You're Not Safe (Texas Rangers) (16 page)

Winchester’s gaze cut through the crowds, searching. “Where’s her car? If it’s here, it should be roped off.”

“Hasn’t been found.”

“She sure didn’t walk here.”

“No, she did not.” Bragg stared at the dilapidated building, listened to the rush of cars from the interstate as the heat intensified the rotting scents of nearby garbage. “We need to find it.”

“Sure.”

Bragg shook his head. “Hell of a place to end up.”

 

 

It wasn’t hard to locate Sara Wentworth’s parents. They lived ten miles north of Austin in the Hyde Park area, an older upscale area reserved for those with money.

He drove past the neighborhood’s stone entrance, over a brick arched bridge spanning Waller Creek’s near-dry bed and toward a Spanish-style home built at the turn of the last century. The front yard was green and lush, and stood in stark contrast to the dry brittle grasses surrounding his rented home. The recent water restrictions didn’t apply here.

Bragg parked at the top of the driveway and went directly to the front door. He rang the bell and waited barely seconds before the door opened to a petite Hispanic woman dressed in a blue uniform.

“I’m Ranger Bragg with the Texas Rangers. I’m here to see Mr. or Mrs. Wentworth.”

The woman’s slight frown indicated his visit was unwelcome. However, she nodded politely and stepped aside so he could enter. The entryway was tiled with a light marble and an arched niche across from the door housed an angel statue.

He removed his hat, glancing through a doorway leading into a sitting room with wood floors and light fussy furniture. Above a stone fireplace hung a picture of a young Sara.

The sharp clip of heels and loafers had him turning to face a gray-haired couple. The man wore khakis and a white starched shirt with the letters RW monogrammed on the front pocket and the woman wore dark slacks and a short-sleeved white shirt. Simply dressed, but high quality.

The man stood a good foot taller than his five-foot-two-inch wife. Frowning, he did not extend his hand as he faced Bragg.

“I’m Ridge Wentworth. This is my wife, Mandy. What can I do for you, Ranger?”

“Ranger Bragg, sir, ma’am. Is there somewhere private we could talk?”

Mr. Wentworth’s scowl deepened but he ushered Bragg into the sitting room where the portrait hung. “Why the visit?”

Death notices were never easy. And when the notice involved telling a parent about a child it always dug in his craw. “I have bad news about your daughter, Sara. Her body was found in a warehouse in East Austin.”

Mrs. Wentworth’s hand rose to her mouth. “Sara is dead? I don’t believe that. She never goes to that part of town.”

“We found her driver’s license next to her. It’s a clear match.”

Mr. Wentworth draped his arm around his wife’s slender shoulders and she leaned into him. “What happened?”

Bragg shoved his emotions deep. “We’re still trying to figure that out.”

Mrs. Wentworth shook her head as if this was all a terrible mistake. “You must be wrong.”

“No, ma’am,” Bragg said.

Mr. Wentworth’s eyes flashed with anger. “You are very, very sure it was our Sara?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mrs. Wentworth’s eyes welled with tears that quickly spilled. “I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it.”

The older man cleared his throat. “How did she die?”

Bragg hesitated. “We found her in a freezer. She froze to death.”

The couple glanced at each other and then back at him. He’d expected such an odd manner of death to trigger confusion or surprise. But in an unguarded split second the couple showed no surprise.

Mrs. Wentworth moved to one of the overstuffed couches and sunk into the folds, perfectly at ease in the frill and fluff. “I can’t believe this.”

Bragg studied her closely. “There are indications she might have killed herself.”

Mrs. Wentworth shook her head as her husband snorted. “Sara did not kill herself. She had a wonderful life ahead of her.”

Bragg caught a slight hesitation in the woman’s voice. “How well did you know your daughter?”

“I knew her well,” Mrs. Wentworth said. Watery eyes turned angry and defensive. “She and I were close. We had lunch together two days ago. I called her last night and wondered why she didn’t answer but thought she must be out with friends.”

“Our daughter was a successful and accomplished woman,” Mr. Wentworth said.

“What did she do for a living?”

“She was a commercial real estate broker.”

“Did she have properties in East Austin?”

The older man wrinkled his brow, disgust clear. “No. She didn’t work in that part of town. Too dangerous.”

“That area is known for drug dealers. Did she have a history of drug use?”

Mrs. Wentworth barely stifled a pained cry, and it gave Bragg no pleasure to ask such questions. But he needed to know. Needed to ask while the shock remained because when the shock wore off their guard would rise. Later when the adrenaline ebbed and their thoughts cleared a little, they’d regroup, think about their stories, and maybe hire an attorney. This was his best shot to discover what secrets they hid.

“She did not use drugs,” Mrs. Wentworth said, teeth clenched. “Sara was a successful and bright girl. She didn’t need to put poison in her system to function.”

“Sara was engaged and planning to marry in the spring,” her father said. “She’d been to New York weeks ago and picked out her dress. She had no reason to hurt herself. Someone must have done this to her.”

“Did she have a history of mental illness?”

Mrs. Wentworth’s mouth flattened, hesitated. “No. She has none of those troubles. She is . . . was . . . a
good
girl.” She dropped her face into her hands and wept.

“Ever hear of a place called Shady Grove?”

Both Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth shook their heads.

The old man laid his wrinkled, deeply veined hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Sara would not have done something like this to herself.”

Bragg pulled a small notebook from his back pocket, wondering whom the man wanted to convince. “Can you give me the name of her fiancé?”

“Michael Fenton. He’s a recent graduate of law school and months ago began his first job at Fenton and Davis.”

“It’s a family business.”

“That is correct.”

Bragg hesitated. “Have you ever heard of or met a Rory Edwards?”

Mr. Wentworth frowned. “I knew Rupert Edwards, his father. But he passed away several years ago. Why do you ask?”

“No concrete reasons. Just had a thought.” He glanced at Mrs. Wentworth, who’d paled a fraction. “Does the name ring any bells for you?”

“I know of the family, of course. But we didn’t socialize together.”

Bragg studied her, noting how her mouth compressed. It was grief and shock and something more. His gaze trained on Mrs. Wentworth. “Did you know Elizabeth Templeton?”

This time there was no missing the narrowing of her eyes and tightening of her jaw. “I know her mother, Sylvia. But I never met Elizabeth.”

“What can you tell me about the family?”

Mrs. Wentworth didn’t hide her confusion. “They were a fun couple to be around. Devoted to family and then their son, Jeff, died. Jeff was the family star. The heir. Could do no wrong. When he died that family died.”

Greer Templeton was serious and pensive. And if she’d been fun-loving like her parents, death had dimmed lightness to darkness.

“Why would you ask about the Edwardses or the Templetons?” Mr. Wentworth said. “What does either have to do with Sara?” A hitching voice told him emotions held at bay by shock would soon spill.

Bragg didn’t manage a smile but he softened his gaze. “Just asking. Their names came up earlier this week.”

Mrs. Wentworth lifted her chin. “I can assure you, our Sara had no contact with either of them. Dear Lord, Rory Edwards was a mess.”

As much as he wanted to believe them, most parents didn’t know as much as they thought about their adult children. “Did anyone give Sara any kind of trouble lately?”

Mrs. Wentworth lowered her face to her hands and wept. “No.”

Her husband met Bragg’s gaze. “It’s time you go. You’ve delivered your news, and we’ve told you what we know. We can’t keep talking to you.”

Mrs. Wentworth shook her head. “Her life was perfect.”

Perfect. He’d never seen or experienced it. “I will have questions later.”

The old man’s lip curled into a sneer. “Later. Sure. Whatever. But you must leave now.”

As much as Bragg wanted to keep a foot in the door, he heard it virtually slam shut. Mr. Wentworth called his housekeeper and asked her to show Bragg out. As he left, his thoughts turned to Greer. She had been hiding in plain sight all these years and had only recently resurfaced. And now two people with connections to her family were dead.

Bragg rubbed the back of his neck. He hated coincidences.

 

 

Greer hadn’t planned to visit the cemetery today. In fact it was the last thing she’d have pictured last night when she’d fallen into bed exhausted. The party had been a success. She’d survived the curious looks and some not-so-polite questions. It hadn’t been fun but it wasn’t as awful as she’d imagined it to be when Dr. Stewart had first floated the idea.

She’d gone to bed feeling hopeful.

And then she’d had the dream. Though it had lasted seconds, it had shadowed her entire morning and left her unable to concentrate.

So after she’d driven into the fields this morning and inspected the vines, she’d told herself she needed to run into town for supplies. The vineyard always needed something, but as she approached the exit for the dry goods store she’d passed it by and kept driving north. Without much thought, she’d found herself driving through the thick iron gates of Longwood Cemetery and up the hill to her brother’s plot.

Greer eased out of the car and, keys in hand, walked the ten yards over the grass lawn to the headstone belonging to Jeff.

The iron urn in front of the white marble headstone was filled with fresh white roses. Judging by their freshness and the day’s growing heat, the flowers must have been placed here within the last hour or so. Her thoughts shifted immediately to her mother, who loved white roses.

Greer knelt in front of the grave. “I’m sorry it’s been so long. Life’s been pretty crazy. I’m still at the vineyard and still trying to grow the best grapes in Texas.”

She touched a blossom, perfect and delicate. “I remember how the country club was full of white roses the night of your birthday party. You cringed when you saw all the flowers. Said it looked like a girl party. But you enjoyed the attention.” She touched a bloom, adjusting it so it sat a little taller. “I was jealous of you that night. I wanted to be twenty-one, and I wanted to be going back to college like you. You had it all, Jeff.”

She sat back on her heels and stared up at the cloudless sky. “I was glad you needed me. I was glad to drive you and Sydney home. I felt grown up.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I really thought I had it under control. I’ve gone over and over those last minutes before the crash and will always swear there were headlights on the road. No one ever believed me but I know. I’m sorry I didn’t react fast enough.”

Greer swiped away a tear. “I failed you, Jeff, Mom and Dad . . . so many people hurt because of me.”

A shadow cast over her and drew her attention up to an older man wearing a green jumpsuit. He carried a rake in one hand and a shovel in the other. Years in the sun had left his face well lined and deeply tanned. He’d tied his thinning white hair at the nape of his neck and wore a silver chain around his neck. “You all right?”

Greer swiped her tear and rose. “Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I see folks here all the time that aren’t happy. I make a point to stop and say a word.”

“Thanks.” She studied the flowers. “Do you happen to know who left those flowers?”

He studied the roses. “Don’t know. They were here when I arrived about ten to seven.”

The hot day’s sun burned her skin and had her wishing she’d worn a hat. “I didn’t think they’d been here long.”

“I do know they get changed out regularly. About once a month new flowers arrive.”

“Really?” How could she not have known?

“Yep. Usually before dawn ’cause I’m here by seven. And it’s always white roses.”

She shielded her eyes with her hand. “How long has this been going on?”

“For as long as I can remember. I can’t say exactly when they started.”

“I guess my mom has been putting out the flowers.” However, the statement didn’t ring true. As much as her mother had loved Jeff, she didn’t like coming to the cemetery. Sylvia dealt with life’s ups and downs by avoiding them. But if her mother would ever make such an exception, it would have been for Jeff.

“Couldn’t say. But I’ll keep an eye out going forward. I like a mystery to figure out.”

She didn’t. “Thanks.”

The old man nodded to the headstone. “He was young when he died.”

“Just twenty-one.”

“Real shame.”

“Yes.”

He adjusted his weight as if his hip bothered him. “Was it cancer? Cancer strikes many these days.”

Greer cleared her throat. “It was a car accident.”

He shook his head. “Young kids drive like bats out of hell. No sense.”

She’d not been driving recklessly. Or at least she’d not thought she had been. Rising, she dusted the dirt from her knees. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

In her car, she switched on the engine. The blast of cold air did little to cool the heat of her skin, now flushed and hot. She put the car in drive and glanced toward Jeff’s grave. The caretaker stood next to her brother’s spot, leaning on his shovel and staring at Greer’s truck. She raised a nervous hand in farewell and he nodded.

She drove back toward the entrance and as she pulled out on the main road, she glanced in her rearview mirror. The caretaker was still staring at her.

 

 

Bragg had inspected Sara’s belongings and had found the red rope bracelet bagged and tagged in the box. His heart sped up when he lifted the bag and studied the red rope bracelet. Made of three braided thin red strips of yarn, the bracelet’s craftsmanship was amateurish and reminded him of something a teenager would wear. It hadn’t appeared out of place on Edwards but on Wentworth it was a huge red flag. What the hell did the red rope bracelet mean?

It took him a couple of hours, but he put all the details of the two murders into the ViCAP system. The national database contained details of other murders throughout the country, and if his killer had a hit anywhere else in the country maybe this detail would pop a match. ViCAP was not a perfect system. Cops in small localities with limited funding didn’t always have time to enter crimes into the database. His inquiry was a crapshoot but better than no shot at all.

He pushed away from the desk, grabbed his hat, and headed to the medical examiner’s office. Dr. Watterson would be doing Sara Wentworth’s examination this afternoon and he wanted to be present.

The heat hit him hard as he stepped outside. One hell of a hot spell had hit Texas, and now they were knee-deep in summer’s brutal temperatures. He’d grown up working outside and had learned to ignore the heat. For some reason, he thought about Greer outside. She’d said harvest time would be soon, which meant she was likely in the fields working in the heat preparing.

It was a hell of a lifestyle switch. Knowing she was raised in the world of country clubs, pools, and fancy trips, he doubted she’d known a bit of manual labor before she’d moved to Bonneville. But he’d felt the scrape of calluses on her hands and seen the depth of her tan when he caught a flash of white flesh just inside the cleavage of her dress.

That little bitty peek shot right through his body. As he’d stood there wondering if she could kill a man or if she was trouble waiting to happen, he’d been rock hard. His voice had been calm, steady, as he’d imagined touching those white breasts.

Bragg shook his head. “Son, you been out of the game too damn long.”

He’d dated over the years. Even been serious about one gal about ten years ago. But he’d never been able to bring himself to pull the trigger. He’d had a host of excuses. Work earned the lion’s share of reasons. The last gal he’d dated had been just fine. And he couldn’t give her a reason why he didn’t want to get married. And when it occurred to him not having a reason wasn’t reason enough, he’d broken it off.

He parked and strode the short distance inside. He stepped onto the elevator and found the doctor and his assistant preparing the instruments standing by an exam table holding a body clad with a white sheet.

Dr. Watterson pulled on rubber gloves. “Usually I don’t have the pleasure of seeing you twice in a week.”

“Not that I don’t like you, doc, but this isn’t my idea of a fun date.”

The doctor chuckled. “You weren’t the pretty face I was imagining when I started this day.”

“Looks like we’re stuck with each other.”

Dr. Watterson pulled down the microphone, suspended over the table, until it was inches from his mouth. He clicked it on and pulled back the sheet covering the body.

Sara Wentworth’s pale bluish body lay on the table still and flaccid. Her head rested on a block and her blond hair was brushed off her face. The tech had removed her make-up. She’d been a pretty woman. And it was clear she’d taken pride in her appearance. Her skin was in excellent shape. Her hair neatly trimmed. Her nails manicured. She’d not scrimped on herself.

“Not often we have someone freeze to death in Texas during such a bitch of a heat wave.”

Bragg donned rubber gloves and approached the table. “No, I suppose you don’t.”

“I’ve sent her blood off for analysis so we’ll know soon if she had drugs in her system. There is no sign of physical trauma on her body. No defensive wounds.”

“Like Rory Edwards.”

“Yes.”

“You think this is a suicide?”

He shook his head. “Can’t say right now.”

Bragg thought about the red bracelet. She’d worn one and so had Rory. Could the two have had something going on no one knew about? His death had clearly been assisted, whereas hers showed no signs of a second party.

Winchester was running the numbers on Wentworth’s phone and searching for connections to Rory and Greer.

“I did find an interesting fact about her.” The doctor walked from the head of the table to the foot. “Look at her left foot.”

He glanced at the pale, long, manicured nails and instantly saw what the doctor found odd. “She’s missing her two small toes.”

“A recent injury?”

Watterson turned the foot so Bragg had a full view. “No. They’ve been gone a long time.”

“Birth defect?”

“No. Look closely, and you’ll see suture lines. The toes were removed.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It could have been an accident, but given her cause of death the first thought that comes to mind would be frostbite.”

Bragg leaned in and studied the old injury. “Frostbite?”

Dr. Watterson peered through protective goggles. “Sure, if she’d been exposed to the elements for a long time she could well have lost toes or fingers.”

“I asked her parents directly if she’d had any mental instability problems and they said no.”

“Might not have been a suicide attempt. Could have been a ski accident. And remember, frostbite is a guess. She could have dropped a rock on her foot or God knows what.”

Bragg would have bet a month’s paycheck Sara’s past included more instability than her parents had conceded. “I’ll see if I can find her medical records.”

Dr. Watterson reached for his scalpel and made a neat clean Y in the chest’s center. “I’d be curious myself.”

The doctor continued the exam for several hours while Bragg watched. After he’d sutured her back together and covered her with a sheet, the doctor shook his head. “I can find nothing wrong with her. She was a healthy woman.”

“So why’d she end up dead in a freezer in East Austin?”

 

 

Willie Nelson’s “Georgia on My Mind” played on the radio as Greer studied the stack of invoices on her desk. Several times she’d lost her train of thought and had had to recalculate a column of numbers. When she added a row of numbers and came up with a different answer for the third time, she tossed her pencil on the desk and sat back in her chair.

She glanced out the window and saw Mitch working with the horses. He’d barely spoken since his arrival, but she’d noticed he carried a little less worry in his shoulders. His patience with the horses remained endless even when Beauty nipped or Buttercup lagged. And José had said he listened well in the fields and had caught on quickly with operating the equipment.

At first blush she’d never have put Mitch and Bragg together but the more she’d watched him today the more she’d seen similarities. Mitch’s coloring was lighter, but he had a square jaw like his uncle and he carried himself with the same straight-backed posture. Both were over six feet and though Bragg had a broader chest Mitch would fill out more given time.

Bragg.

Why did her thoughts keep circling back to Bragg?

The man didn’t trust her. His distrust reflected in his gray eyes. Though he’d kept silent about Mitch’s working here, he didn’t like it.

She rubbed her hands over her eyes and tried to work away the fatigue. She didn’t have time to worry over what was out of her control.

As she pushed away from the books, the afternoon news started. She was half listening when she heard the newscaster say, “Woman found frozen to death in downtown Austin.”

The temperatures had been well over a hundred the last few days and the idea a woman freezing to death struck her more as wrong. The reporter gave scant details so she switched to another radio station hoping another report would air. When she found none, she turned to her computer and searched the story. On the newspaper Web site she spotted the small blurb:
The Austin resident, 32, was found dead in an East Austin warehouse freezer.

She sat back in her chair, thinking back to another girl she’d known who had nearly frozen to death. That girl had gone out into the frigid cold night air with the intent of killing herself. She’d been found in time and saved. Like Rory and like Greer. Her name had been Joan. And she’d not only known Rory but had loved him. It was hard not to love Rory. He was so handsome and beautiful. Most girls noticed him, but Joan had had a deep affection for him and was furious when he’d chosen Greer. One of the last nights they were all in camp together, Greer had been late meeting Rory. She’d been delayed by extra chores in the kitchen. As she’d approached his tent, she’d seen Joan inside with him.