Текст книги "You're Not Safe"

Автор книги: Mary Burton

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Later he’d do a little digging.

Dinner ended with slices of apple pie with heaping scoops of vanilla ice cream. Mitch hadn’t said much more during dinner, but he’d eaten his entire meal and the pie. Some might view eating a meal as a baby step but as far as Bragg was concerned it was the first sign of life he’d seen in the boy since he’d returned home.

They arrived home right at nine. Mitch thanked him for the meal, another first, and headed straight to his room.

While a pot of coffee brewed, Bragg changed into jeans and a faded Texas A&M T-shirt. Then, coffee in hand, he settled in front of his laptop and clicked it on. He searched Bonneville Vineyards.

Immediately the vineyard’s Web site popped up. It featured rolling land and rows and rows of thick grapevines stretching toward the setting sun on the horizon. Another picture showcased a group of smiling people, wineglasses in hand around a table. An older woman with long graying hair smiled and laughed with them. The caption underneath read:

Bonneville Vineyard owner, Lydia Bonneville, greets guests at spring tasting.

Bragg clicked through more images, read some of the site’s blog entries, and on the events page news of an upcoming fund-raiser for the Crisis Center. Though he dug through the entire site he found no telling tidbit about the woman who’d offered his nephew a job today.

Sipping his coffee he searched Greer Templeton. No hits came up. On the Crisis Center site there was a mention of her six months ago when she’d joined the board. The blurb also mentioned she’d been volunteering at the center for the last decade. There was also a piece about a fund-raiser this Wednesday at the vineyard, but no picture of Greer Templeton.

None of this set well in his gut. None of it. The Templeton name was associated with a murder investigation and a Templeton meets Mitch. And Rory Edwards’s body had been found at a vineyard near Bonneville.

Coincidence did happen but not often by his way of thinking.

Shit.

Yeah, he’d be driving out to Bonneville Vineyards first thing in the morning.

Bragg glanced at the clock. It wasn’t ten yet and he had time to get by Rory’s room. Refilling his mug, he changed, retrieved his gun, badge, and hat. A quick check into Mitch’s room found him sleeping. He left as quickly as he could.

The drive to Rory’s took fifteen minutes, long enough to finish the coffee and summon a second bolt of energy. He was accustomed to going long stretches without sleep and tonight he’d get little. It didn’t take much time to spot the Mexican restaurant with the blue chili in the window.

Inside, he was greeted by a dimly lit interior and the blend of recorded guitar and trumpet music. Small round tables with patrons filled the room, and in the back a bartender poured shots of tequila. Colored lights draped the walls alongside pictures of Mexico.

Bragg stopped at the register where a short stocky man with thick black hair and mocha skin stared up at him. The man wore a brightly colored shirt and a silver chain around his neck.

“You here for dinner?”

“I’m with the Texas Rangers. I’m here to search Rory Edwards’s room.” He showed the man his badge. “I’ve been told he’s renting a room upstairs.”

The man glanced at the badge and back up at Bragg. “I don’t want trouble.”

“I don’t want any. Just want to have a look at his room.”

“Second door on the right.” He fumbled in his pocket for a ring of keys, slid one free, and handed it to Bragg. “I don’t want trouble.”

“Appreciate it.” Bragg took the key. “Rory get many visitors to his room?”

“I don’t know. I don’t ask. Long as they pay, I don’t ask.”

“No commotion. No trouble.”

“He paid his first week in cash and the second week wasn’t due until Wednesday. Good enough for me.”

Bragg followed the stairs behind the register up to a hallway lit by a single flickering bulb. There were four doors on the hallway. He unlocked the second on the right and flipped on the light.

The room was small, not more than eight by eight, and it was filthy. Soiled rumpled sheets covered the bed, and dozens of empty food cartons littered the floor. A mouse scurried under the bed.

A pile of dirty clothes was mounded at the foot of the bed beside a pair of expensive cowboy boots. The boots were nice but not as nice as the ones found on Rory’s body. Wherever Rory had thought he was going, he’d dressed up for the occasion.

In a small closet he found a couple of jackets and a muddy pair of boots. He was on the verge of closing the door when he spotted the box on the floor. He picked it up and opened it. Inside were dozens of pictures of a woman. At first glance he didn’t recognize her, but closer inspection identified her. Elizabeth Templeton.

All the photographs appeared to have been taken not twelve years ago but recently. Elizabeth standing on the front porch of a ranch house. Elizabeth surrounded by long rows of grapevines. Driving a red pickup truck. Leaving a store.

Rory had been keeping close tabs on Elizabeth.

Her face had leaned out in the last twelve years, and her hair had gone from blond to dark brown. But her figure was still slight. In most of the images she was frowning and he remembered what Mitch had said about the woman who’d hired him. Dark hair. Not nice.

Frowning, Bragg retrieved his phone and snapped pictures of the images before setting them aside to continue his search. He found a small careworn Bible and a stack of note cards with handwritten affirmations. Do it! One step at a time! Believe!

However, no strings to connect Rory to Elizabeth.

Bragg descended the stairs and found the manager. He showed the man his phone sporting an image of Elizabeth. “You ever seen her here?”

“I don’t ask questions.”

“Yeah, I know, as long as they pay. Look real close, partner. Look real close because if I find out you’ve seen her you’re going to get some real trouble from me.”

The man glanced at the picture and shook his head. “Never seen her.”

“You sure?”

“Never seen her. ’Sides, she’s too pretty for Rory. He thought he was sober for good and better than everybody, but he hadn’t changed. No good. Barely had enough for a week’s rent. I was figuring he’d not show tomorrow with the rent, and I’d have to toss him out.”

“He have any visitors?”

“No. Kept to himself. Heard him on his cell phone once or twice, but I never made out what he was saying.”

There’d been no cell in Rory’s belongings. Bragg pulled a card from his front shirt pocket. “You call me if you hear anyone talking about Rory.”

“Where is he? Is he coming back?”

“No, sir, he is not coming back.”

The man muttered an oath in Spanish. “What about his room?”

“I’m calling a forensic team now to dust it for prints.” The man smoothed agitated fingers over oiled black hair. “Are you gonna stay here and wait for them?”

“Yes, sir, I am. That a problem?”

The man’s frown deepened. “You are bad for business.”

Bragg grinned. “I’ve been called worse.”

He returned to Rory’s room and called in a team. As he waited he sifted through each picture of Elizabeth. Beautiful. Striking. But stern and solemn. He sensed life hadn’t much eased the burden of her tragedy.

“What the hell was going on between you and Rory?”

Chapter Four

Tuesday, June 3, 6:30 A.M.

Bragg left Austin before the morning tangles on I-35 south. He also wanted to arrive early at Bonneville Vineyards not only to meet with the woman who’d offered Mitch a job, but the woman who owned the land near his crime scene. Even if she didn’t have a connection to the case he wanted to meet her and find out how she’d found Mitch.

Remembering yesterday’s route to the crime scene, he took the rural route exit off of the interstate and followed it another twenty miles before his GPS directed him over more back roads familiar to him. There were no directional signs to guide people to the vineyard, suggesting visitors weren’t welcome.

An unpaved gravel ribbon of road wandered alongside a barbed-wire fence corralling row after row of vines bursting with a thick canopy of green leaves sheltering plump grapes clinging to well-maintained trellises. In the distance, the sun rose above the horizon casting a warm glow over the hills.

The entire area was lush and green and all he could think about was what it cost the family in water bills. Drought had been a problem in central Texas the last couple of years and signs were the hard times weren’t letting up anytime soon.

Hard to believe Rory Edwards had been strung up right over the hill to his left.

Around the bend, a ranch house came into view. Complete with a wide front porch, its original windows and tin roof hinted of nineteenth-century cowboys. However, the ranch’s porch now sported potted lavender, rocking chairs, and a sign on the front porch read PRIVATE and directed visitors to a larger stone building where the road dead-ended. Near the house stood a small barn painted with fading chipped red paint and a small corral.

The larger one-story main building just beyond was made of stone and glass, and though it had the air of new construction was styled like a medieval European keep. But unlike a fortress, it didn’t dominate the land but hugged it as if the designer wanted a seamless connection between structure and terrain.

Small succulents floated in beds filled with earth-toned landscaping stones to add interest. However, it was the yellow and white wildflowers in brightly colored clay pots and a turquoise front door that rescued the place from being bland. To the right a stone patio outfitted with wrought-iron furniture overlooked vineyards that would catch the setting sun. Beyond the main building the land had been cleared for more construction.

Again, he gave credit to the site manager. He wasn’t a wine drinker but the place might have lured him in for a look if there’d been signs along the road to coax and welcome.

He pulled up behind an older dark truck with a bed filled with tables and chairs. Grabbing his white Stetson from the passenger seat, he settled it on his head and eased out of the Bronco. In the distance a dog barked. Resting his hand on the hip close to his gun, he surveyed the area.

As he approached the building, a woman pushed through the glass doors of the main entrance. She wasn’t tall, barely standing over five feet, but she held her shoulders back and her clear blue eyes cut. Not more than thirty, she had gently tanned smooth skin that accentuated a high slash of cheekbones. She wore her light brown hair in a braid that brushed slender shoulders, a white BONNEVILLE VINEYARDS T-shirt billowing over full breasts and tucked into faded work jeans hugging gently rounded hips. Her boots were dusty, well worn. “Can I help you?”

Her voice had a rusty, whiskey quality giving this wholesome farm girl a seductiveness enjoyed by older more sophisticated women.

Elizabeth Templeton.

She was a far cry from the girl in the old image or the pictures Rory had taken. The last dozen years had thinned her frame and face, adding maturity and an appealing naturalness. But Rory’s images had gotten her all wrong. What he’d taken for as anger and bitterness in the photos, in person, appeared to be a fascinating intensity. He suspected this woman did no job halfway.

“I’m with the Texas Rangers.”

Elizabeth cocked her head, studying him closely, as if sensing this place wasn’t his kind of place. However, even as her gaze catalogued his large frame and the scar on his face she showed no fear. “How can I help you?”

He managed a smile. “You Elizabeth Templeton?”

Mention of her name triggered waves of tension that straightened her spine and narrowed her eyes. Hesitation flickered as if she seemed to toy with a lie. “That’s right. But I go by my middle name now. Greer.”

Elizabeth Greer Templeton. Greer. The woman who’d offered his boy a job. “Sergeant Tec Bragg.”

She took an involuntary step back before stopping. “Bragg. You’re kin to Mitch Bragg?”

He nodded. “He’s my nephew.”

She drew in a breath as if bracing. “What can I do for you?”

“I hear you’ve offered Mitch a job.”

“I have.”

“Doing what?”

She held his gaze and took a step toward him. “General farmhand.”

“He doesn’t have experience as a farmhand.”

Her lips flattened. “He already told me.”

“Then why hire him?”

A line furrowed her brow. “Did he send you up here? Is he not coming today?”

“As of last night he was planning to be here.”

She nodded, as if understanding flickered. “And you’ve come to check the place out.”

“Not the place. You.”

Her eyes sharpened. “You did a search on the vineyard, my name popped up, and you did a search on me and the alarm bells went off.”

“Why would they?”

Her sigh sounded weary. “You came looking for Elizabeth. I’ve not used that name in twelve years, so let’s not pretend. I’ve a full day ahead of me and don’t have time for games. Ask direct questions, then I’ll answer them. You don’t want your nephew working for me then have a conversation with him. But from where I stand, Mitch is twenty-one, a man who can take care of himself, and doesn’t need his uncle running interference.”

Temper scraped along his insides. “How did you find Mitch?”

“I found him. If you want more details, talk to him.”

“Not good enough.”

Fire sparked in her blue gaze. “Well, it’s going to have to be because I don’t have to share my reasons with you or anyone. I offered him a job, he took it, end of story.”

“Dr. Stewart arrange this?” He tossed out the doctor’s name searching for a reaction.

Mention of the man’s name triggered flickers of recognition in her gaze. “Ask him your questions. Again, my reasons are my own and none of your business. Now, if you will excuse me, Ranger Bragg, I’m expecting a delivery any minute.”

He tapped an impatient finger against his gun belt as he struggled with his words. His temper prowled inside him like a mountain lion anxious to be unleashed. “Mitch has had it rough.”

Taut muscles in her jaw softened a fraction. “I know.”

“Watch your step with my boy.” He wrapped the words in threat and menace.

Her shoulders stiffened as if he’d insulted her. “If that’s all you got, I’ve work waiting.”

Her annoyance didn’t deter him. In fact, it drew him. “Got one more question for you, Ms. Templeton.”

She glared at him now, a brow arched and a hand on her hip. “Shoot.”

He studied her expression closely. “I investigated a murder bordering your land yesterday.”

A hint of remorse darkened her gaze. “I heard about that. Some fellow hanged himself.” And then as if to head off his next question, “A cruiser came by yesterday and spoke to my farm manager while I was in town. I’m supposed to call him back but haven’t gotten to it.”

“You hear anything else?”

“No. I don’t have time for gossip and news. So if you’re here to ask me about the dead person, I’m afraid I can’t do much for you. I spend most of my days here working. I don’t venture out much.”

And yet you’d made your way into town yesterday to talk to my boy. “I think you might know the victim.”

“Could be, but I only know a handful of people in the area.”

He studied her face closely. “The victim’s name was Rory Edwards.”

Irritation gave way to surprise. Pursing her lips she drew in a deep breath, letting it out so slowly he barely saw her move. “Is this some kind of trick? Are you trying to prod information out of me because I hired your nephew?”

“No trick. The medical examiner confirmed the identity of the body yesterday.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “I’ve not seen Rory in a long time. At least twelve years.”

“You’ve had no contact with him in this time?”

Her lips pursed. “I had a message on my voice mail a week ago. The caller said he was coming to see me. He was an old friend. I did not return the call.”

“Why not?”

Blue eyes clouded before sharpening. “Some matters are better left in the past.”

“I get the impression he still cared about you after all this time.”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“I searched his room last night. He had a box full of recent pictures of you.”

Her face paled. “I don’t know about that.”

“Can I ask how you two met?”

The grip on her biceps tightened. “I get the sense you already know.”

Apprehension rolled off her and all but slammed into Bragg. Rory Edwards and her past were sore subjects. “Answer the question.”

She glanced around as if making sure no one was around. “We met when we were teenagers. We were both in a clinic for troubled teens.”

“You both tried to kill yourself.”

The lines in her forehead deepened. “I’m not proud of that time, but what does it have to do with Rory’s death? Like I said, I haven’t seen him in a dozen years.”

Bragg unclipped his phone and scrolled to the picture he’d taken of the photo found at the crime scene. He held out the phone, coaxing her closer toward him. “You remember this picture?”

She didn’t approach right away but then moved closer. The soft scent of soap rose up around her. No flowery perfumes or exotic scents but simply clean soap. His body tightened, unmindful of logic or reason.

For a long moment she didn’t say a word and then she cleared her voice. “It was taken the last night we were both at the camp. Rory left the next morning.”

“How’d he end up with the picture if he left?”

“I sent him a copy from camp. I didn’t want him to forget me.”

“His brother said you wrote to him several times a week but Rory’s father threw out the letters.”

Her jaw tensed, and he suspected an old wound opened. “I guess one letter made it through.”

“Rory never forgot you.”

She stepped back. “I wish he had.”

“Why’s that?”

“Really, do you have to ask? It was a painful time, and I’ve done my best over the last twelve years to forget about it.”

He locked his phone and tucked it back in its cradle. “Were you really able to forget?”

She cleared her throat. “Rory’s family did us a favor by keeping us apart. But the rest? No, I have not forgotten that I wrecked a car and killed my brother and his girlfriend. I ruined so many lives. I carry that with me every day.”

“That why you tried to kill yourself ?”

A darkening in her gaze told him his words struck their mark. “The months after the accident were a painful time. My parents’ marriage fell apart and my mother ate tranquilizers like candy. I saw it as my fault. When you’re sixteen life is black and white. I thought it was better for everyone if I left.”

She raised her hand to brush back her hair. The silver bracelets jangled and for a faint second he saw the pale lines marking where she’d cut into her wrists.

“Were you drunk the night of the accident?”

She swallowed. “I’ll give you credit, Ranger. You ask the questions most people think or talk about behind my back.”

“Had you been drinking?”

“The police cleared me.”

He’d been fishing for a yes or a no. And he suspected she evaded an answer to annoy him. “And your family had a really damn good lawyer. Were you drunk?”

“No, I didn’t have one drink that night. That’s why my brother asked me to drive. My crime was that I’d had my learner’s permit a matter of days, had no experience, and didn’t have the sense to tell Jeff no.”

“When did you see the other car had switched into your lane?”

Her head cocked. “The cops didn’t believe there was a second car.”

“Humor me. When did you see it?”

She hesitated as if weighing each word. “I don’t know. Not soon enough.”

“Radio blaring, brother and girlfriend laughing?”

“I think so,” she whispered.

“Lots of distractions.”

Greer closed her eyes and nodded. For an instant, she grew still and calm as if drawn back to another place and time. For a moment she didn’t speak. He watched her closely, and to his surprise pity mingled with his suspicions.

When she met his gaze again anger had sharpened her blue irises into sapphire shards. “I’m sorry Rory killed himself. I am. No one deserves to carry that kind of pain. No one. But I won’t stand here and rehash the past. I won’t.”

“And when did you say you saw Rory last?” He repeated questions often. Questioning someone involved in a murder investigation was like a fishing expedition. Sometimes tossing the same bait in the water garnered better results the second time. Police work and fishing were often about patience.

“I haven’t seen him in a long time, and I really can’t help you.”

Elizabeth Greer Templeton was a hard one to read. She said all the right words and hadn’t triggered any alarm bells. But the best liars spun the best tales.

Bragg realized pushing Greer could ruin the job for Mitch. But he had to push, not just for Rory’s sake but especially for Mitch’s. If she was unstable in any way, he needed to know it.

He studied her face closely. “I don’t believe Rory killed himself.”

Her head cocked. “He wasn’t the man hanging from the tree?”

“Oh, he was strung up from the tree all right. Hell, he was a sight to see. Hell of a mess.” Graphic details shocked, tossed people off balance and triggered unexpected reactions.

Her lips flattened but she kept silent.

“I don’t think there is a way a man could have secured the rope, shimmied up the tree, and then hung himself. If he’d jumped with the rope around his neck, it would have just about snapped his head off. The rope did slice into his neck, but the marks cut like a man dangling versus falling.”

“And the purpose of that graphic description was meant to do what?” No missing the pop of annoyance.

He wasn’t ready to talk about the cigarette butt or the tire tracks. Though he did note the flatbed truck behind her.

Shifting gears he said, “What have you been doing all these years, Ms. Templeton? You sure haven’t been in the news at all.”

“I lived here. I earned several certificates in viticulture in summer courses in California. When my aunt died last winter I took over the place.”

“You’ve changed your name, and you keep a low profile. What are you hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding. I needed a fresh start after the accident. I didn’t want to be with people who suffered loss and pain because of me. I have no intention of reconnecting with my past or the people I’d known a dozen years ago.”

“Then why not leave? Your aunt is dead.” He nodded toward the new construction. “Looks like you’re putting down roots.”

“It was my aunt’s dream to make wine, and so we cleared ground for a winery and tasting room this past winter. She’d been suffering from cancer, but we thought she had it licked, and clearing the land was our way of celebrating.” Her voice hitched. “And then she suffered an unexpected heart attack at the hospital during routine tests and died.”

“Again, why stay here?”

“This is my home. Bonneville is as much a part of me as I am of it.”

“What do you do here?”

She arched a brow. “You want a rundown?”

“I’d also like a tour of the place.”

“You’ll have to come back another time for the tour, Ranger Bragg. I’ve a horse farrier arriving in about five minutes.”

With or without an excuse, he’d return to Bonneville. “That’s five minutes for a quick overview.”

She shook her head. “Tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll show it to you. You want to listen to my phone messages in case Rory called me more than I admitted? Want to check my boots for dirt or look in the barn for rope?”

He smiled. “We’ll keep it simple today. Tell me about Bonneville.”

Her lips flattened. “The new tasting room is behind me, but it’s not furnished yet and there’s little to see. The winery won’t be finished until December.”

“Show me all your trucks.”

She cocked a brow but didn’t miss a beat. “You see the one there. It’s ten years old. I use it for general transportation. I’ve three other trucks, but they’re out with the morning crew who are weeding. They break at lunch. If you come back at noon, I can arrange a viewing.”

Pushy and hard-edged, she didn’t resemble the kid in the photograph. Hard not to have sympathy for that kid; however, the woman was a ballbuster.

In no rush, he walked over to the dark pickup and using his phone he photographed each tire. “What if I want the trucks brought in earlier.”

Her gaze narrowed, and he sensed she was gauging if this was worth a fight. “It’ll cost me money to bring in the crew and have them sit while you do whatever it is you do. The crew will be in at noon. I run on a tight budget, Ranger Bragg.”

He didn’t care about her bottom line or her crew. But before he could rebut, a truck pulling a large horse trailer rolled up the hill toward them. Dust billowed around the wheels and coated the already grimy truck with more grime.

Greer shot him a glance. “Give me a minute.”

“Sure.”

She tossed him a wary gaze and headed for the truck.

There was no middle ground for Greer Templeton. Hot or cold. Sad or angry. She acted stunned by the news of Rory’s death, but then she could be one hell of a guilty-as-sin actress.