“I did a little reading up on her accident.”
Bragg nodded. “I did, too. She had one hell of an accident.”
“Kid screwed up. Doesn’t mean she was evil or bad, only young and stupid.”
“I know. She paid one hell of a price for seconds of carelessness.” He worried about the residual marks influencing Greer and ultimately Mitch.
“What motive would she have for killing Edwards? The accident is a matter of public record. And it sure was big headlines for a long time. And if you’re going to kill a guy, why leave the body on your property?”
“Maybe she didn’t like the idea of him digging up the past? Maybe she figured hiding the body in plain sight would deflect attention in the long run. Every time I think I’ve figured out the bad guys they throw me a new curve ball.”
His gut didn’t whisper warning about Greer but without all the facts he couldn’t make a call on her yet. “What about his cell phone records?”
“Put in the request for the warrant. We should have it by tomorrow.”
Bragg checked his phone. No word from Mitch. “What about the truck imprints? Greer Templeton has one truck I saw but she could have many, and this is Texas, home of the pickup truck.”
Winchester nodded. “Here’s hoping the tire has a distinctive trait. Also forensics pulled DNA from the cigarette butt found at the scene. When we get that back I’ll run it through CODIS.”
“Be our lucky day if the killer was in the FBI’s DNA database.”
Winchester grinned. “Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than smart.”
Luck had abandoned him years back so he wasn’t counting on her. “Right.”
“David Edwards will want an answer. He might not have liked his brother, but he’ll want this case closed so it can be forgotten.”
“Rory gets my best just like any other victim.” He straightened. “Did you hear Mitch took a job?”
“No. That’s good, correct?”
Bragg brushed a bit of dust from his cuff. “The offer came from none other than Greer Templeton.”
Winchester didn’t hide his surprise. “You’re shitting me.”
“No, I am not.”
“Hell of a coincidence.”
“Hell of a time for a coincidence.”
“They do happen. Sometimes.”
Winchester shoved out a breath. “You going to pull the plug on the job?”
He thought about Mitch gobbling his meal last night and of Greer’s willingness to keep the boy even after his grilling. “No. Not for now. But as I told Greer, I will be watching.”
Jackson sat straight behind the wheel of his car, parked on the grimy side street in East Austin. “It won’t be easy to fool this woman.”
“Did you send her the package?”
“Yes. She should have gotten it yesterday.” His hands trembled a little when he thought about leaving the neatly wrapped box on her doorstep. “You are always so calm?”
“My cool head is why you keep me around.” He heard the smile in her voice.
“Is that the reason?” His anger leached out in his tone.
“Now. Now.”
The woman, Sara Wentworth, slid out of the Lexus and her designer heels clicked with each crisp step. A sleek blue blouse draped slim shoulders and was tucked into a white pencil skirt that showed off a narrow waist and hips. She carried a briefcase that was as expensive as her diamond earrings and pearl necklace. A French manicure and a neat haircut finished the look of a woman used to the finer things.
“She looks nice. Perfect.”
“Fine clothes and a smile hide so much. We both know that.”
Annoyance snapped. “You always do that.”
“Do what?” She sounded amused.
He gritted his teeth, his gaze on Sara as she moved toward the old warehouse. “Bring up the past.”
“The past never goes away. It is with us forever.”
“Some people leave the past behind.”
“Maybe. But not you. And certainly not me.”
“I want to.”
“You never will as long as I’m around.” Her laughter rumbled in his ears.
For a long moment he was silent and sullen. He hated it when she taunted him. She could be such a bitch.
“Now you are mad,” she teased.
“I am.”
“Was it something I said?” She laughed.
He would not be baited. Not today. “We have a job to do. Today. In the here and now. We can quibble about the past another time.”
“You are no fun.”
“Focus on the woman. Sara Wentworth.”
After a brief silence she said, “Vice president of commercial sales. She’d moved up the ladder quickly and managed to make a sizeable fortune beyond what her family has given her.
“By everyone’s standards she is the model of success. Perfect. Had a tight hold on the brass ring.”
“She’s not what she seems,” she said.
“I know.” But he didn’t need her pointing out Sara had mastered the art of elaborate disguise to hide bitter sadness. Once Sara had wanted to leave this life and go on to a better existence. Though she’d failed the first time, he wouldn’t fail this time.
“Can you do this alone?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll see.” Her smart-ass undertone jabbed at his temper, teasing it as if it were a bear in a cage, but he didn’t have time for another argument. He had a job to do.
Irritated, he drove into the parking lot and got out of his car. He adjusted his jacket and moved toward her, careful not to startle her. Rory’s weakness had been booze. Sara’s was making money. She was as addicted to it as Rory had been to the bottle.
“Ms. Wentworth?” His voice was clear and direct.
She started, turned abruptly, and then faced him. She studied him a beat, clearly assessing threat, and then, finding none, her painted red lips widened into a smile of white teeth. “Mr. Corwin, good to see you again.”
He grinned and extended his hand as he approached. He kept his gaze indirect, his posture slack, nonthreatening. “Sorry I had to miss our meeting yesterday. I had to fly back to D.C.”
“No problem.”
This close he could smell the subtle rich scent of her perfume. “I’m excited about the property.”
She appraised his expensive sports jacket, the rich tan accentuating a white starched shirt and his heavily creased khakis. Appreciation flared and she smiled. “I am, too. How many restaurants did you say you wanted to open in Austin?”
“I’m starting with the one. I’ve a chain back East but want to take the Texas expansion slow. I’m conservative about growth.”
“Texas loves business.”
He grinned, knowing his smile melted hearts. “That’s what I hear.”
She reached for a ring of keys and unlocked the padlock on the property’s front door. “The property is fifteen thousand square feet, three levels, and has lots of freezer space as you requested.”
“Excellent. Let’s look at the freezers first. They need to be large.”
She grinned, bright, her eyes all but flashing dollar signs at the possible sale. “Right this way.”
He thought about the other woman in the car waiting and watching. He couldn’t disappoint her. “Great.”
One down, four to go.
Chapter Seven
Tuesday, June 3, 12 P.M.
The site selection for Bonneville Vineyards had not been scientific. Greer’s aunt had said many times she’d chosen the land because it had felt right, whole and spiritual. Twenty years ago when the thousand-acre site had beckoned Lydia away from the social circles of Austin, she’d known little about growing grapes or terroir, the juxtaposition of soils, climate, and topography. She’d only understood the land rolled and swayed like a beckoning hand and the old ranch house had been in need of a new occupant.