He’d come to learn Greer rose at five every morning. She rarely varied her wardrobe, choosing a Bonneville T-shirt, jeans, and the same scuffed boots. He liked the jeans and the way they showed off her narrow waist and hips that rounded just right.

Meticulous watching had taught him her daily order of business was to dress and then to take her first coffee onto the small stone patio adjacent to her house. Overlooking her vineyards, the patio caught the morning sun. Rarely, did she miss a sunrise or raise her cup to it before she took her first sip.

After her coffee, she headed out into the fields to check on her vines and to meet with the farm manager, José. Together the two rode up and down the rows, inspecting branches, the leaf canopy, or sampling grapes. No detail was too small for Greer. She clearly loved Bonneville.

Once her grapes were inspected she returned to the small ranch house she’d shared with her aunt for over a decade and enjoyed a small breakfast. Her tastes were simple, usually toast and an egg. And then it was off for more meetings or trips into the fields. Afternoons were spent working on the books. Last year she’d overseen the building of the new tasting room with the dedication she gave to her vineyards. And now that laser attention would shift to her new winery.

Her days often didn’t end until eight or nine when she’d drag herself back to her home and eat a small dinner. She ate lots of salad, always a side of bread with a little butter and a glass of wine. Merlot was her favorite.

Her routines followed the seasons and this season, summer, was her busiest. Soon the grapes would peak and the harvest would commence. She’d harvest with care, only taking the grapes that were ready, and always patient enough to leave the others behind until they’d ripened.

He was very much like Greer. He understood the best harvester was patient. Like her he understood the best grapes were those that had suffered some hardship, for it was the hardship that truly formed great taste and character. Greer and her grapes weren’t sickly sweet because they’d been tested and tried.

“So when are you going to kill her?”

He lowered the binoculars from his eyes. “Greer, like her grapes, is nearly ready for harvest.”

“What difference does a day or two make?”

“It makes all the difference. It’s the difference between perfection and swill.”

Soon Greer would be ready. Soon he’d harvest her like the others.

Chapter Fifteen

Saturday, June 7, 7 A.M.

An Austin police patrol car spotted Sara Wentworth’s car parked in an industrial lot along the river in East Austin, five miles from where her body had been discovered. He’d called the find in at seven, the very end of his shift.

Bragg had been at his desk when the call had been received. He’d grabbed his jacket and hat and headed out.

As he drove, he realized this had been the first “normal” morning he’d had in months. Mitch had been up early and eager to get to Bonneville, and so Bragg had left with him right after dawn. Before Mitch, he’d worked long, sometimes crushing hours, but since Mitch’s arrival, he’d lingered in the mornings or gotten home earlier. For the first time, his personal life had elbowed ahead of his professional life.

But today, he had his old schedule back. And to his surprise, it didn’t fit as well as it once had. A bit tight and restrictive. Since he’d arrived this morning, he’d not only wondered how Mitch was managing, but Greer as well. Several times, he’d had to resist the temptation to drive out and check on them both.

Bragg spotted flashing police lights. Out of his truck, he settled his white hat on his head and strode toward the police car lights and the yellow crime-scene tape surrounding the white Lexus.

The car’s hubcaps had been stripped and the front driver’s-side window had been smashed and the air bag and radio stolen. It was doubtful the thefts were related to Sara’s death. An unattended Lexus in East Austin attracted thieves like flowers attracted bees. He was amazed any portion of the car remained.

The warehouse by the car was a two-story brick building with rows of broken windows. Faded paint on the building’s top floor read MCGREGOR’S. The building had once been a dry goods store and later a restaurant that had closed three years ago. The place was up for sale, but Sara Wentworth did not have the listing.

The forensic tech was a short woman with an olive complexion and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and had tucked under an APD ball cap. She wore a blue regulation T-shirt that read AUSTIN POLICE and rumpled khakis in need of hemming. Standing back from the scene, inches inside the yellow tape with a clipboard in hand, the technician sketched the scene.

As Bragg moved closer to the tape she turned and nodded. “Ranger Bragg?”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Carla Sellers. I’m with Austin PD.”

“Yes, ma’am. Can you tell me what you’ve found?”

“We had a BOLO on your victim’s car. The uniform who spotted it realized the car was out of place. This isn’t the kind of place most leave a Lexus unattended. My guess is the damage done to the vehicle was done by vandals and thieves.”

He rested his hands on his hips and searched for a security camera. He spotted two on the building across the street and hoped they were operational. Many businesses put up cameras but many also didn’t bother to connect them hoping the camera alone would be a deterrent. “Has anyone contacted those businesses about their cameras?”

“Had a couple of uniforms knocking on doors and trying to find out about them.”

“Good. I want to see that footage.”

Carla stuck her pencil in her ponytail. “Where was your victim found?”

“Five point two miles from here. I just clocked the distance.”

“And she was a suicide?”

The doubt in her voice echoed his concerns. “Remains undetermined.”

Sara Wentworth certainly could have assisted Rory in his suicide. And she could have parked her car here and walked five miles in high heels in the Texas heat to the warehouse. Yeah, he’d seen all kinds of things. But unless she’d totally lost it, the scenario didn’t hold water. There’d been the matter of the bloody doll in her trash can, her heels found by her body had been pristine, and the medical examiner had found no traces of blistering on her feet.

“I’m going to need the footage from those cameras ASAP. I’d bet good money she didn’t walk away but was taken away.”

“Sure.”

“Mind if I have a look in the car?”

“I’ve dusted for prints. Found a lot of them, by the way. But seeing as the car was torn apart no telling whose we’ll find. Also photographed the interior. The GPS, radio, and air bag were gone. Another day, it would have been stripped clean. It’s all yours.” She pulled a set of rubber gloves from her back pocket and handed them to him.

“Appreciate it.” He pulled on the gloves and then ducked under the tape, moving to the driver’s-side door first to study the light tan interior. There was a coffee cup from one of those high-end shops in Austin with red lipstick smudging the top’s spout. The glove box was open and inside he found area maps. GPS could be wrong and a savvy Realtor needed to get around efficiently to make a living. The car looked as if it once had been showroom clean. He imagined no trash, vacuumed carpets, and polished windows. Between the seats was a collection of CDs. Classical music, self-help and motivational tapes. The Million-Dollar Deal. Ten Steps to Record-Breaking Sales. Not fodder for thieves.

He popped the trunk and walked around to the back of the car. In the trunk there was a bin with one remaining sandal but he suspected they’d been full of shoes. Sara would have been prepared for any kind of terrain or trip. A five-mile walk was feasible, but remembering the pristine shape of her heels, he doubted it. There was also a cooler filled with water bottles and a collection of signs sporting the MANLY AND DOBBS real estate logo and Sara’s smiling photoshopped face.