“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.