Read Online You're Not Safe (Texas Rangers) by Mary Burton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Burton
Ads: Link
Bonneville, greets guests at spring tasting.
Bragg clicked through more images, read some of the site’s blog entries, and on the events page news of an upcoming fund-raiser for the Crisis Center. Though he dug through the entire site he found no telling tidbit about the woman who’d offered his nephew a job today.
Sipping his coffee he searched Greer Templeton. No hits came up. On the Crisis Center site there was a mention of her six months ago when she’d joined the board. The blurb also mentioned she’d been volunteering at the center for the last decade. There was also a piece about a fund-raiser this Wednesday at the vineyard, but no picture of Greer Templeton.
None of this set well in his gut. None of it. The Templeton name was associated with a murder investigation and a Templeton meets Mitch. And Rory Edwards’s body had been found at a vineyard near Bonneville.
Coincidence did happen but not often by his way of thinking.
Shit.
Yeah, he’d be driving out to Bonneville Vineyards first thing in the morning.
Bragg glanced at the clock. It wasn’t ten yet and he had time to get by Rory’s room. Refilling his mug, he changed, retrieved his gun, badge, and hat. A quick check into Mitch’s room found him sleeping. He left as quickly as he could.
The drive to Rory’s took fifteen minutes, long enough to finish the coffee and summon a second bolt of energy. He was accustomed to going long stretches without sleep and tonight he’d get little. It didn’t take much time to spot the Mexican restaurant with the blue chili in the window.
Inside, he was greeted by a dimly lit interior and the blend of recorded guitar and trumpet music. Small round tables with patrons filled the room, and in the back a bartender poured shots of tequila. Colored lights draped the walls alongside pictures of Mexico.
Bragg stopped at the register where a short stocky man with thick black hair and mocha skin stared up at him. The man wore a brightly colored shirt and a silver chain around his neck.
“You here for dinner?”
“I’m with the Texas Rangers. I’m here to search Rory Edwards’s room.” He showed the man his badge. “I’ve been told he’s renting a room upstairs.”
The man glanced at the badge and back up at Bragg. “I don’t want trouble.”
“I don’t want any. Just want to have a look at his room.”
“Second door on the right.” He fumbled in his pocket for a ring of keys, slid one free, and handed it to Bragg. “I don’t want trouble.”
“Appreciate it.” Bragg took the key. “Rory get many visitors to his room?”
“I don’t know. I don’t ask. Long as they pay, I don’t ask.”
“No commotion. No trouble.”
“He paid his first week in cash and the second week wasn’t due until Wednesday. Good enough for me.”
Bragg followed the stairs behind the register up to a hallway lit by a single flickering bulb. There were four doors on the hallway. He unlocked the second on the right and flipped on the light.
The room was small, not more than eight by eight, and it was filthy. Soiled rumpled sheets covered the bed, and dozens of empty food cartons littered the floor. A mouse scurried under the bed.
A pile of dirty clothes was mounded at the foot of the bed beside a pair of expensive cowboy boots. The boots were nice but not as nice as the ones found on Rory’s body. Wherever Rory had thought he was going, he’d dressed up for the occasion.
In a small closet he found a couple of jackets and a muddy pair of boots. He was on the verge of closing the door when he spotted the box on the floor. He picked it up and opened it. Inside were dozens of pictures of a woman. At first glance he didn’t recognize her, but closer inspection identified her. Elizabeth Templeton.
All the photographs appeared to have been taken not twelve years ago but recently. Elizabeth standing on the front porch of a ranch house. Elizabeth surrounded by long rows of grapevines. Driving a red pickup truck.
Bragg clicked through more images, read some of the site’s blog entries, and on the events page news of an upcoming fund-raiser for the Crisis Center. Though he dug through the entire site he found no telling tidbit about the woman who’d offered his nephew a job today.
Sipping his coffee he searched Greer Templeton. No hits came up. On the Crisis Center site there was a mention of her six months ago when she’d joined the board. The blurb also mentioned she’d been volunteering at the center for the last decade. There was also a piece about a fund-raiser this Wednesday at the vineyard, but no picture of Greer Templeton.
None of this set well in his gut. None of it. The Templeton name was associated with a murder investigation and a Templeton meets Mitch. And Rory Edwards’s body had been found at a vineyard near Bonneville.
Coincidence did happen but not often by his way of thinking.
Shit.
Yeah, he’d be driving out to Bonneville Vineyards first thing in the morning.
Bragg glanced at the clock. It wasn’t ten yet and he had time to get by Rory’s room. Refilling his mug, he changed, retrieved his gun, badge, and hat. A quick check into Mitch’s room found him sleeping. He left as quickly as he could.
The drive to Rory’s took fifteen minutes, long enough to finish the coffee and summon a second bolt of energy. He was accustomed to going long stretches without sleep and tonight he’d get little. It didn’t take much time to spot the Mexican restaurant with the blue chili in the window.
Inside, he was greeted by a dimly lit interior and the blend of recorded guitar and trumpet music. Small round tables with patrons filled the room, and in the back a bartender poured shots of tequila. Colored lights draped the walls alongside pictures of Mexico.
Bragg stopped at the register where a short stocky man with thick black hair and mocha skin stared up at him. The man wore a brightly colored shirt and a silver chain around his neck.
“You here for dinner?”
“I’m with the Texas Rangers. I’m here to search Rory Edwards’s room.” He showed the man his badge. “I’ve been told he’s renting a room upstairs.”
The man glanced at the badge and back up at Bragg. “I don’t want trouble.”
“I don’t want any. Just want to have a look at his room.”
“Second door on the right.” He fumbled in his pocket for a ring of keys, slid one free, and handed it to Bragg. “I don’t want trouble.”
“Appreciate it.” Bragg took the key. “Rory get many visitors to his room?”
“I don’t know. I don’t ask. Long as they pay, I don’t ask.”
“No commotion. No trouble.”
“He paid his first week in cash and the second week wasn’t due until Wednesday. Good enough for me.”
Bragg followed the stairs behind the register up to a hallway lit by a single flickering bulb. There were four doors on the hallway. He unlocked the second on the right and flipped on the light.
The room was small, not more than eight by eight, and it was filthy. Soiled rumpled sheets covered the bed, and dozens of empty food cartons littered the floor. A mouse scurried under the bed.
A pile of dirty clothes was mounded at the foot of the bed beside a pair of expensive cowboy boots. The boots were nice but not as nice as the ones found on Rory’s body. Wherever Rory had thought he was going, he’d dressed up for the occasion.
In a small closet he found a couple of jackets and a muddy pair of boots. He was on the verge of closing the door when he spotted the box on the floor. He picked it up and opened it. Inside were dozens of pictures of a woman. At first glance he didn’t recognize her, but closer inspection identified her. Elizabeth Templeton.
All the photographs appeared to have been taken not twelve years ago but recently. Elizabeth standing on the front porch of a ranch house. Elizabeth surrounded by long rows of grapevines. Driving a red pickup truck.
Similar Books
