“Sandy,” Bragg said.
“Ranger Bragg.” A broad smile brightened tired eyes. “Good to see you.”
“You too. My nephew’s with me, and we’re looking to eat. What’s the wait?”
She picked up two menus. Her smile turned sly. “Your reservation was for six-thirty, and I’ve your table right over here.”
He grinned. “Thanks.”
She led them to a table in the back, seated them, and handed them menus. “Your waitress will be right up.”
“Appreciate it, Sandy.”
She tossed an admiring glance at Mitch and then smiled at Bragg. “No problem.”
Mitch met her gaze. “Thanks.”
Her grin broadened, and she returned back to her station crowded with waiting families.
Bragg scanned the menu. “The T-bone is good. Bread is great. It’s all good. Order whatever you want.”
He nodded. “T-bone sounds good.”
“Sure there isn’t something else you might want? Don’t order it on my account.” He wanted to fix the pain the kid carried, but didn’t know how. Best he could do now was offer him a great meal.
“T-bone is fine.”
Bragg resisted the urge to challenge and when the waitress came to the table he ordered two steaks with all the fixings plus bread. He waited until she returned with their soda order before asking, “How’d your day go?”
Mitch sipped on his soda straw. “Good.”
“What’s good mean?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.
After a moment’s silence, he said, “Got offered a job today.”
That tiny bit of news had him sitting straighter and leaning forward. However, he did his best to curb his enthusiasm and the rapid-fire questions begging to be asked. “That so? What’s the job?”
Before he could answer the waitress appeared with hot rolls and butter. More hungry for information than the bread, he waited as the boy tore into his bread and took a couple of bites.
Finally, Mitch said, “I’m not really sure. Farmhand, I think.”
“Farmhand.” It was a hard road to hoe working the land. He wanted his nephew to get an education and have the world open up to him. But that was the big picture. Right now he simply wanted the kid to talk, engage in life. Farmhand would suit fine.
“You know about farms. Mom said Grandpa had you riding a tractor at eight.”
“Yeah. I know farms and ranches. Tough work but there’s a sense of satisfaction at the end of the day.”
Mitch grunted.
“You’ll be working the fields, managing a barn, what?”
“Don’t know. She just said to show up tomorrow at nine, and she’d put me to work.”
He wanted to know who was hiring Mitch and what plans this woman had for him. But he reminded himself Mitch wasn’t a kid, and if he babied him it likely would ruin what little they’d gained tonight. “How’d she hear about you?”
“Remember that support group I tried a couple of times?”
“Yeah.”
“She knows the guy that runs it. Said she owed him a favor.”
“And you’re the favor?” The lack of details fueled his frustration, but he kept it to himself.
“I guess.” Mitch tore more bread and ate it.
“You know where the farm is?”
He pulled a card from his pocket and tossed it on the table. “She said it’s about thirty miles west of Austin. Some kind of vineyard.”
Bragg picked up the card. “Vineyard?”
He glanced at the vineyard’s name: BONNEVILLE VINEYARDS. Rory Edward’s crime scene had been located on the edge of a vineyard. His gaze slid to the name of the woman who’d contacted Mitch: GREER TEMPLETON.
For a moment the sounds of the restaurant faded away, and there was only the thump, thump of his heart in his ears. His first thought was for Elizabeth Templeton, the woman in the picture. Templeton wasn’t a common name, but not so uncommon that he didn’t suspect a connection. The hair on the back of his neck rose.
Bragg kept his voice steady. “You know any facts about Greer Templeton?”
“Pretty, dark hair, kind of skinny. Not friendly.”
Dark hair not blond. He flicked the edge of the card with his index finger. “What else do you know about her?”
“She drives a truck. And she cuts to the chase.”
Habit sent the follow-up question back rapid-fire. “And she offered you the job as a favor?”
“That’s what she said.”
Bragg summoned another question but held back, as if Sue had laid a hand on his shoulder. The boy had said more in the last few minutes than in the last month. Go easy. He wanted to go easy. He did.
But he’d been a Ranger too long not to toy with his suspicions. The Templeton name had been attached to a murder investigation this morning. Though the girl in the picture did not match Mitch’s description it had been a dozen years and people changed a lot. He’d not had much time today to dig into Elizabeth Templeton’s accident, but it would be first on his agenda after dinner. Rory’s apartment would keep until morning.
Their waitress brought two more sodas and another basket stacked high with warm rolls. She told them that dinner would be right up before hurrying to another table.
Bragg drank his second soda. He didn’t want to discourage the boy but at the same time wanted him to understand the lay of the land.
Bragg eased back in his chair. “You thinking about taking the job?”
Mitch grabbed a roll, tore it, and watched the steam rise. “Don’t know.”
As frustrating as pulling teeth. “Did she talk about pay?”
“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.