Robin Caroll - Framed!

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?

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.