“No.”

He reached for bread. “Had a murder investigation this morning. Don’t need to get into a lot of details, but an Elizabeth Templeton’s name came up.”

Mitch glanced up from his soda, his gaze showing a spark of interest. “She kill someone?”

“No. At least I don’t think so.” He wanted to tell him about the picture but hesitated. It was a detail in an active murder investigation. “Wanted you to know, seeing as a Templeton offered you a job.”

“Kind of a stretch, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. But it’s my job to connect dots no one else notices.”

Mitch nodded as if mulling what Bragg had told him. “Maybe I’ll ride out there tomorrow. See what she has to offer.”

Their waitress brought two large steaming plates, each sporting a T-bone and a baked potato with generous sides of butter and sour cream. No green vegetables because it was a shame to serve what neither would eat.

Bragg was about to ask him to wait on the job until he could poke around in the woman’s background when the boy glanced at his steak, picked up his fork and knife, and cut a large bite. He ate the piece and then another and then another. Strain banding Bragg’s lower back eased a notch. Whoever the hell Greer Templeton was, she had made an impact on this kid, which for now, appeared to be for the better. As much as he wanted to tell Mitch to stay clear, he held back.

Later he’d do a little digging.

Dinner ended with slices of apple pie with heaping scoops of vanilla ice cream. Mitch hadn’t said much more during dinner, but he’d eaten his entire meal and the pie. Some might view eating a meal as a baby step but as far as Bragg was concerned it was the first sign of life he’d seen in the boy since he’d returned home.

They arrived home right at nine. Mitch thanked him for the meal, another first, and headed straight to his room.

While a pot of coffee brewed, Bragg changed into jeans and a faded Texas A&M T-shirt. Then, coffee in hand, he settled in front of his laptop and clicked it on. He searched Bonneville Vineyards.

Immediately the vineyard’s Web site popped up. It featured rolling land and rows and rows of thick grapevines stretching toward the setting sun on the horizon. Another picture showcased a group of smiling people, wineglasses in hand around a table. An older woman with long graying hair smiled and laughed with them. The caption underneath read:

Bonneville Vineyard owner, Lydia 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. Leaving a store.

Rory had been keeping close tabs on Elizabeth.

Her face had leaned out in the last twelve years, and her hair had gone from blond to dark brown. But her figure was still slight. In most of the images she was frowning and he remembered what Mitch had said about the woman who’d hired him. Dark hair. Not nice.

Frowning, Bragg retrieved his phone and snapped pictures of the images before setting them aside to continue his search. He found a small careworn Bible and a stack of note cards with handwritten affirmations. Do it! One step at a time! Believe!

However, no strings to connect Rory to Elizabeth.

Bragg descended the stairs and found the manager. He showed the man his phone sporting an image of Elizabeth. “You ever seen her here?”

“I don’t ask questions.”

“Yeah, I know, as long as they pay. Look real close, partner. Look real close because if I find out you’ve seen her you’re going to get some real trouble from me.”

The man glanced at the picture and shook his head. “Never seen her.”

“You sure?”

“Never seen her. ’Sides, she’s too pretty for Rory. He thought he was sober for good and better than everybody, but he hadn’t changed. No good. Barely had enough for a week’s rent. I was figuring he’d not show tomorrow with the rent, and I’d have to toss him out.”