Robin Caroll - Framed!

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?

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.

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

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!

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.

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

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.