by Mary Burton
The doctor had no hard edges. His voice, his smooth hands, and his rounded face were all pleasant and invited trust. “That’s not a lot.”
“We offer specialized care including one-on-one counseling as well as group counseling. It’s intensive. The children who come to us are in tough shape.”
This guy sounded like a walking-talking marketing video. “Would you say you have a good success rate?”
“We do. We pride ourselves on helping these children.” He adjusted his glasses. “Just because a child comes from money doesn’t mean they’re happy.”
“Money doesn’t buy happiness,” Winchester said.
“No, it does not.”
“But it does buy privacy and a really nice place to get well,” Bragg countered.
“We pride ourselves on making a nurturing place for the children.”
“What’s the age range for your patients?”
“We’ve children as young as ten and as old as twenty.”
“That’s a sizeable gap. A twenty-year-old might not have much in common with a ten-year-old.”
“That’s why we divide our children into pods. We try to match the ages of the children who share pods. They live in separate buildings located beyond the woods.”
“And all the children here have tried to commit suicide?”
Annoyance flashed in Dr. Leland’s eyes as if the hard word were taboo. “Some of our residents also grapple with drug addiction, anorexia, or self-mutilation. We are equipped to handle just about any crisis.”
“Basically, you treat messed-up kids.” He wanted to sound unfeeling. He wanted to rattle the doctor and find out what he could shake loose.
Dr. Leland frowned, but didn’t rise to the bait. “You make it sound harsh.”
“Because it is harsh,” Winchester said.
Absently he straightened a sheet of paper on his desk. “We try not to judge the children here.”
“I wasn’t judging. Only trying to get to what you do for the children.”
“I’ve indulged your questions, Ranger Bragg. Now can you tell me why you are here?”
Bragg switched tactics. “How long have you been at Shady Grove?”
“I’ve worked here for a decade.”
“How long have you been the director?”
“I’m not just the director. I own the facility now.”
“How long?”
“Barely over a year.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing overly dramatic or nefarious. The founder of the camp, Dr. Gary Putman, died. In his sleep. Of a heart attack. He was seventy-six.”
“Dr. Putman founded the camp?”
“He did. Twenty years ago. Though he was a leading psychologist, his oldest child, Rebecca, was a troubled girl. She killed herself when she was fifteen. Her death prompted him to create a haven for troubled children.”
“You purchased the clinic.”
“Yes, from the family.”
Bragg hesitated, letting his gaze roam the room as if he had all the time in the world. He met the doctor’s gaze. “I’ve had two of your former clients die recently.”
Dr. Leland cocked his head and frowned but kept his thoughts to himself.
Bragg had the sense the doctor was calculating the media fallout from the murders. He didn’t speak, using the silence to prompt the doctor to talk.
Dr. Leland cleared his throat. “Can you tell me who?”
“The first was Rory Edwards and the second Sara Wentworth. They were both here at the same time about twelve years ago.”
“That was before my time. As I said, I’ve been here a decade.”
“I assume the facility keeps records.”
“I’m not allowed to release the names of my current or former clients. I signed several privacy agreements when I bought the camp. Dr. Putman’s son was clear about maintaining the camp’s reputation. Discretion is key to our work.”
“We know doctor-patient privilege is binding,” Winchester said.
“But the sole link between the two victims was their stay here,” Bragg added.
“Many of our clients run into each other when they leave. I have no control over what happens then.” Dr. Leland clearly favored damage control and not assistance.
“Rory Edwards was here because he hanged himself. And Sara Wentworth, who went by the name Joan while she was here, tried to freeze herself to death. Rory was hanged several days ago and Sara froze to death in an industrial freezer.”
Dr. Leland straightened the sheet of paper on his desk again. “We have a high success rate, but we do lose some clients. Mental illness is a tough and complicated issue to tackle. Outside life is stressful and can trigger a relapse.”
“I’ve no doubt. No doubt at all. There was another gal here, Elizabeth Templeton.”
His lips compressed into a thin line. “Did she die?”
“No. No, she’s doing well for herself now. She speaks well of Shady Grove. But she knew the two victims.”
“Why are you calling them victims? I thought you said these two individuals killed themselves.”
The doctor was astute, but then to be a success here he’d have to key into the nuances of words. “I know Rory was murdered or at the least was assisted with his suicide. Sara may have been the one who helped or killed him before killing herself. Or someone else killed them both.”
Dr. Leland arched a brow. “I would think the police would know the difference between suicide and murder.”
“We do most times. But then we get a killer who tries to cover up. Takes more digging to get at what happened.”
“I still don’t see how we are connected.”
“Odd that two folks from this fine establishment would choose to kill themselves two days apart,” Winchester said.
“I don’t know what to say.”
Bragg leaned forward. “I’m real interested in the group of kids here the same time as the two victims and Elizabeth Templeton.”
“I’ve told you I can’t tell you. We keep names a secret for a reason.”
“I need to have those names.”
“You won’t get them from me.”
“One way or another I’m going to get a list of those names and figure out if I’m chasing any kind of pattern.”
“I can’t confirm or deny what you are saying.”
Bragg shook his head. “I want to handle this as quietly as I can, Dr. Leland. I don’t want to make a fuss. Media can turn a situation sideways. Couldn’t be good for your business. But I promise you if I don’t get your help, I’ll mention both my victims were Shady Grove residents.”
The doctor paled. “I would help you if I could, but I can’t break doctor-patient confidence.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you locate the folks in that group and find out how they’re doing?”
“I don’t have that kind of information. People scatter and move away.”
“I bet you know more than you realize. Bet their grateful families are generous donors.”
“You’re putting me in a bad position. Making calls like that could be awkward.”
“Not my worry, Dr. Leland. I need to find out what happened to the kids in that group.”
“What if there is no connection? What if I find out they’re all good and well, and you’re stirring trouble for no reason at all?”
“Well, then, I’d say it will be your lucky day. I’d say, you won’t have to worry about me anymore.” Bragg leaned forward. He grinned, knowing the effect could be menacing. “I’m not the kind of person people like having around on a regular basis. I make them nervous.”
A slight widening of the doctor’s eyes confirmed he wanted Bragg gone. “And if they’re dead? Then what do I do?”
“Then you best let me know. In the meantime, I’m going to get a court order. That might help you with your legal dilemma. But news of court orders has a way of leaking out.”
“Don’t want that getting around,” Winchester said.
<
br /> Dr. Leland adjusted his tie. “You are backing me into a corner.”
Bragg rose, knowing hardball came next. “Nope, just hoping you’ll do your civic duty and help out the Rangers. But if you don’t help then you can bet we’re going to back you into a corner and make your life miserable.”
Winchester stood, as if in no rush. He grinned.
Shoulder to shoulder, the mass of the Rangers’ bodies ate a hefty chunk of floor space. They left the stunned doctor in his office and strode out the front door. On the front porch Bragg settled his hat on his head and surveyed the grounds. A flash of metal in light caught his attention. He strode across the gravel driveway and the ground toward a large tree. At the base of the tree he found a plaque. It read:
IN LOVING MEMORY OF REBECCA,
WHOSE GENTLE SPIRIT AND SOUL
INSPIRED THE CREATION OF
SHADY GROVE CAMP.
Bragg studied the name, and touched the tip of his hat out of respect before leaving the uncomfortable beauty of the camp.
He sat in the sunshine, his eyes closed as he drank up the warmth. He loved the Hill Country. The quiet. The trees. The slower pace. He could stay here all day.
“How much longer are we going to sit here?” she said.
He ignored her, hoping she’d go away.
“I know what you are doing and I’m not going to let you ignore me.” She’d ratcheted up her voice, adding the shrill he hated. “Open your eyes and pay attention to me!”
He didn’t need to open his eyes to picture her brown hair, peaches-and-cream complexion, and the sprinkle of freckles over her nose. When she was irritated, her eyes blazed blue and her cheeks flushed pink. “Can’t you just leave me in peace? Do we always have to be talking?”
“You don’t like talking to me?”
He didn’t have to open his eyes to know she was pouting. “Not now.”
“We need to talk now. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“We’ve got twenty-four hours. That’s plenty of time.”
She huffed. “You were never a good planner. Always putting the important matters off until last.”
The nagging raked over his nerves, shattering the day’s calm. “Leave me alone.”
“You know I can’t. You know if not for me you wouldn’t have the drive or gumption to take care of the others.”
He sat up, his jaw tight, as he stared at the distant horizon. “You need to back off. I’ve gotten us this far.”
“Because I’ve been poking and prodding you the whole time. If not for me you’d still be living that boring life in Austin lost in the mindless details of your day.”
“Those mindless details have made a lot of money. Someone has to take care of business.”
“We’ve plenty of money. We don’t need more. What we need to do is talk about the next one. We need to review the details so we don’t make any mistakes.”
He sighed. “If I go over the details with you, will you leave me alone?”
“If you go over each and every detail, then yes I will leave you alone.”
“For how long?” That’s the way it had always been with them. Endless negotiations.
“I’ll leave you be. For now. Maybe even a day.”
“Swear.”
“Don’t I always keep my word?”
He laughed. “No.”
She giggled. “You love me. Admit it.”
He hated her when she bitched at him. Hated himself more when she was nice and he acquiesced.
“Come on admit it,” she cooed. “You love me.”
“Fine. I love you. Now let’s talk about killing Sam so I can get some sleep.”
Chapter Fourteen
Friday, June 6, 10 A.M.
Her body still hummed with nervous energy as Greer watched the clerk ring up the feed for the two horses. She still couldn’t decide if going to Bragg had been a good idea or not.
“That will be three hundred and two dollars,” the clerk said.
She’d known taking the old horses on would be expensive, but she’d not really put pen to paper and calculated the cost. She handed the clerk her charge card and tried not to be bothered by the expense.
She stepped back from the counter looking, but not really looking, at flower seeds as Rory and Sara’s images elbowed back into her thoughts.
Beautiful Rory had been interested in her from the start. He’d been sweet and charming, and Greer had been so grateful someone showed any interest in her. She’d never noticed Joan, or rather Sara, resented the relationship. Sara had slept with Rory a couple of times at camp and she’d really liked him. But Rory being Rory had moved on to Greer, and she’d not cared about Sara’s loss. Greer thought herself in love. If only she could have seen Sara hurt as much as she had and let her have Rory.
But Greer had literally been starving for love and Rory’s paltry offering had been nectar. She’d been naïve enough to believe the youthful, hasty promises Rory and she made. Write. Talk on the phone. Friends forever. Karma had brought them together.
But of course, outside the camp walls Rory’s old life swept him away from Sara and Greer.
The clerk handed her a receipt and she signed it, tucking the card back in her wallet. “My truck’s out front. Can I get someone to load up the feed?”
“Yes, ma’am. Go ahead and pull around back.”
As she moved through the store, the hair on the back of her neck rose. It was a subtle, practically imperceptible feeling but when she thought about it there was no denying her unease.
Stiffening, she reminded herself the sensation wasn’t uncommon. When people from her past recognized her, they stared. In their minds, once a sinner always a sinner and there’s no event more entertaining than the appearance of a she-devil to brighten an otherwise boring day.
Most times she kept on walking and didn’t bother to speak. In fact, there’d been times when she’d slinked back to her truck and raced home. But since she’d met Dr. Stewart, she’d been refusing more and more to run. She had a right to stand her ground. Yes, she’d sure as hell made a lot of mistakes, but the last she checked no one could cast the first stone.
She stopped and turned, her hand gripping the worn leather strap of her purse.
Greer spotted him instantly. He was a tall lean man. Well dressed. He still carried himself with a straight-back posture. Like his sister and his parents, he’d been a rider. The family owned a stable of the finest horses in Texas and a far cry from the nags she now owned.
When she made eye contact his gaze locked on her. His hair remained dark, but gray now lightened the temples. Deeply tanned skin gave him a youthful vigor. He had to be close to forty now.
His eyes narrowed as if he wanted to assure himself she was who he thought she was. “I haven’t seen you in town in a long time.”
“No, I don’t get into town often.” He’d been wearing a suit the last time she’d seen him. They’d been in court.
His eyes darkened. “I didn’t realize you were still in the area until I heard about your party the other night. I couldn’t believe it when they told me you’d never left. Thirty miles outside of Austin the entire time.”
“Texas is my home.”
He shook his head. “It was my sister’s home, too. Until you killed her.”
Her memory jumped to Sydney Dowd, Jeff’s girlfriend. She’d been in the front seat of her brother’s car the night of the accident. When the car had hit the tree, she’d been thrown clear. Her neck had broken instantly.
Sydney’s parents had sued her parents because Greer had been driving on a learner’s permit and was supposed to be accompanied by an adult driver. Jeff had been passed out drunk, the attorney had argued, so the Templetons had broken the law by allowing Greer to drive unmonitored.
She remembered Mr. and Mrs. Dowd coming to the hospital after the accident. They’d stared at her with such a stony silence she’d wept. She’d wanted to apologize or say words to comfort them, but her mother had been in the room
, and she had refused to let her speak. There’d been a heated exchange and the Dowds had left when her mother had called security. Later, Greer’s mother had warned her to stay clear of the Dowds. Don’t make any more trouble for us, Elizabeth.
She’d known Sydney had an older brother, Rick. She saw the resemblance and tried to imagine Sydney if she’d lived.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Dowd?”
Rick Dowd cocked an eyebrow. “What do you suggest, Ms. Templeton?”
The edge in his voice had her bristling. “I’ve no suggestions. But you clearly have words for me.”
He flexed his fingers. “Not sure what either of us could say to the other. You gutted my family. Hard to come back from an obstacle like that.”
Her breathing thinned as regret knotted in her belly. “I will always be sorry, Mr. Dowd.”
“I doubt you know the meaning of the word, Ms. Templeton.”
A rush of anger and shame rose up in her, coloring her face. “That’s not true. You’ve no idea how I felt.”
“Well, your feelings pale in comparison to mine and my parents’, who lost a child.”
A pained sigh escaped her lips. “I lost a brother. I know your pain.”
He jabbed a finger at her. “Don’t pretend to know how I feel. Don’t.”
This was a losing battle. “What do you want me to say, Mr. Dowd?”
“Like I said, not much.” His gaze roamed over her, the anger all but snapping from his eyes.
How could she ask him to forgive when she’d not really forgiven herself? More words wouldn’t take away his pain or her guilt. “I wish you the best, Mr. Dowd.”
As she turned to leave he hurried to block her path. In a voice loud enough for her alone to hear, he said, “You aren’t sorry, but you will be.”
A chill twisted along her spine. She met his gaze. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged and smiled. “Doesn’t mean a thing.”
They both knew it would be his word against hers.
She balled her fingers into fists. “Is that a threat?”
He smelled of sandalwood and leather. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”
“I heard a threat.”