However, his father had moved with lightning speed, wrapping long smooth fingers around his neck and pinning him to the wall. In a quiet whisper the old man told him that there’d be no public accusations or trial. He would lock Jack, his only son, in the basement of the house, where he’d stay for the rest of his life. Go to Shady Grove and get help or go to hell.
Jack choked, struggling to draw in air, staring into old eyes filled with sadistic satisfaction. Unable to draw in a breath, he’d simply nodded. He’d agreed to a stay at Shady Grove and to get better.
The coming weeks and months had been a string of endless boring days. He met with a counselor, talked about his feelings, and learned what he needed to say to gain freedom. He’d not changed but had been biding his time.
And then he had seen Elizabeth for the first time at camp. He’d known in that instant he’d found a kindred spirit.
Though she was broken and damaged he learned quickly she was a healer and a caregiver. The other broken birds at the camp flocked to her and fluttered around her hoping she would say the right word to erase their pain.
He’d kept his distance but he too hadn’t been immune to Elizabeth. He’d stayed on the fringe, but he always made a point to linger close. The others had little time for him. Wrapped up in their own sorrows, they ignored him. But not Elizabeth. She’d brought him into the circle.
That last night at the campfire he’d known he was half in love with her. He’d taken the group picture not so he could remember the others, but so he could remember her. The next day the others began to leave. After they’d left Elizabeth had drawn back into herself. She didn’t have a smile or a kind word for him. She’d gotten lost again. And then she’d left. And he was alone and left to languish in the camp intended to make him better.
“I rotted in that camp for a year.”
“But you’re a clever boy. You finally won Father over.” No missing the anger rumbling under her laugh. “But your sweet Elizabeth was gone. And you never could find her.”
He hated the sound of her voice. “My suffering gives you pleasure.”
“Poor, poor baby boy.”
He had had no choice but to go on with his life. He’d gotten an education, married, divorced, and lived like any other man. And then eight months ago he’d seen Greer Templeton on television. His Elizabeth.
In that moment he’d known what it would take to make her truly happy: re-create the old group and ensure none of them ever abandoned her again.
The others were dead.
They’d been granted their dying wish.
Now it was time for Greer.
Chapter Twenty
Monday, June 9, 9 P.M.
The drive up Route 12 took Winchester deep into the Hill Country and it was pitch black dark when he arrived. Despite the late hour, heat rose up off the stone driveway.
Sycamore’s home was a modest one-story ranch with a wide wraparound porch stocked with a couple of rockers. Chipped white paint on the house suggested the home had weathered too many summers without attention. Not surprising. From what he’d heard about Michael, the guy traveled a lot for business. He worked for an accounting firm in East Texas and now only retreated up here when he needed a few days off. It had been five years since Michael had been here last.
Michael had not reported into work for seven days, but no one had expected him to return to work. The word was he had stolen client money.
Winchester got out of the car and, jangling his keys in his hand, surveyed the property. A black Range Rover was parked by the weathered ranch house. No flowers or knickknacks to show a woman’s touch, this place was plain and simple, a suitable getaway for a man. Thirty, engaged, and by all accounts a success until he’d been caught embezzling.
Winchester walked around the house. The grass had browned and dried up in the heat making it more like the bristles of a brush. A rusted weather vane squeaked in gentle hot wind.
According to Greer, Michael had threatened to shoot himself with his daddy’s shotgun when he was eighteen. His mother had persuaded him to give her the weapon and when he’d complied, the parents had shipped the troubled boy to Shady Grove. There the family had learned he had been crumbling under the weight of his father’s need for perfection in his only son. By all accounts Shady Grove had helped the boy grow into a successful man.
Winchester’s boots thudded against the porch steps as he moved toward the front door. Hand on his gun, he stood to the side of the door, poised to knock. Before he could wrap his knuckles against the door, he saw that it was ajar.
Winchester drew his gun and stepped to the side as he pounded a fist on the doorjamb. “Michael Sycamore! Texas Rangers.” No answer. “Mr. Sycamore, are you in the house?”
When he received no answer he pushed on the door with his boot. The rusted hinges squeaked and groaned, as it swung open.
Winchester spotted Michael Sycamore immediately.
He sat on the center couch. A shotgun lay on the floor at his feet. And his face had been obliterated by a shotgun blast.
The blood staining Sycamore’s chest and splattering the wall behind him was fresh. He’d been shot within the last hour.
Winchester backed out of the house and reached for his phone. Two rings and he heard Bragg’s curt reply. “This is Winchester. I found what’s left of Sycamore.”
While his conversation with Winchester still replayed in his head, Bragg pulled up into the Central Austin neighborhood just before eleven. The Hyde Park area was exclusive, home to many professors and professionals who preferred the character of the older, smaller homes built in the 1920s and 30s. Moonlight glowed over shade trees drooping over sidewalks and yards with picket fences. Lights glowed in the windows.
It had taken Bragg less than an hour to get the search warrant for the Shady Grove records. The rich liked to keep their secrets but they even turned on their own when three Texans from well-connected families had been murdered within the week.
According to the records, the boy had been sent to Shady Grove because he’d taken an overdose after his older sister had drowned in the family pool. Jack had been devastated by the loss. More phone calls revealed that Jack’s parents were dead but his surviving younger sister lived in Hyde Park.
Kate Trenton’s house wasn’t large but very nice. Made of brick, it had a shade tree in the yard and a planter on the front porch filled with bright yellow flowers. The house would have been inviting if all the shades had not been drawn closed.
Bragg rang the bell and stood inches to the left of the door as he waited. Finally, footsteps sounded inside the house and he saw the flutter of curtains in the window by the door.
Locks clicked open and the door cracked open a fraction. A tall woman in her mid-twenties stared up at him with bright blue eyes, which set off pallid skin.
Bragg touched the brim of his Stetson. “Ms. Kate Trenton?”
Her gaze narrowed. “That’s right.”
“Ma’am, we are trying to find your brother, Jackson Trenton.”
Her body tensed and she drew into herself. “I haven’t seen him in a year.”
“When was that?”
Her fingers curled into fists. “He came to our father’s funeral last year, but I’ve not seen him since.”
Bragg tried to restrain his impatience. “Ma’am, may I come in? I’d like to ask you a few questions about your brother.”
She hesitated. “Why?”
“Ma’am, I don’t think you want us to have this discussion outside.”
She closed the door and he heard the scrape of the chain leaving the lock. She opened the door wide. Dressed in jeans, a red short-sleeved shirt, and tennis shoes, she hesitated and then invited him into the house.
Bragg stepped inside to a central living room with polished wood floors. It was furnished with neat crisp European furniture and Oriental rugs. Light from a crystal chandelier glistened on a round glass coffee table.
Bragg removed his hat. “Ma’am, I need to cut t
o the chase, if that’s all right.”
Kate smoothed her hands over her jeans. “Sure.”
“Your father sent your older brother Jack to Shady Grove Estates twelve years ago.” Not a question, but a statement.
Her lips flattened and her skin paled all the more. “That’s right.”
“According to your brother’s records, he tried to take an overdose.”
She raised her chin but didn’t answer. Her gaze darted away before returning to him.
“Your brother lived at the facility for a year.”
Again she held back.
“Ma’am, I need answers, pronto. Why are you hesitating?”
“I’m not hesitating.”
Bragg struggled to keep his patience in check. “Ma’am, I need for you to be honest with me. I need to find your brother.”
“Why are you asking?”
“We are investigating several murders.”
For a long moment she didn’t speak, as if the burden of an old secret weighed on her. “Who was killed?”
“Former residents of Shady Grove.”