“I should go.”
“See it through. You’ll be better for it.”
“David doesn’t want me here.”
“You’ve every right.”
Bragg was not her friend. He was a cop. But he’d shown up to personally tell her about Jennifer and to support her. She couldn’t deny her attraction for him grew by the moment. She leaned into him, hoping to draw a little of his strength.
At first he didn’t move. He stood steady, afraid if he moved she’d pull away. When the casket passed, her grip tightened. When David spotted her, his gaze turning predatory, Bragg tightened his hold on Greer and tugged her a step closer as a signal to both David and Greer she was under his protection.
David Edwards glared but didn’t say a word, but his gaze bore the promise of paybacks to Greer for trespassing. The remaining mourners left the church, leaving Bragg and Greer alone.
Alone, the strain abated from her body and she realized he held her hand. Gently, she pulled away. “David is not pleased.”
Bragg grunted. “He’ll survive.”
She lingered, clearly hoping the funeral party would clear away before she had to leave. He seemed content to stand there alone with her. “Shame Rory had so few friends in the end.”
“Will you go to Sara’s funeral?”
“Her family hasn’t announced when it will be. But yes, I’ll go. I owe her that. And I’ll go to Jennifer’s.”
“What do you owe them?”
“A proper good-bye.”
He took her elbow and guided her out of the church. Harsh sunlight assailed them as they moved to the top of the church steps. He scanned the area, searching.
“Who are you looking for?” she said.
“The killer.”
“He would come here?”
“It’s been known to happen.”
“Why?”
“Part of reliving the kill. The thrill of knowing he’s upended so many lives. To gloat. A lot of sick twisted reasons.”
“I never thought about that.”
“I want you to be thinking about it all the time now. Be very careful.”
“I will.”
He walked her across the street to her truck and waited as she climbed in and fired up the engine. She rolled down the window. “Thanks for the moral support.”
“Sure. What are you going to do today?”
“Work, what else? I’ll be consumed for days with that.” She sighed. “The vineyards to the rescue again.”
“How so?”
“Like I said before, the land doesn’t care about any troubles. It expects me, needs me. And right now I’m glad to be needed.”
Loneliness rose up from her as if it were part of her scent. He wanted to take her hand again. Tell her this storm would pass. “How many acres will you be harvesting?”
“We’ll start with the back one hundred and work our way forward.”
“Good luck. Be careful and call me if anything isn’t right.”
She shifted into first gear. “Thanks again, Ranger Bragg.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.”
From her rearview mirror, she watched him, standing on the sidewalk staring after her.
Chapter Nineteen
Monday, June 9, 5 P.M.
The autopsy of Jennifer Bell revealed no signs of any trauma. No bruises, no scratches, no nicks. The medical examiner had run extensive tox screens, but Bragg was betting blood work would come back positive for barbiturates, Jennifer’s drug of choice the first time. The water she’d been drinking had also been tested. Forensics had pulled fingerprints from the bottle but all had belonged to Jennifer. They’d removed all the water bottles from the refrigerator and were also testing those for barbiturates.
Bragg moved into his office and flipped on the lights. The killer was re-creating suicide attempts and granting last wishes. Greer’s wish had been to see her brother again. The dead did not come back to life and the only way to grant her wish . . . he refused to consider that option.
He rubbed the tightness in the back of his neck and then shuffled through the phone messages on his desk. An unforgiving restlessness stalked him. The walls of his office had shrunk, and he’d get no work done tonight.
Bragg grabbed his keys and hat and left the office. He told himself he had no good reason to drive out to Bonneville vineyards. Mitch was doing fine. Greer would be exhausted from a day at the funeral and in the fields. But the longer he reasoned with himself the more determined he was to make the drive.
And so he drove the thirty miles of Texas back roads. The dust kicked up and the city faded from sight. The closer he got to the vineyard and Greer the more his nerves eased.
He pulled up to the main building. It was just after six and Greer was crossing the front yard to her home. When she heard the crunch of gravel she turned. Her head tilted in shock, and she moved toward him, her frown deepening with each step. “Ranger, what are you doing out here this late? Everything all right?”
“Came out to check on you.”
A smile teased the edge of her lips. “I’m doing fine. But thanks for asking.”
He’d made it this far and wouldn’t leave. “Ready for harvest?”
She nodded, her body relaxing. “Better than expected. Mitch has a knack for this kind of work.”
“That so?”
“He might end up a winemaker after all.”
Bragg laughed. “Never say never.”
She nodded toward the big house. “I’m about to have a glass of wine. Care to join me? I’ve beer in the fridge.”
“Sounds good.”
He followed her up the hill to the main house where she lived. From the front porch there was a view of the vineyards below and above to the house where Louis lived. Refusing to think about him, he let the land’s calm energy draw him away from worry for just a little while.
The screen door squeaked and he turned to find her holding it open. He entered the ranch house, removing his hat as he stepped into the foyer.
The cabin was rustic, furnished with old-fashioned furniture arranged around a large stone fireplace hearth. He smiled at the well-used hearth. She’d found a use for what had seemed useless to him. He could imagine Greer curled up on the sofa, a glass of wine in her hand and a fire crackling in the hearth.
On the mantel stood a collection of framed photographs. Most were of a smiling Greer standing with an older woman. Vines always surrounded the two either here or on a European hillside. The aunt’s grin was broad as her arm slung recklessly around Greer’s shoulders. Though her hair was graying and her face lined, her gaze sparked much like Greer’s.
“You look like her.”
“That’s what my mom always said.”
In another image a younger Greer had swept thick hair into a ponytail. Despite her youth, her gaze reflected a world-weary wisdom. “When was it taken?”
“Ten years ago. That’s the first vineyard I planted.”
There was a tenderness in her voice as if she spoke of a child. “How long did it take to harvest the grapes from that vine?”
“Three years.”
He studied more pictures, intensely interested in details other than the accident. “Looks like you and your aunt traveled.”
She chuckled. “We had a thing for vineyards.”
He settled on a picture of a much younger Greer and a tall young man or rather boy. The kid had a big beefy arm thrown around her shoulders. Her broad grin reflected pride and youthful joy. No sadness or loss lingered behind those blue eyes.
“That’s Jeff,” she said. “It was my fifteenth birthday.”
Bragg reached for the picture and then hesitated. “May I?”
“Sure.”
He took the picture and studied it. The boy didn’t resemble Greer, but there was a familiarity that the two shared. Perhaps it was the tilt of their heads or the smiles. He also looked like Mitch, which took him back a little.
“You see the resemblance to
Mitch as well,” she said.
Bragg nodded. “Yeah. Buzz Jeff’s hair and they could pass as brothers.”
“I saw the resemblance the first time I saw Mitch in the bar.” Her voice was whisper soft. “Threw me off for a second but in the end I’m sure that’s what drew me.”
To see Jeff again. Her dying wish. He tried to shut off his cop brain as he replaced the picture on the mantel. “I’m glad you did choose him.”
She moved into the kitchen, reached in the fridge, and pulled out a beer. “I want to thank you for today.”
He turned from the images and laid his hat on a table. “For?”
“Coming to the funeral.” She twisted off the beer top and handed it to him. “You didn’t have to, and I appreciate it.”
He accepted it, and took a long pull, and liking the flavor, studied the label. “Lydia and your mother weren’t close.”
“Yes. Mom said often enough when I was growing up that I was like Lydia.” She shrugged. “Those comments were usually made in frustration so I don’t think it was meant as a compliment.”
She retreated to the kitchen and poured a red into a sparkling glass. “They had a terrible falling out. Love triangle involving my father.”
“And she came to get you after Shady Grove.”
“Yeah, amazing.”
He took a pull on the beer and was pleasantly surprised by the taste. “I’ve never seen this brand before.”
“Very small brewer. He doesn’t have many retail outlets.” She swirled her glass, took a moment to study the way it caught the light, and then took a sip. She savored the flavor.
“That made with your grapes?”