On the chair she had a better view of the boxes that stored what little she’d kept from her old life. When she’d left Shady Grove she’d had a suitcase full of clothes, but over the next month her mother had sent more and more of her belongings. Holding bits of her life before the accident had been too painful to bear, but she also couldn’t let go of her before life either. To do that would erase Jeff. That’s why she’d stored each of the boxes in the closet.
She scanned the boxes and found the one she wanted in the middle on the far left. Leaning forward she tugged carefully at the box until it slid out.
Greer climbed off the chair and sat on the edge of her bed. She removed the box top and stared at the collection of trinkets. They’d been what she’d brought with her from Shady Grove. On the bottom she found what she’d been searching for—an image. The picture Bragg had of Rory and her had been taken from this picture, which also featured Sam, Jennifer, and Sara. She studied the picture of the five smiling faces. Such bruised gazes in such young faces.
She remembered that night. It was their last together, and she’d been despondent. She’d threatened not to come to the final roundup at the campfire. Instead, she’d stayed in her room, nursing bitterness over Rory’s leaving.
It had been another kid, Jack, a quiet shy boy with stringy blond hair and thick glasses, who’d come to find her. He rarely spoke to her or anyone but that night he’d coaxed her out of her room, waving his camera and telling her she had to be in the picture. The others said the picture wouldn’t be complete without her. And so she’d pushed aside her anger and gone to the fire. Rory had tossed his arm around her, as if nothing were wrong, and kissed her on the lips. Then all of them had grinned at the camera. Jack had snapped the picture.
She traced Rory’s beautiful face. She’d read in the paper that his funeral was Monday afternoon. She wasn’t welcome but she’d be going. It seemed fitting.
Her gaze moved from face to face in the image. Two of the five were now dead. What had they done to warrant death? As she fingered the edge of the fading image she knew she had to give this to Bragg.
When Jennifer woke to the sharp scent of ammonia, a bright light shone in her eyes. Her brain, drowsy and sluggish, struggled to focus. She pushed through the confused thoughts, trying to remember what had happened. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she’d taken too many sleeping pills.
Ammonia cut through her airways.
She coughed as she sat straighter and realized her wrist was handcuffed to a bed.
“What is this?” Her voice sounded garbled and muffled like a drunk’s.
“It’s your chance.” The man’s voice came from beyond the light.
More sharp smells of ammonia and she coughed and shook her head no. “Get that away from me.”
He chuckled. “As soon as I know you’re awake.”
“I’m awake. I’m awake.” Fear hadn’t penetrated the thick grogginess.
“Good.”
She moistened dry lips. The last she remembered, she was in her car struggling to stay awake. She’d had a sip of water and wondered why she’d felt so drugged. “What’s wrong with me? I feel drugged. But,” she said, moistening dry lips, “that can’t be right. I haven’t had a drink in a year.”
“You’ve got to be careful about what you eat and drink.”
“I am.”
“Not careful enough.”
As her head began to clear, she looked into the face of the man speaking. His expression wasn’t menacing and his demeanor relaxed. He dressed well. Smiled.
She tried to sit up but her head spun. A glance around told her she was lying on a bed. She looked around the room. Simply furnished, there was a television, a desk and chair, and the two windows had been covered with black plastic and duct tape. “Where am I?”
“Somewhere safe.”
Fear flickered as did annoyance. “What does ‘somewhere safe’ mean?”
“It’s a place where we won’t be bothered. Where we can talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.” Again, she tried to sit up but found she was almost completely immobile. She jerked her hand. The cuffs rattled but didn’t budge. “What the hell?”
“I’m giving you an opportunity.”
“What are you talking about?” The sharpened edges of her voice belied his soft tones.
He turned away from her and sighed. “A chance to purge. To release the burden you’ve been carrying for twelve years.”
Twelve years. A cold chill oozed through her body freezing away any traces of annoyance. Some secrets, no matter how painful, had to stay buried. Now more than ever. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He faced her, his smile sad and almost soothing. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Jennifer.” An edge had crept into his voice. “You need to release the secret.”
“I don’t have a secret.”
“Yes, you do. And before this night is over, Jennifer, your soul will be cleansed just as you’d dreamed of it being for years.”
Chapter Eighteen
Monday, June 9, 7 A.M.
The day’s heat had already kicked in when Bragg arrived at the murder scene a half hour after receiving the call from Winchester. Jennifer Bell had been found in her car, unconscious. The paramedics had removed her from the car, opened her airway, and begun CPR, but despite a frantic dash to the hospital, the doctors had pronounced her dead fifteen minutes ago.
Lights flashing, the area around the car had been roped off, but a growing number of curiosity seekers now stared at the technicians as they photographed Jennifer Bell’s car.
The area was on a residential side street near the entrance to Northwest Park. It was going to be a pretty day with milder temperatures and soon this area would be teeming with folks out to enjoy a Monday morning jog.
Bragg settled his hat on his head as he moved toward the crime-scene tape billowing in a soft breeze. He was clean shaven, his hair still wet from the shower. “What do we have?”
Winchester tore his gaze from the empty car. “She somehow managed a call to paramedics an hour and a half ago. She wasn’t able to speak, but they traced the GPS on her phone.”
He pulled plastic gloves from his pocket and put them on. “Did she say anything else to the nine-one-one operator?”
“She didn’t say a word. The operator asked her a bunch of questions but she didn’t answer.”
He glanced past Winchester to the car. The door was open and the ground around it littered with the paramedic’s discarded wrappers. “Are we sure she placed the call?”
Winchester shrugged. “All I can say for sure is the call was placed from her phone in this location.”
Frustration snaked up his back and curled around his shoulders. His first thought was for Greer. He reached for his cell and dialed. The phone rang twice before she said, “Greer Templeton.”
“Greer. Tec Bragg.”
A heavy silence followed. “What can I do for you?”
He turned from Winchester and the other cops and stared off toward the wooded park. “Where are you now?”
“At Bonneville. I’m getting into my truck and headed into the fields with Mitch as soon as he waters the horses.”
Relief corralled his anxiety. She was on her property. Safe. And Mitch was with her. “Do you have time to meet later today?”
She dropped her voice. “What’s this about?”
Around him cop-car lights flashed. Media gathered. “Not over the phone.”
A heavy hesitation sizzled over the line. “Sure. I’ll be on the property until two.”
“Where are you going at two?”
“Austin. Is there a problem?”