crew finished up. Were you satisfied with their work, dear?” She bent to plant a kiss on his cheek, and a cloud of Interlude perfume engulfed him.
Standing, he slipped the folder under the phone book on the counter. The less his mother knew about what he was working on, the better. “They were fine.”
She glanced into the living area. “Looks like they did an outstanding job to me.”
He lifted a single eyebrow. “Kind of sneaky of you to try to slip some religion in on me.”
“Oh?” She tilted her head and batted her eyelashes. Her fake ones. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“The blond girl from the church. Don’t tell me you didn’t specifically hire her to talk to me.”
“I hired Janie because she needs the money and Reverend Harmon says she does fine work.”
“And you just happened to mention that you keep asking me to come to church and I refuse, right?”
“She asked. I wasn’t going to lie.” As if his mother was known for her truthfulness and upstanding morals. She glanced out the window, suddenly interested in the breeze tickling the dead magnolia leaves.
“You thought it perfectly okay to encourage her to probe me about why I wasn’t coming to church?”
“I had no idea she’d even bring up your lack of spiritual refinement.”
Spiritual refinement? Was she serious?
Lenore shrugged. “I just thought she might be a good influence on you.”
“That she’s cute didn’t influence your decision at all?”
“Well, nice looks never hurt anyone, son.” She smiled, showing off her puffy, injected-with-something-he-didn’t-want-to-know-what lips.
He shook his head. “I’ve told you not to play matchmaker with me. I can pick my own dates, thank you very much.”
Her enhanced lips dropped the smile. “Not very well.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Now she pushed toward crossing the line. Barging into his home aside, his love life was off-limits. He had to take a stand. Now was as good a time as any.
“Just look at your track record, son. Ava Renault. Georgia Duffy.” She shook her head and reached for the dish towel folded by the sink. “And now you’ve been hanging out with Ava once more. It just breaks my heart to see you setting yourself up again.” She wiped nonexistent crumbs from the counter.
“This might surprise you, Mom, but I’m a big boy and capable of deciding who interests me.”
“But, Max, Av—”
“No. Enough. You don’t get to manage my love life.”
She didn’t argue, just pursed her lips into that famous pout of hers.
“Be careful you don’t frown too long, Mom. Makes more wrinkles.” He stormed from the kitchen into the living room.
What was his mother’s beef with Ava all of a sudden? Sure, she’d hated them dating back in high school and had been livid when he’d moped around like a lovesick puppy after Ava left, but to go so far as to accuse her of framing him for her brother’s murder? This had to be more than just a family feud.
Lenore clicked her heels against the floor into the living room. “I’m just trying to look out for you is all.” Her voice hinged on whiney.
He spun and faced her. “Why don’t you like Ava?”
She blinked rapidly. “Because she broke your heart, of cours
e.”
“You didn’t like us dating before she went to boarding school. Why’s that?”
“She’s a Renault, son.”
“That’s not a good enough excuse anymore. That stupid feud should have ended generations ago. Why keep it flaming?”
“Well, Charl—”
“No. All the two of you have done all my life is be snide toward one another and try to better the other. It’s stupid and immature.”
Her eyes grew wide. “I did not raise you to speak to your mother like this, Maximilion Arthur Pershing. I won’t tolerate it.” She spun toward the door, her heels clicking like cicadas on a summer night.
He started to call her back, to apologize, but stopped. It was high time she let him live his own life without her meddling. And if that life included Ava, well, his mother would just have to accept the fact.
A life with Ava…how long had it been since he’d dreamed such a dream? The possibility of it now filled his heart to bursting. Only one thing stood in his way of pursuing her and working out their problems.
Finding out who framed him.
Even the extra spices the cooks, Brandon and Rachel, slipped into the etouffeé didn’t excite Ava. Her mind still whirred around who could possibly be framing Max.
“Ms. Ava?”
She jerked her gaze from the notes sitting on the desk before her and looked at Bea. “Yes?”
“Ms. Jocelyn Gold calling for you.”
Ava glanced at the phone to her right. Sure enough, the light was lit up. How could she not have heard it ring? “Thank you, Bea.”
The maid eased out of the office and closed the door as Ava lifted the handset. “Hey, Jocelyn.”
“How are you?” The concern in her friend’s voice warmed Ava despite the chilly February evening.
“I’m okay.”
“Are you sure? I mean, it’s okay to grieve, girl.”
Ava smiled into the phone. “I am grieving. I just have a lot of other stuff going on to keep me occupied. Like a certain special someone’s wedding.”
Jocelyn laughed. “How’s that coming along?”
“Good. Everything’s right on track. Turned some details over to my assistant, but it looks like everything’s good to go.” For the first time, she wondered if planning their wedding was the right thing to do. After all, Sam was trying to pin a murder on Max. Of which he was innocent.
“You don’t know how much it means to me that you’re the one planning my wedding. In spite of everything going on.”
No, she had to plan the wedding. For Jocelyn. “I’d have been offended if you hadn’t asked.”
“Yeah, you would’ve.” Static filled the line. “I’m losing reception, but just wanted to touch base with you. Want to hook up Monday sometime?”
“Sounds like a plan to me. Hey, let’s meet for breakfast at Café Au Lait. Bring Sam. I should have some new music samples for y’all to check out.”
“We’ll be there. Eight-thirty.”
The line went dead. Ava hung up the phone and went back to her thoughts. Who killed her brother?
And who was trying to frame Max for the crime?
THIRTEEN
What Charla didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
At least, that’s what Ava told herself. She’d spent the majority of the night awake. Praying, thinking, crying, more praying, and had only come to one conclusion—she needed to know the truth, no matter what.
Dressing for church, she swallowed back her apprehension. She’d made her decision and would stick by it, letting the results determine her plan of action. Until then, she had no intention of telling her mother anything. She’d cross that channel when the time came.
Speaking of her mother…would Charla be attending church this morning? She hadn’t since Dylan had been killed, but now, with the little bursts of her regular self returning more and more, Ava had to wonder. She set down the tube of lipstick and peered at herself in the mirror. She should find out.
With a sigh, Ava headed downstairs, took a right at the hall and stopped outside the door to her mother’s set of suites. Silence reigned on the other side. She rapped her knuckles against the door. “Mother?”
The door swished open, and Bea stood in the doorway with a flourish. “Mrs. Charla’s about ready for church. Bosworth’s gone to bring the car around.”
So her mother felt well enough to attend services. Good. That showed she was definitely on the road to overcoming her grief. Soon, she’d be back in true form.
Which gave Ava little time to figure out who framed Max.
She stiffened her shoulders and entered the room. Charla sat straight in her wheelchair, wearing a linen pantsuit and pearls with her hair perfectly coiffed. She looked more alert and like her old self than she had since the funeral. “You look lovely, Mother.”
Charla’s gaze slid up and down Ava. “Are you wearing that?”
Ava knew the straight-line dress was very becoming on her and that her mother was most likely just trying to get a rise out of her. Could be that her mother would be back to her regular self sooner rather than later. “I’m delighted you’re feeling well enough to attend church this morning.”
Her mother gave her a cutting look before glancing at Bea. “How long does it take Bosworth to bring the car around?”
Hair sticking out from her normally neatly smooth bun, Bea ducked her head. “I’ll go find out, ma’am.”
Bosworth chose that moment to appear in the doorway. “Are you ladies ready?”
“About time.” Charla maneuvered her wheelchair around the suite and crossed the threshold.
Ava shot him a sympathetic smile as she followed her mother. If she was lucky, Reverend Harmon would preach on the subject of grace.
The ride to the church was as silent as a crypt. Charla stared out the window, while Ava fidgeted with her conscience. She should tell her mother about Dylan, but she couldn’t face an argument on the Lord’s day.
Of course, every day was the Lord’s.
Yeah, she knew that, but the fight had gone slap out of her. Too much emotional mess to deal with to add her mother’s fits into the mix. At least, not right now. Once she got her DNA test results, then she’d discuss the facts with her mother.
Whether Charla wanted to hear them or not.
Bosworth assisted her mother from the car to the wheelchair, leaving Ava to stumble into the sanctuary alone.
The musical notes of “Amazing Grace” strummed in the background from the speakers. Immediately, a sense of peace floated over Ava, calming her in a way that had escaped her all week.
Thank You, Jesus, for reminding me that I can always rest in You.
She slipped into the pew beside her mother, first row on the right, where the Renaults had sat for nearly all of Ava’s life. She glanced across the aisle. The Pershing pew.
Their pew sat empty. Where was Lenore? Max hadn’t attended services since Ava returned to Loomis. She’d missed his presence at first, then relished in his absence as she was able to concentrate on the sermon. But now…
Now she wondered what had really caused Max to stop attending church. Was it her return? Or had he totally lost the faith that had once been so strong? Another thing she decided to learn the truth about.
A child’s singing behind her brought Ava’s gaze around. She sucked in her breath.
Little Sarah Farley held her uncle Clint’s hand, singing in an angelic voice the chorus to the old favorite hymn. She stared at Ava with such familiar eyes that Ava’s heart raced.
Eyes almost identical to Ava’s own.
Before she could even register a cohesive thought, Lenore Pershing pushed past Clint and Sarah. Wearing a white brimmed hat with a tacky blue ribbon, Lenore halted at the end of the pew. Her gaze shot to Charla.
Would she offer some sort of condolence?
Lenore gave a little huff, then scooted into her pew. So much for offering sympathies. Ava had long grown tired of the women’s feuding. Undercurrents in the bayou, i
n her opinion. Why were these mature ladies always acting like children toward one another? It was downright disgraceful.
Clint ushered Sarah into a pew behind Ava. The little girl glanced at Ava and smiled.
Ava’s heart melted. If she hadn’t already made her decision, that smile would have cinched the deal. She would have the DNA test run as soon as possible.
Just the idea that the precious little girl could be her niece sent thrills through Ava. She winked back before facing the front, her heart filled with anticipation and expectation.
Reverend Harmon took to the pulpit. “Today, our sermon will discuss loving your neighbor, based on the book of Matthew, chapter twenty-two, verse thirty-nine.”
Ava smiled. Thank You, Father.
Wind danced over the bayou, tickling the Spanish moss draped over the trees. The midday sun shone down from center sky and warmed Loomis.
Max threw another cast into the water, let it sit for a minute then flicked his wrist and began slowly reeling in the bait. A gentle tug pulled against the line. Max jerked the rod, trying to set the hook. He met a brief moment of resistance before the line flew toward him.
Ugh, he’d missed again.
He set down the fishing pole and slipped his chirping cell phone from his pocket. “Hello.”
“Hey, Max. It’s Ava.” As if she had to tell him, from the way his heart reacted to her voice.
“Hi. What’s up?”
“I forgot to tell you the flyers for the pageant were delivered Friday afternoon. I ran into MaryBeth at church and she’s gathering a group of volunteers to get them posted this afternoon.” She paused, as if gathering her thoughts. Or mustering her courage? “I thought maybe you and I could meet and distribute the flyers to the volunteers. Are you busy?”
“Just doing a little fishing off the pier.”
She chuckled. “Catching anything?”
“Humble pie.”
Her full-bodied laugh filled him with joy. “That bad? You used to be quite the fisherman. Losing your touch?”
All he could remember was how he’d taught her to cast. Wrapping his arms around her to let her feel how to tap the wrist. Standing so close that the smell of her perfume filled his senses and intoxicated him.