by Mary Burton
“A dozen years is a long time and folks tend to like second-chance stories. I think the time lapse would be enough for folks to be more accepting. But if there is more dirt . . .”
“Like what?”
“Hell if I know. I want to believe Greer but right now I trust her about as far as I can throw her.”
A half smile tugged the edge of Bragg’s mouth. “Guess we’ll see. In the meantime, I’ve a warrant to search Sara’s house.”
“Let’s do it.”
Minutes later the Rangers were in Bragg’s car driving toward the west end of town where lush trees lined rich green grass-covered lawns. It took money to keep landscaping alive and connections to get around water restrictions.
As it turned out Sara Wentworth lived about a mile from her parents’ place in a small, gated community. The homes weren’t as large as the estates in her parents’ area, but they were some kind of pricey. He could work a lifetime and not be able to afford this kind of neighborhood.
He’d never aspired to live in this world. There was something to be said for living simple and remaining flexible. He’d never worried or thought about roots. Until now. It could have been Mitch’s arrival, but he suspected it had more to do with Greer. She’d stirred feelings in him. He didn’t know if those feelings would settle, but he half hoped they’d keep churning.
They walked up to the large front door and found it locked. He glanced next door and spotted an older woman out on her front porch. She held a watering can but was more interested in the Rangers than her plants.
Bragg and Winchester made their way toward the gray-haired woman, who wore a pink sleeveless blouse, long black shorts, and a pink-and-black belt with matching shiny flats.
Touching the brim of his hat, Bragg reached for the star badge clipped to his belt. “My name is Ranger Bragg, ma’am, and this is Ranger Winchester. Was wondering if we could ask you a couple of questions, Mrs. . . . ?”
“Mrs. Vivian Thomas.” She set down her watering can and removed pristine gardening gloves. “I heard the news about Sara. Her mother was here this morning clearing out boxes. She was beside herself, poor woman.”
Frustration knifed Bragg. If the Wentworths had already been here, then they’d come right after his morning visit. “You know what was in those boxes?”
“She said it was clothes for the funeral. Sara’s mother is always controlled and an expert planner so I wasn’t surprised by her visit.”
“But the visit stuck in your mind for another reason?”
“Some of the boxes didn’t have clothes in them but papers. And they also took her laptop computer.”
“You know what kind of papers?”
“I asked but she pretended she didn’t hear. I wanted to press, but it didn’t seem right, considering.”
“Don’t suppose you have a spare key to Sara’s house, do you?” Bragg asked.
“I do. I would water her plants for her when she traveled, and she took care of mine when I was gone. We single girls have to stick together.” Her head tilted. “You have a warrant?”
Bragg reached in his back pocket and pulled out the order signed by the judge. “I do, as a matter of fact.”
She took the paper and read it carefully before handing it back. “If I don’t give you the spare key, how will you get into the house?”
“We’ll find a way.” Bragg smiled but suspected it didn’t look friendly.
“Rangers are resourceful,” Winchester added.
She considered the two. “You’re not going to break anything or tear things up while you search, are you?”
“We always do our best not to.”
Frowning, she considered them before nodding. “Wait a minute while I get the key.” She closed her front door and left them to wait on the front porch for a minute before she returned with a key hooked to a key chain with a tennis ball on the end. “This will get you in the front door.”
Bragg took the key. “Appreciate the help, Mrs. Thomas.”
“Least I can do. I’ve never known anyone to die like she did. Terrible. She had a lot to live for.”
Winchester nodded. “Did she ever give you a reason to suspect she’d want to end her life?”
“She was always smiling when I saw her. And she liked to date around. A lot. Until she met her fiancé a few months ago. A whirlwind relationship, but they were happy.”
“Any of those dates ever cause her trouble?” Bragg asked.
“Not that I saw. But it was hard to keep up. Different one or two each week until that Fenton boy. That’s her fiancé. He’s a lawyer.”
“How’d they get along?” Winchester asked.
“He’s polite. Helped me move a planter once, and he was always opening the door for Sara.”
“See anyone around her house that didn’t belong?”
“No. The only one around other than Michael was her contractor. She hired him last week to do the addition on her house. She was going to add a sunroom. He was in the yard the other day taking measurements. He rang my bell because she was supposed to meet him. But she didn’t show.” The woman frowned. “He wanted a key to the house but I wouldn’t give it to him.”
“When was this?”
“Three days ago. Monday afternoon. When she came home that night I told her about the contractor, and she was upset she’d forgotten. Said it had been a bad day.”
“Did she say why the day was bad?”
“She didn’t say. But she was upset. Rattled.”
Bragg nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Sure. Let me know if there is more I can do.”
“You can count on it.”
They strode next door and Bragg slid the key into the lock. It turned easily and the front door slid open. Both Rangers pulled rubber gloves on their hands before Bragg switched on the entry light.
The polished marble entry sparkled in the light and still-fresh flowers filled a gilded vase in an arched alcove. The entryway opened to a large living room carpeted in white. The furniture was covered in white damask and the walls painted a soft blue. A crystal chandelier hung from the center of the living room. This room fed into a dining room showcasing a long antique table surrounded by straight-back chairs custom-fitted with more white fabric.
The kitchen was equally as pristine as the first two rooms. The solitary sign of life was a juice glass, still half full, lipstick marking the glass’s rim.
He imagined Sara standing at this sink Tuesday morning, drinking her juice as she stared out the window. No sign of coffee, but if she’d been too rushed to finish her juice she’d likely taken her coffee to go. A woman who liked success and money didn’t have time to linger.
“Lot of space for one gal. And she was adding on.”
Bragg shrugged. “Never professed to understand the rich.”
They moved through the house, finally settling in an office located off her bedroom. A fancy French desk dominated the space. There was a frilly sofa built for style, not comfort, and country landscapes on the walls. All perfect and all so damn sterile.
Bragg eased into a delicate chair behind her desk and opened the desk drawer. The contents were in disarray as if someone had gone through them. “Neighbor said the mother was in the house.”
“What kind of papers would she want that badly?”
He searched through a stack of receipts to the right of a white blotter. “Hell if I know. I can tell by these receipts Sara Wentworth liked to buy furniture. Has four pieces on order.”
“Likes to shop. Dates lots of men. Adding to a space that does not need it. Jo would have a field day with those symptoms.”
“Restless and troubled or just spoiled and bored?”
“Maybe sitting still gave her too much time with her thoughts and she wasn’t comfortable in her own head.”
“Maybe she just likes nice things.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.
He found a receipt for wine. Sun Valley wine. The only brand he knew be
cause he’d remembered it from Greer’s party. The wine Louis made at his winery. “Greer says she’d not talked to Sara in twelve years, but Sara bought a good bit of wine from a winery that uses Bonneville grapes.”
“An odd coincidence.”
Bragg shook his head. “I’d be willing to bet it wasn’t.” He studied the vineyard’s simple logo. “Greer said Sara called herself Joan at the camp, whereas Greer never tried to hide her identity when she was at Shady Grove. And a motivated searcher could have found Greer because she kept her last name.”
“Why find Greer after all these years?”
“Good question.” Bragg flipped through more papers on Sara’s desk finding no notes, correspondence, or e-mails. All he found were monthly bills. He glanced under the desk and saw the double outlet in the floor. The lamp cord on the desk snaked into one whereas the other was empty. “Mrs. Thomas said Sara’s mother took the computer.”
“So what do you think Momma is hiding?” Winchester asked.
“Greer said she and Rory were an item at camp and Sara had also dated Rory,” Bragg said.
“A love triangle?”
Bragg frowned. He didn’t like thinking of Greer and Rory together. “That would be the simple explanation, wouldn’t it?”
“When’s the last time you stumbled across a simple explanation?”
“Been a while.”
“Time to pay Shady Grove a visit.”
“That’s where all this began.”
Outside, Bragg studied the backyard. Neat, manicured. No red flag to catch his attention. And then he spotted the trash cans sitting beside a toolshed. Amazing what people tossed in a backyard bin and considered it gone for good.
He strode toward the cans and raised the first lid. The bin was empty. Replacing it, he lifted the second as Winchester approached. Both Rangers stared in stunned silence into the can. Inside the plastic trash bag was something bloodied and battered.
Bragg removed the bag and carefully opened it.
“Shit,” Winchester said.
Bragg’s stomach churned. A baby. Covered in blood.
He looked closer, compartmentalizing the horror and focusing on the facts. Not a baby, but a doll covered in a sticky red substance and encased in a brown box. Sara’s address was printed clearly on the outside. “What the hell?”
Hours passed before forensics could free up a team to examine the box in Sara’s trash can. Despite a thorough search, no note had been found. Forensics had taken the box and would conduct a complete analysis.
“Who the hell would mail that?” Winchester said.
Bragg kept his gaze on the road. “I don’t know. But it could explain why Monday had been such a bad day, and why she flaked and missed the contractor.” He followed the twisting road into the Hill Country and rechecked his GPS. “Greer said Joan, or rather Sara, had had an abortion.”
“Her parents strike me as people good at keeping secrets.”
“The kids at camp would have known.”
They fell silent as Bragg drove farther and farther into the country. A wrong turn had him muttering an oath as he slowed and turned the SUV around.
“No one accidentally stumbles upon Shady Grove,” Winchester said. “You have to know exactly where you are going.”
It was past three when Bragg finally spotted the low-key sign on the side of the rural route. A simply painted black-and-white sign set low to the ground. No flowers or fancy landscaping surrounded the sign. The lettering wasn’t gilded or showy. It was a plain marker that whispered to the searcher: You found us.
He wound along the dirt road driving another mile before spotting the large building. Though built in the last twenty-five years, it reminded him of a nineteenth-century home, not a modern facility for children.
The two-story building was white with tall columns in the front. A wide porch banded around the house and sported a collection of rockers. Potted flowers decorated the front porch and there wasn’t an extra stick or twig out of place. Perfectly swept clean. Stood to reason. If rich folks sent their kids away from prying eyes they wanted their offspring in a fitting place.
Bragg parked at the top of the circular drive and locked his car. He tried to imagine Greer arriving here at age sixteen. She’d still have been recovering from her physical injuries as well as the mental trauma of causing her brother’s death. She’d have had bandages on her wrists. And her hair would have been dyed the blond she’d favored as a teen.
Like he’d told Winchester, he took pity on that kid. He’d been thirty-three when his sister had died. It had been years since he and his sister had spoken, but losing her had hurt. And Greer had endured the same pain as a kid. She’d been alone. Cut off from family and friends.
As he tried to imagine this place through her eyes, the crisply painted buildings and the perfectly pruned plants didn’t feel welcoming. In fact, their perfection likely mocked a young life in ruins.
In the distance from the surrounding thick woods, he heard the laughter of young adults and thought it strange to hear a joyous sound. Sadness often did mingle with joy. The years he and Sue had lived in his father’s house there’d been some good times. His old man had always liked to do it up at Christmas and take pictures. One great day to wipe out the really bad ones.
His boots thudded against the steps as he climbed the stairs to the front door. A tasteful WELCOME sign dangled from a brass hook.
A glance to his left and right revealed surveillance cameras pointing at the front door. Swiveling around, he spotted more cameras in the trees. Behind tasteful elegance lurked the camera’s watchful eye.
He tried the front door and discovered it was locked. Noticing the button to the right of the door, he pressed it. The buzz of a bell inside the facility echoed in the hallway and soon he heard the clip of steps as someone approached.
Bragg stood back, his hand on his gun. Of course the chance of trouble out here was remote, but a chance was a chance and he never liked waiting by a closed door without his hand on his gun.
He’d been a rookie cop in El Paso, and he and his partner had approached a house known to hide illegal aliens. Reports of children screaming had brought them to investigate. His partner, Nate, was an older guy, and he’d nudged Bragg to the side of the door before he’d knocked.
“Stand in front of that door, and you might as well have a goddamned target on your chest.”
Bragg didn’t remember the smart-ass quip on the tip of his tongue as he stepped aside. But he remembered the double blast of a shotgun eating through the front door as the drug dealer inside had opted to take his chances with the gun.
The wood fragments had splayed, one cutting him across the face. His partner had drawn his weapon and Bragg had fumbled to get his at the ready. Seconds later they’d been in a gun battle that had left two coyotes dead and his partner injured.
His partner had taken early retirement, and Bragg had learned to expect trouble every minute of every day he was on the street.
The front door to Shady Grove opened. No gun blast or drama, just a young woman wearing a simple black dress and a white lab coat.
Her gaze roamed quickly from his Ranger’s hat to the star on his belt before meeting his gaze. “Texas Rangers. Is there a problem?”
Behind the cool and composed smile, he noted her jaw’s subtle tightening. Shady Grove billed itself as a peaceful place, and a Ranger standing on her front porch was liable to bust that image.
He touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am. Names are Rangers Tec Bragg and Brody Winchester. We’re here for the director. I saw on your Web site that his name is Dr. Marshall Leland.”
“Dr. Leland is in a late meeting.”
“Tell him I’m here.” Now that he’d announced his interest in the place he’d not be leaving until he saw Dr. Leland. That first visit, when everyone was too shocked to be on guard, could be the most productive.
“It’s not really good timing.”
“Doubt the timing will ever be jus
t right. Would you get Dr. Leland please?” He could be polite when he needed to be, but he could jack up the heat if please didn’t work.
She stepped aside. “Why don’t you come in and have a seat? I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Appreciate it.”
Bragg and Winchester stood in the corridor filled with dozens of plaques regaling Shady Grove. First in Education. Outstanding Work with Children. The list of awards went on and on, and he supposed they were comforting endorsements when a parent wanted to drop off his troubled child.
There were no pictures of the students. No smiling faces. No kids canoeing or making crafts or standing around a campfire. The identity of the guests, as the Web site had said, was closely guarded.
“Place makes me sad,” Winchester said.
Bragg nodded. “Yeah.”
A door closed and footsteps sounded and grew closer. Bragg turned to discover a tall thin man sporting a dark mustache that matched thinning hair. He wore a lab coat over a suit and his nameplate read DR. LELAND.
The doctor’s quick and easy smile said he was practiced at handling difficult surprises. He extended his hand and Bragg took it. The doctor’s handshake was firm and sure and his eye contact steady.
Dr. Leland shook his hand. “My secretary tells me your name is Ranger Tec Bragg.”
“That’s right, Dr. Leland,” Bragg said. “We’re from the Austin office of the Texas Rangers.”
If their business had rattled the doctor he gave no sign of it. But then being calm in tough situations would have been part of his job. “Why don’t you come back to my office and we can talk.”
Bragg and Winchester followed the doctor along the carpeted hallway toward the back corner office. Dr. Leland’s office was large and carpeted in a rich burgundy shade and decorated with a mahogany desk, paneled hunter-green walls, and framed degrees that said he should know what he was doing.
The doctor indicated for the Rangers to take a leather-padded seat in front of his desk while he retreated to his chair behind his desk. Threading his fingers the doctor leaned forward, a moderate level of concern on his face. “What can I do for you, Rangers Bragg and Winchester?”
