Stay away from Max Pershing or you’ll be sorry

Ava gasped as she read the words. She dropped the note. Who would send such a message, and why? No one knew she’d asked Max for help, not even her mother.

Her gaze drifted to the paper again. Had Max told people he was going to help her—bragging that she’d come crawling to him for help with family business? Bile burned in the back of her throat. No, he wouldn’t do that. He sincerely wanted to help her, right?

Or did he?

ROBIN CAROLL

Born and raised in Louisiana, Robin Caroll is Southern to a fault. Her passion has always been to tell stories to entertain others. When she isn’t writing, Robin spends time with her husband of nineteen years, her three beautiful daughters and their four character-filled pets at home—in the South, where else? An avid reader herself, Robin loves hearing from and chatting with other readers. Although her favorite genre to read is mystery/suspense, of course, she’ll read just about any good story. Except historicals! To learn more about this author of Deep South mysteries of suspense to inspire your heart, visit Robin’s Web site at www.robincaroll.com.

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Robin Caroll
Framed!

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Robin Caroll for her contribution to the Without a Trace miniseries.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,

and lean not on your own understanding.

—Proverbs 3:5

For Colleen Coble, who taught me so much about

the craft of writing, believed I could do this, and has

been a cherished friend and prayer warrior. I love

and thank you, lady!

Acknowledgments

My most heartfelt gratitude to…

The other authors who worked on this series—thanks to each of you for taking the time to support and help me when needed. Your talent amazes me.

The editorial team at Steeple Hill—y’ all ROCK!

Kelly Mortimer, for being my fan, my sister in Christ, my agent.

My prayer group, for lifting me before the throne daily.

My family/friends for input without measure: BB, Camy, Cheryl, Dineen, Heather, Lisa, Pammer, Ronie and Trace. I couldn’t do this without you.

My family for continued encouragement: Mom, Papa, Bek, Bubba, Robert, Krys, Brandon, Rachel and all the aunts/uncles/cousins. Love you.

My daughters—Emily, Remington and Isabella—my best blessings from God. I love you so much.

All my love to my husband, Case, who was my wonderful collaborator on this story line.

All glory to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

PROLOGUE

Why couldn’t she have had the foresight to ask Max to meet her in a less conspicuous place?

Ava Renault worried the necklace she wore as she stared out the front windows of Bitsy’s Diner. Her mother drove her wheelchair right toward the door. If Max arrived while Charla was still there…

What was her mother doing here anyway? She normally didn’t deign herself to be seen in the common diner.

Charla wasted no time rolling right to Ava’s table. “Leah Farley’s gone missing.”

Ava covered her Mother of the Year pageant committee notes and stared at her mother. The buzz of conversation from the waitstaff in the diner must have made her hear Charla incorrectly. “What?”

“Leah Farley. You know, your brother’s previous secretary. She’s gone missing.”

What was this? More of her mother’s dramatics? Charla was nothing if not theatrical. “How, exactly, does one go missing in Loomis, Louisiana?”

“According to the news, she dropped her daughter off at her brother’s house yesterday, claiming she had an appointment, and hasn’t been heard from since.” Charla settled her Jack Russell terrier, Rhett, in her lap and guided her electric wheelchair around the small dinette chair. “And just days after her husband was found dead. Isn’t that curious?”

“Mother, you need to stop listening to gossip.”

“That’s not gossip, that’s fact. It was on the local news.” Charla stroked Rhett’s head. “I always knew that girl was trouble. Oh, my, yes. From the first day I met her.”

“Stop it. That’s just being snobby.”

Charla huffed. “Well, it’s true. I don’t know why your brother ever hired her.”

Ava lifted her cup and took a sip of coffee, cooled long ago. “Maybe because she was a qualified secretary with good recommendations?” She let her gaze flit around Bitsy’s Diner again. Tucking the heart medallion and chain inside her blouse, she focused on her mother’s wrinkle-lined face. Ava would never comment on that particular observation aloud. Charla Renault paid good money to look ten years younger than her birth certificate stated.

“Not hardly. That girl was nothing but trash.”

“Enough, Mother.” She set the cup on the edge of the table and lifted her pen. She didn’t have time for Charla’s rants right now—she needed to get her out of this diner before Max showed up and the real fireworks began.

But if she brushed Charla off too quickly, the antennae would come up and she’d never leave Ava alone. “Did the news give any other information?”

“Just that there are no leads, and Sheriff Reed is calling in the FBI.” Charla moved her wheelchair closer to Ava and lowered her voice despite the practically empty diner. “But people are saying she may have killed her poor husband and now has run off.”

“And just left her daughter here with her brother? I doubt that.” Ava couldn’t imagine leaving her child behind. If she had a child. She stared at her mother, the old bitterness returning. She’d once had a chance at love and happiness, a husband and children, but her mother had made sure that didn’t happen.

Now she waited on that particular man to waltz into the diner and put her mother in a tizzy at seeing them together. Even if they were just working together on the Mother of the Year pageant.

Weren’t they?

“I told you, the girl is trash. She’d run off and leave her child if it meant saving herself.” Charla spun her chair around and rolled toward the door. Bosworth, Charla’s butler and driver, opened the door, then assisted her from the wheelchair into the backseat of her waiting limo.

Ava let her mother leave without another word. What was the point? She’d learned long ago that arguing with Charla Renault was like trying to remove all the Spanish moss off the cypress trees in the bayou—useless.

Inside the diner, wait staff milled about. Dishes clanked from the kitchen. Ava stared absentmindedly out the window.

She let out a long sigh. What would make Leah Farley just up and leave Loomis? Ava snickered. Dumb question. Smart people left Loomis and never came back. Why hadn’t she?

Guilt. Duty. Family. Mainly because her father had died in the same auto accident that left her mother paralyzed from the waist down. Her family had needed her then. Charla needed her for a verbal punching bag when her recovery and physical therapy frustrated her. Plus, Dylan, her brother, needed her to take care of Charla so his social calendar wouldn’t be disrupted. Maybe Ava should’ve left when she could. But, no, she’d started her wedding planning business, I Dream of Weddings, and settled into being a business owner in Loomis, even though the majority of the weddings she planned took place in Covington or New Orleans. She continued to pray the Lord would show her His purpose for keeping her in Loomis. So far, He’d been pretty quiet on the subject.

Ava fidgeted with her papers as Lenore Pershing, Max’s mother, waltzed into the place. Ava couldn’t help slouching in the chair. Again, why had she agreed to meet Max here? She absentmindedly ran her finger along her neckline, finding the necklace outlined under her shirt. She cut her gaze from Lenore and stared at the notepad in front of her. Good thing Charla had left before Lenore arrived. With the old family feud alive and well between the two families’ matriarchs, that would’ve been a scene to end all scenes.

The notes she’d jotted didn’t make sense. Her mind kept going back to Leah Farley’s disappearance. On the heels of Earl’s alleged suicide…Ava shivered against the ominous cold finger trailing down her spine. Was something—or someone—evil lurking in Loomis?

ONE

It was too beautiful a day to bury Dylan Renault.

Nothing but blue skies hung overhead with the sun blazing down on Loomis Cemetery. Odd for a February in south Louisiana. Where were the bolts of lightning and rolling thunder? Shouldn’t the weather reflect the gloominess of the townsfolk? Not even a fog or mist to mar the beautiful Monday morning.

Ava stared at her brother’s polished coffin, trying to concentrate on the Scripture being read by Reverend Harmon. She fought back the burning tears and swallowed past the lump caught in her throat.

Dylan lay in that cold, lifeless box in front of her. He would never again tug her hair or shoot her his lopsided grin. Ava’s stomach roiled.

Whispers rose from the row behind her.

“Some say Earl wasn’t really Sarah’s father, and Dylan knew who was. And whoever he is, he’s the one who shot Dylan. Probably because he knew the truth.”

A different woman’s voice responded. “No, I think Dylan’s really that girl’s father. He and Leah had a torrid love affair that went bad and she got pregnant. That’s why she up and quit working for him. That’s probably why she ran off three weeks ago, too.”

Bile searing the back of her throat, Ava stiffened her spine and turned her head slightly to see who’d said such an outlandish thing—at the funeral of all places, too. Who’d do something so tacky?

Micheline Pershing, rumor queen of St. Tammany parish, stared back at Ava with a snooty air.

She didn’t even have the decency to blush and look away when Ava stabbed her with a vicious glare. No, she met the glare head-on, even having the nerve to give Ava a curt nod in response.

Disgust inched up Ava’s spine as she jerked to face the casket again and choked back more tears. Micheline was despicable. Dylan wasn’t even in the ground yet, and the woman already spread lies. Not that the whole town wasn’t rumbling with rumors and speculation.

Ava sighed. Who could blame them, really? Dylan had been shot in the back and left for dead in the overgrown backyard of Renault Hall, the abandoned mansion of Ava and Dylan’s grandfather. Her brother’s last words were what fed the gossipmongers…

“Sarah’s father.”

What could he mean? The only Sarah in Loomis was little Sarah Farley, daughter of the missing Leah Farley and deceased Earl Farley. What had Dylan been trying to relay? Nothing made sense, but it was hard to deny the little girl had haunting, green almond-shaped eyes, a trademark of the Renault family. Ava had racked her brain trying to figure out what her brother’s dying words meant. She was as clueless as everyone else in town. The difference was she wouldn’t give in to conjecture.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” Reverend Harmon’s words were drowned out by Charla Renault’s sobbing.

Ava patted her mother’s shoulder, but her mind continued to spin. Charla had retired to her suites as soon as she’d been told about Dylan’s murder, only venturing out today to attend the funeral. But to display her grief so publicly? It wasn’t like Charla Renault, not at all. Hadn’t she drilled into Ava over and over…Renaults don’t show emotion, Ava. We’re above that.

“Unto Him we lift Dylan…”

Ava’s heart thudded at Reverend Harmon’s words, recalling the last time she’d heard him utter them. Her father’s funeral. The kind, loving man who’d always done what he felt was best for his family…his life taken in that horrible accident. An unfortunate accident, an untimely death that left Ava with a bitter, resentful mother to take care of. Although, Charla Renault hadn’t taken long to adjust to being in a wheelchair. She’d soon been back to her usual controlling self, wreaking havoc in her children’s lives.

Ava let her gaze fall on the elaborate coffin poised over the open grave in the Renault plot. Her stomach knotted as she blinked furiously.

She. Would. Not. Give. These. People. The. Satisfaction. Of. Seeing. Her. Cry.

Especially not Micheline Pershing and her cohort.

Morbid curiosity had been the only reason the good folk of Loomis had shown up at the funeral. That, or fear of disappointing Charla, who held a lot of power in the little town. They all thought Dylan had been nothing more than a spoiled playboy. They didn’t know the sensitive brother she’d grown up with. The one who’d endured their mother’s unfounded rages and protected Ava by sneaking them out of the house when Charla would tear into her husband. The teenager who’d kept Charla away from Ava most of her formative years.

Ava ached for his protection from the rumor mill today.

A loud moan ground out beside her. Her mother had a death grip on that poor dog, Rhett, who endured the unfamiliar hold. Charla hunched over in her wheelchair and moaned as if she’d been stabbed.

Poor choice of words. Ava licked her lips.

Again, whispers rose from the row behind her.

“Can you believe she’s daring to show emotion?”

“I can’t believe she even has emotions,” Micheline replied. “I didn’t think people with ice running through their veins had any feelings.”

Ava narrowed her eyes and tossed a frown over her shoulder. The rudeness of people never ceased to amaze her. Especially here…now…barraging against her grief.

Charla let out another sob. Ava wanted to cry all the more. Never before had the matriarch of the Renault family deigned to allow anyone outside the family see even the slightest sign of weakness, perceived or real. Even when she was recovering from the auto accident, she put on a strong front, going into work everyday. Why was she giving the locals food for fodder now? Grief aside, couldn’t she hear Micheline and her followers whispering about the family? Guessing about the reasons why someone would take Dylan’s life?

Murdered. Ava couldn’t imagine someone hating Dylan enough to kill him. Shot in the back, like some mangy cur. Sure, he’d broken a lot of hearts over the years, but she didn’t think there had ever been a relationship so serious that it could’ve mustered enough feelings of regret or revenge to murder her brother in cold blood. As far as she knew in the business world, Dylan was a fair player. Maybe it was time she looked into the family business. Maybe Dylan had been a different kind of executive than she thought. Over the last few weeks, Dylan had changed. It seemed like he was finally growing up and becoming the man their father would’ve been proud of.

Even though Sheriff Bradford Reed had recently all but accused him of murdering his ex-girlfriend, Angelina Loring, who had been found dead in a swamp on the outskirts of Loomis—just after Leah Farley had gone missing.

Now Dylan had been murdered, his promising character cut down just as he was coming into his own. It was unfair, just like so many things in life. What in the world was happening to the quiet town of Loomis? Ava shuddered and shook her head.

“The peace of the Lord be with you.” Reverend Harmon approached the front row and bent to take Charla’s hands in his own. “God will comfort you in this time of loss.”

It was as if Charla didn’t even hear his words. Her tear-stained face focused on the coffin, her eyes red and glassy.

Ava swallowed, silently praying for the Holy Spirit to wrap her in peace and comfort. Why, God? Why take Dylan from me, too? Wasn’t Daddy enough?

People stood and milled about, whispering in small groups. Screams rose in Ava, begging to be released. How could they just stand around so casually, gossiping or discussing the latest episode of their favorite sitcom? Her brother was dead…gone. He left behind a mystery no one had figured out. Sarah’s father… Such cryptic words. It just wasn’t like Dylan, so what he’d been trying to say had to be vitally important. Critically so.

Ava’s friend and child psychologist, Jocelyn Gold, wrapped her in a hug. “I’m so sorry.” She squeezed her before releasing her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m holding my own.” Ava glanced at the tall, handsome man hovering over Jocelyn’s shoulder.

Sam Pierce. FBI.

Ava let out a slow breath, struggling to recall the weeks before Dylan’s murder. The FBI had been called in on Leah Farley’s case and worked the attempted kidnapping, but they’d only assisted Sheriff Reed with the murder of Angelina Loring. Had Sam also believed Dylan guilty as well, or had he just been doing his job?

Sam offered his hand. “I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” He couldn’t be all bad. Not if Jocelyn was in love with him, and by all appearances, Jocelyn was starry-eyed over him. The man had a job to do and had done it, that was all. She widened her smile. “I appreciate y’all coming.”

Jocelyn gave her another hug. “Call me if you need anything.” She looped her arm through Sam’s and headed toward the line of parked cars.

A few brave souls from her mother’s generation approached Charla, offering weak sentiments of comfort. Charla accepted their gestures amid tears and clinging to her trembling dog. Ava shifted away. How sad that her mother really had no one to confide in, talk with, share her grief with. For the first time, pity for Charla rose within Ava. Her mother had no friends or confidants. Only Bosworth, the son of Charla’s father’s driver, who’d served Charla since she was a young woman. He’d stayed with the family through Charla’s marriage, and remained her faithful servant today.

“Ava.” The voice reached right into her heart and pierced it.

She spun to face Maximilion Pershing. “Max.” Her gasp caught in her throat as her pulse raced.

“I’m so sorry.” His eyes were the color of hot cocoa and just as soothing. He laid a steady hand on her shoulder. “I know this sounds so lame, but if there’s anything I can do for you…” He paused, swallowed hard, then continued, “I hope you know I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

Of all the people who offered condolences, Max meant the most to her because he knew the pain she felt. He knew her, and he understood. And maybe, just maybe, he still cared. He’d loved her once. Could he again, despite the history between them? Ava blinked back the tears threatening to spill. “Th-thank you.”

He leaned closer and pulled her into his arms, hugging her gently, yet firmly.

Her heart pounded as if she’d just done twenty laps in an Olympic-size pool. Ava allowed herself to melt into his embrace. The distinct smell of his familiar cologne wafted around her. It felt so good for Max to hold her. Then again, it always had.

“I mean it. I’m here for you.” His words were a caress against her ear.

For just a moment, time stood still and she was transported back to the day she’d been uprooted from her junior year of high school to go to boarding school, and she’d had to tell Max goodbye.

Wailing shattered the memory.

Ava withdrew from Max and spun around. Her mother caught sight of her. For a moment, Charla’s grief disappeared, replaced with the familiar frown of disapproval. “Avvvvvvaaaaaaaaaa!”

Only Charla Renault could make a two-syllable word draw out to ten. And in front of everyone, too.

Tossing a please-forgive-me look at Max, she mouthed “I’ll call you” and rushed to her mother. Poor Rhett, the little Jack Russell terrier that never left Charla’s side, quivered and whined.

She took her mother’s hand and squeezed, nodding to Bosworth hovering on the edge of the crowd. Ava gave the coffin a final glance. Her stomach twisted as her heart ached to shriek louder than Charla.

Goodbye, Dylan.

She turned and guided her mother’s wheelchair toward the waiting limo.

Although he hadn’t known it at the time, Max Pershing had given his heart to Ava Renault years ago. Fifteen years ago, to be precise. Now he knew she still had it.

Last month, fate had thrown the two of them together again when the Loomis governing body asked him to serve on the Mother’s Day pageant committee, representing the Pershing family. He’d had no choice—his mother would’ve been furious had he declined, so he accepted. Not knowing that his co-chair would be from the other prominent family in the small town—Ava Renault.

Holding her in his arms just now had confirmed it. No other woman had ever made his heart leap as Ava did.

She helped her mother into the car, gave him a final sad smile from across the cemetery, then disappeared behind the tinted glass. The Renault driver, Bosworth, shut the back door before slipping behind the steering wheel.

Every muscle in his body tensed to run after her. To hold her again. To try to smooth some of the pain etched across her face.

“Surprised to see you here.” Reverend Harmon offered his hand.

Max shook hands with the man. “It’s a shame what happened with Dylan. Of course, I wanted to be here for the family.”

Reverend Harmon’s bushy brows shot up. “The family, or Ava in particular?”

Busted. “Well, it’s no secret there’s no love lost between my mother and Charla, that’s for sure.”

“But between you and Ava?”

Reverend Harmon knew their history—knew how they’d been falling in love back in high school, knew how Charla Renault had been unable to accept such an idea and had sent Ava away to boarding school, knew how Charla had brought Ava back to attend the local university when she’d learned Max had been accepted at Louisiana State University. Everyone who knew the story seemed as bewildered as Max over why, when he returned from college, Ava had avoided Max like the plague. Too much parental influence, or had her feelings toward Max changed?

“That’s ancient history.”

One of the cemetery workers approached. “Reverend Harmon, most everyone has left. Is it okay to lower the casket now?”

The man’s demeanor changed in an instant. “Of course.” He nodded to Max. “I’m praying for you.”

How was he supposed to respond to that? He didn’t want anyone to pray for him. He’d learned years ago that God wasn’t listening. He hadn’t listened to Max’s pleas to bring Ava home and then had turned a deaf ear to Max’s requests to save his cousin, Michael Pershing, from pancreatic cancer at such a young age. But Max couldn’t fault Harmon for his faith. Everyone knew Reverend Harmon was a good man, had a good heart.

Max stood silently as the reverend said a final prayer over the casket containing Dylan Renault, then the casket was lowered into the grave. Max’s gut knotted.

People weren’t supposed to die so young. And murdered! In Loomis. The third one in a month. Plus, Leah Farley was still missing, although the general consensus was that she was dead as well.

The town fed on gossip and suppositions. FBI agents and investigators had barraged Loomis and set up base in the downtown area. Just two weeks ago, they’d focused on Dylan Renault as a suspect in Angelina Loring’s death. Now he’d been shot and killed. What was the city coming to?

Max headed to his truck, his steps dragging as much as his heart. With everything going on, all the deaths and Dylan Renault’s cryptic dying words, the town hummed with rumors of what was happening. The fact that his and Ava’s mothers continued to feud just added to all the tension.

And Ava Renault sat right in the dead center of it all.

He parked outside his condo, the property his mother owned. At least her condo was across the complex from his. He had to agree with Charla Renault on one thing—his mother had made the complex quite a sight with its baby blue paint and gaudy design. He still couldn’t figure out if his mother really had such bad taste or if she’d done it on purpose just to annoy Charla. Their generations-old feud, fueled by competitive business deals and now the lonely older women with nothing to do but stir up trouble, was never-ending.

Max unlocked the door, tossed his keys onto the buffet in the entry and headed to the kitchen.

“How was the funeral?”

Max startled and then faced his mother. “Why are you here?”

She sat at the dinette table, sipping tea as if she belonged. But she didn’t. This was his home, not hers. Yet she’d never seemed to have gotten the message. “I wanted to know how the funeral went.”

He opened the fridge and poured a glass of orange juice. “You don’t care. You hate Charla Renault.”

“Well, of course I do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know who all turned out for the funeral. Anything interesting happen?”

“Mom, I can’t believe you’d stoop so low. I’m not going to gossip about the funeral.” He shook his head.

“Don’t make it sound like I’m some horrible person. Charla Renault would be just as curious if it were your funeral.” She sniffed and stood, taking her teacup to the sink and rinsing it out. “I wonder what the police are thinking now since Dylan was their prime suspect in that poor Angelina’s death.” She tsked.

Max slugged down the rest of the orange juice. “That’s not a very nice attitude, and you know it.”

“But it’s the truth.” She lifted her purse, sarcasm dripping in her words. “I’ve seen you with that Ava Renault several times in the last month or so. I recognize the look she’s giving you. She’s trying to get her claws into you again.”

“We’re working together on the Mother of the Year pageant committee, that’s all.”

Her eyes narrowed for a moment. “Awfully defensive, aren’t you? Maybe you know I’m right.”

Nope, she was wrong. Ava couldn’t get her claws into him again…she’d never retracted them.

TWO

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.

THREE

Sleep had remained as elusive to Ava as the mystery surrounding her brother’s death.

Now, determination to prove herself in the corporate world drove her to dress in a classy business suit and head downstairs.

Rhett’s barking beckoned Ava down the hall to her mother’s suites at eight. As per usual these days, the door was shut. Ava rapped softly. “Mother?”

“Go away and leave me alone.”

The temptation to flee nearly spun Ava in the opposite direction, but she couldn’t disregard her mother’s grief. Squaring her shoulders, Ava turned the knob and pushed open the door. The little dog met her, prancing and whining. “Have you let Rhett out this morning?”

“I told you to leave me alone.” Charla sat in her wheelchair facing the window, her back to the door.

Ava ignored her mother’s bitter tone and crossed to the patio door, then flung it open. Crisp, early February air swirled through the rooms. The little dog burst outside into the yard. She faced her mother and nearly gasped aloud. Never before had she seen her so…so unkempt. No makeup, her hair in total disarray, and in the same outfit she’d worn to the funeral. Had she slept in those clothes?

“Will you please leave now?”

Maybe she should. She certainly didn’t know what to say. Every instinct she had urged her to do as her mother requested, but her heart wouldn’t allow her to budge.

Ava cracked the patio door open wider, allowing the air admittance. Once the stuffiness had been banished down the corridor, Ava faced Charla, hands on her hips. “Mother, I know you’re grieving—I am, too. Please don’t shut me out. I miss Dylan terribly.” Tears clogged her throat.

“Don’t talk to me about missing him.” Charla’s voice raised an octave and quivered. “He always was too weak for this earth. Letting himself get distracted and led astray. Just too much like his father…”

Ava swallowed as disappointment crawled up her spine. “I know you’re crushed, but don’t push me away.” She softened her tone. “We’re it, Mother. All that’s left of the family. We should be pulling together, not mourning alone.”

Charla’s bright green eyes, identical to Ava’s, filled with moisture. For a moment, Ava detected a softness in her mother she’d never seen before. A vulnerability of sorts. A blink later, it was gone. “I’d like you to leave now.”

Ava teared up as well, despite trying not to break down. “Mother, please don’t do this. We need each other.” She all but begged.

Before Charla could speak, the little terrier bolted back into the room, so full of vigor his little body quivered.

Ava stared at her mother, her emotions knotting. She’d never been able to run to Charla for comfort, even as a child. Her father had been the one who held her when she had nightmares, kissed her bumps and bruises, put ointment on her scraped knees. Her mother had never shown any maternal instinct. Now that Ava thought about it, Charla hadn’t ever shown any affection for her daughter. Sure, she’d doted on Dylan, but never Ava.

Bitterness held Ava’s tongue. Charla called Rhett into her lap, gripped him tightly and glared. “Just leave me alone.”

She clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides, fighting for what composure she could retain. “What about the Renault Corporation, Mother? Are you going to ignore it as well? The company Dylan put so much time and energy into?”

“I can’t even face the office—reminders of my sweet boy are everywhere.” Charla narrowed her eyes.

That answered that. There was no reasoning with her, and Ava didn’t have the strength left to argue. Or to ask for control of the company…yet.

She shut the patio door and marched from the suites without another word. After turning the corner of the hall, Ava pressed her back against the wall. She closed her eyes and slid to the floor.

Daddy…Dylan…no one to turn to now. Dear Lord, please give me strength and peace.

The pent-up tears spewed from her eyes, making warm tracks down her cheeks. She didn’t care. Let them fall where they would, Ava couldn’t hold back the pain any longer. She’d never felt so alone in her life. At least after the car accident, Dylan had been there to hold her and soothe the loss of their father. Drawing her knees to her chest, she rested her forearms atop her knees, then laid her head on her arms, sobbing without control.

Max’s image flitted across her mind. She didn’t have to be alone if she didn’t want to be. He said he’d be there for her.

Ava shook her head and wiped her face against her sleeve. Now she was being downright silly. After the way she’d brushed Max off the last several years, it was a miracle he even spoke to her, much less be willing to help her in any way.

“Ms. Ava, are you okay?”

Ava pushed to her feet and swiped her sleeve over her eyes again. “I’m fine, Bea.” She smoothed her shirt. “Was there something you needed?”

The elderly lady cocked her head. “Just checking on Ms. Charla this morning.” Concern etched into the lines deep in her face.

The woman had been with the family since Ava was a toddler. If anyone knew Charla Renault at all, it was Bea. Or Bosworth, who had been with Charla even longer. Since childhood, really.

“Mother’s still not feeling well.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you, though.” Ava held her head high and strode to the office. Only when she was ensconced safely behind the massive oak doors did she collapse in the kid leather chair, her eyes again spilling with tears.

She glanced at the picture on the corner of the desk. Her father and Dylan had their arms over each other’s shoulders, their silly, smiling faces posing for Ava behind the lens. Tears flowed from her eyes. Why both of them?

Sniffing, Ava cleared her throat, but questions still niggled against her mind. What about the red hair found? What had Dylan been doing at the abandoned Renault Hall? He had to be meeting someone. That was the only logical explanation.

Meeting his own murderer.

Just the thought sent shivers down her back. She needed to do something. To talk to someone.

Max.

Amazing how her fingers pressed the numbers of his cell so quickly, as if they moved of their own accord. She gripped the phone tightly. What was she doing calling Max at this hour of the morning? She shouldn’t bother him. “Hello.” His voice was a nice mix of baritone with Southern drawl.

“Hi, Max.”

“Ava. How are you?”

“Holding on. I’m going to head into Renault Corporation and see where the business is. Try to make heads or tails of everything.”

“I’ll be more than happy to help you catch up, I mean, if you’d like input from someone with an MBA.”

“As opposed to someone who is just-a-nothing wedding planner?”

He hesitated. “I didn’t mean any offense, Ava. Just offering to help.”

“I know. It’s just that very reaction is what I ran into when I called the office. The office manager seemed shocked I even knew where the building was located.” She twisted the phone cord around her finger.

“I’m at your service, ma’am.”

She laughed, throaty and humorless. “Well, I’m smart enough to know I’m going to need help, and I don’t believe the workers will think I’m worthy to be brought up to speed.” She paused, her breathing a bit erratic over the thought of working with him, side by side. “I gratefully take you up on your offer. Can you meet me at the office at ten?”

“I’d be honored. But, uh, Ava, you realize your mother will have a fit if I so much as park in the parking lot at Renault Corporation, right?”

“You saw her at the funeral. There’s no way she can oversee the company right now.”

“You’ll need to get your company lawyer to obtain a power of attorney over the corporation—otherwise, you can’t sign anything.”

Something else she’d have to handle. Alone. “I’ll get on that.”

“What about your business?”

“My assistant is handling things for the time being.”

“Then I’ll see you soon.”

“I really appreciate it.” Her words lilted with relief. “I mean it, Max. I really do appreciate your willingness to help me out.”

“No problem.”

The familiar beep of another call coming through sounded against her ear. “We can talk more when I see you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

She pressed the button on the phone to answer the other call. “Hello.”

“Ava? It’s Jocelyn.”

“Hey, girl.”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine. As well as can be expected.” Ava traced the engraved scrollwork on the edge of the desk with her fingernail.

“If you want to talk, you know I’m here for you.”

Ava smiled, knowing her friend actually meant what she offered. “I know. I’m holding my own.” She glanced at her appointment book. “About to dive into work. It’ll at least keep my mind occupied.”

“That’s actually one of the reasons I was calling.”

“Really?”

“Sam and I are getting married, and we’d like you to plan the blessed event.”

“Congratulations.” Ava glanced at her planner again. “When were you thinking of having the wedding?”

“As soon as you can plan it, if you feel up to it.”

As if she wouldn’t plan her close friend’s wedding? Then again, Sam had questioned Dylan. She tried to remember…Dylan being a suspect in Angelina’s murder had been Sheriff Reed’s idea. Wait a minute—Jocelyn said as soon as possible? “Um, is there any particular reason for the urgency?”

Jocelyn laughed. “Just that we’ve wasted enough time, don’t you think?”

Ava chuckled as well. Joceyln’s excitement was contagious. “Of course. I’d be happy to plan your wedding.” When she’d have time, she hadn’t a clue. “When would you like to meet to set a date and go over preliminary details?”

“Sam and I are both free tomorrow morning. How about the breakfast buffet at the hotel? I’m actually thinking that might work for the wedding reception.”

Nodding, Ava grabbed a pen. “Let’s plan on, say, nine tomorrow morning?”

“Perfect. Thanks, Ava.”

The morning sun shone down on Loomis, despite the fogginess hovering over the bayou. Max slipped his sunglasses into the truck’s holder after parking at Pershing Land Developing. He gazed next door at their real estate office. At least Georgia Duffy’s car wasn’t in the lot. He’d dodged the bullet again. Ever since he’d broken up with her years ago, the woman seemed determined to worm her way back into his life. She’d even gone so far as to work at Pershing Real Estate. The fact that she lived in Pershing Plaza didn’t help matters, either.

He headed into the building on Church Street, nodding at the receptionist on his way to his office.

“Why, Max, aren’t you here bright and early?” Patsy Thomas, his secretary, sounded shocked.

He smiled as he unlocked his office door. “Good morning to you, Patsy.” He winked and turned on his lights. Since he normally came in around ten, he understood her surprise at his darkening the door before nine. “I’m just getting work lined up for the troops as I’ll be out of the office most of today.”

Helping Ava. Getting to be with her again. Working with her.

Patsy followed him into his office, taking his jacket to hang on the brass hooks behind the door. “Playing hooky, are ya?”

“Sort of.” And with the only person he wanted to play hooky with. “Will you bring me the February projections report?”

“Certainly. I’ll bring it with your coffee.”

Max grinned at the secretary who’d served him for more than five years. Patsy was about twenty years older than he and almost motherly, but not in the same manner as Max’s own mother. No, Patsy couldn’t compare with Lenore Pershing. Patsy was kind and gentle. Not a control freak. “Thanks.”

Once alone, he booted up his computer and checked his e-mail. The flood of business had his agents booked solid for the rest of the week. Fear of what would happen to the Renault Corporation after Dylan’s death had everyone running for cover. Ava truly did need his help.

Charla Renault, now there was a woman who could give his own mother a run for her money in the control-freak department. That they were arch rivals and had been for decades…well, it just fit. Everyone in Loomis had long ago picked which side of the feud they fell on, and were very careful not to stray too close to the middle…All because of a marriage that went bad and a public embarrassment generations ago. It made no sense to Max. Then again, there’d been a couple of business deals that went sour because of the family feud over the past couple of years. Still, that hadn’t been enough to send Ava away to boarding school…had it?

Patsy tapped on his door and entered without a response. She set a steaming cup of coffee on the desk in front of him alongside a spreadsheet. “Anything else?”

He took a sip of the black coffee. Strong, just the way he liked it. “Thanks, Pats. I really appreciate it.”

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” She perched on the arm of the leather chair facing his desk.

“I’m just helping out a friend. She needs help managing her company on a temporary basis.” He took another sip, then stared at his secretary.

“What friend?”

He shrugged, but felt the heat creeping across his face. “Just a friend from school who needs a bit of advice.”

Patsy stood and made a clucking sound with her tongue. “That friend wouldn’t happen to be Ms. Ava Renault, now would it?”

Max grinned. “Does it make a difference?”

His secretary chuckled, loud and hearty. “Not to me, but I bet it does to your momma. What’s Lenore say about this?”

The smile slid off his face. “She’s none too happy.”

“Bet that’s putting it mildly.”

“Yeah.” He ran a finger around the lip of the cup. “But I just have to help Ava out.” He lifted his gaze to his secretary’s face.

“I understand.” Patsy moved toward the door. “Have a good day, and I’ll hold down the fort here.”

“Thanks, Pats.”

Someday, sooner rather than later, he was going to have to sit his mother down and tell Lenore to back off from his life. Once he figured out what he really felt for Ava, he would.

Confusion wreaked havoc in his heart. Ava definitely sent him mixed signals—ignoring him for years, even going so far as to cross the street to not have to pass him, refusing any eye contact with him, then working with him on the committee and allowing him to hold her at the funeral. Okay, so she’d been grief stricken. But now she’d called. Twice. Surely that meant something.

Meant she needed help.

No, Ava wasn’t a user. Not like her mother. Or like her brother had been.

Max cringed. He hated to think ill of the dead, but truthfully, everyone in Loomis knew Dylan was a heartbreaker. He used women’s feelings for him when it suited him. And many times, it suited him. Although a couple of weeks ago, he seemed to have changed.

He’d have to think of a way to tell Ava what he knew without setting off her alarms. He’d started to when she asked questions on the phone, but she’d dismissed him. Maybe he’d get a chance today when he worked with her. The idea of working with her lifted his spirits, he had to admit.

Patsy rushed into his office and shut the door. “Max, the sheriff and a deputy are here to see you.”

His heart sank as he struggled to stand. “See me? Whatever for?”

“They said they had some questions for you. Both of them.”

In a bigger city, two local lawmen showing up wouldn’t be a big deal. But here, in St. Tammany parish, if more than one in uniform came with questions, it had to be bad news. Very bad.

Max swallowed against a dry mouth and nodded at his secretary. “Show them in, please, Pats.”

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