I don’t want the wedding to be formal. Wear what you want.
Lara’s words, delivered to Jo with such kindness, now haunted her as she made her way during her lunch hour through the mall, searching for a “greenish” bridesmaid dress—her only mandate. As wedding tasks went, this was one of the simplest, and yet as her fingers skimmed the fabric of another unwanted dress she wondered if she’d ever find what she needed.
She had no practice with fashion and weddings, and she wanted to get it right. But worries over making a mistake had kept her from buying any dress. She’d fallen into the perfection trap.
A sleek saleslady had tried to help Jo initially but Jo’s indecision had sent her back behind her counter to wait.
“Dr. Granger, what a pleasant surprise. Shopping for a special occasion?”
Dayton’s smooth voice had her turning, the watered silk still clutched between her fingertips. An answer to his question could create the threads of a bond she did not want. “This is unexpected.”
He looked delighted. “It is odd that we would run into each other here.”
He wore a hand-tailored blue blazer, crisp white shirt that set off his tanned skin and black trousers. All spoke to his need to project affluence.
His cool, calm smile shouldn’t have set off any alarm bells. By all appearances this was a chance meeting. In fact, many ladies would have sought out or welcomed his attention. Not Jo. Her senses peaked at full alert. “What are you doing here?”
He regarded the boutique, his gaze not reflecting real interest as he pulled a pack of yellow gum from his pocket. “I was happening by and saw you. I thought it would be appropriate to say hello.”
Though she’d interviewed countless sociopaths and liars it never failed to surprise her how they could be so utterly charming. “It’s not appropriate, Dr. Dayton, considering our recent conversation.”
A smile tweaked the edge of his lips. “It was an interview, not an interrogation, Dr. Granger. There’s no reason for us to be unfriendly to each other.”
She released the dress sleeve and faced him directly. “We have nothing to say to each other.”
His smile held, though it took on a chill. Carefully, he unwrapped a piece of gum. “I’m trying to be neighborly.”
“No, Dr. Dayton, you are trying to manipulate and to control.”
He laughed. “You have a flair for the dramatic, don’t you, Dr. Granger? You’ve dealt with so many criminals that you see them everywhere.”
“Not everywhere.” But she did here. “Now, if you will excuse me.”
“By the way, that shade of green is not your color, Dr. Granger. You’d do better to stay with earth tones—olives, browns. They’ll set off your red hair nicely.”
The saleslady approached, her smile wide and warm, as her gaze bounced between Dr. Dayton and Jo. “Any luck, hon?”
“I think the olive silk is the way to go,” Dr. Dayton said to the clerk. He popped the stick of gum in his mouth and folded the wrapper in half.
The saleslady’s gaze brightened. “With her porcelain skin and red hair it would be perfect.”
Jo straightened, irritated that Dayton had insinuated himself into her life. “I must go.”
“You really should try on the dress, Dr. Granger,” he said.
Instead of answering, she turned and left, the saleslady’s comment about rude behavior trailing after her.
Bob Killian’s construction crews had been working on the new housing development west of Austin for several months. Most days they were on-site and working by seven, but today there’d been all kinds of delays and no work. To top it off, the cement truck had broken down and been delayed.
Finally, by three o’clock the truck had arrived at the site. There was only enough time to dump a truckload of cement, which amounted to one foundation. But one foundation was better than none.
“We’re burning daylight,” Killian yelled to the Mexican day workers. “Get inside the foundation and be ready to spread mud.”
As the Mexican foreman translated Killian’s words, the workers grabbed their shovels as the cement truck backed into place. The ding, ding, ding of the vehicle’s backup alarm was punctuated by the laughter of the men who’d been sitting the better part of the day waiting for the truck.
Killian calculated all the money lost today as he reached for an antacid in his coat pocket. The housing market was getting murdered, and if he didn’t hustle and get these houses built he stood to lose a fortune.
The driver leaned out the back of the driver’s side window and shouted in Spanish for a couple of the men to step back as he lowered the chute.
One of the workers, a young man with a short, stocky build, stepped back and stumbled. His arms waved wildly as he tried to catch himself but he lost his footing in the soft soil and fell right on his ass. His coworkers laughed and pointed as the young guy struggled to stand in the soft earth.
Killian popped another antacid. “Get moving!”
The worker had righted himself when one of the other men stared at the ground where he’d fallen. Seconds later he pointed and screamed in Spanish, “La mano! La mano!”
Killian moved toward the men, his patience wearing paper-thin. What the hell were they talking about now? La mano. Hand. Had the son of a bitch hurt his hand? He swiped his own hand across his neck, a signal for the cement truck driver to halt while he investigated. “If you are fucking around, I am going to have your ass.”
He stepped over the foundation’s wooden form into what would one day be the crawl space of a two-story house. As the distraught crewman scrambled to get away, Killian spotted what he had been shouting about. Sticking up from the wet earth were three pale fingers.
Killian motioned for the men to step back before squatting by the object. The fingers were curled in a clawlike manner. Stunned curiosity pulled him closer. The hand’s small nails were painted with purple polish that was chipped. Three tarnished silver bracelets dangled from the wrist.
He brushed away the dirt to find the arm of a young woman. His stomach tumbled and he rose slowly, doing his best to remain calm when all he wanted to do was run.
Chapter Eleven
Tuesday, April 9, 6:00 P.M.
When Brody and Santos arrived at the construction site, the uniformed officers had already roped off the crime scene. The lights from several Austin PD and DPS marked cars flashed. Forensics had arrived and the technician was shooting pictures of the scene.
Brody pulled rubber gloves from his coat pocket. He and Santos stopped and greeted several officers. One officer, Sergeant Gary Danner, had been stationed in El Paso about the same time as Brody.
Gary stuck his hand out to Brody. “I heard you’d dragged your sorry ass back to Austin.”
Brody grinned. When they’d been in their twenties the two had torn it up more than once in El Paso, closing a couple of cantinas. “That’s right. Slunk into town.”
Danner cocked a brow. “And you haven’t stirred up any trouble?”
He’d worked nonstop since he’d arrived. “Been doing my best, but I’m getting a little too old to live like I used to.”
Gary shook his head. “Winchester, the day you’re too old will be the day the sun stops rising.”
Brody had been a hell-raiser in his twenties and he still liked to have fun. But the days of pounding back too many beers or shots were over. “Heard you got hitched.”
“Sure did.” Gary grinned. “Second baby is on the way.” He lowered his voice a notch. “Marriage is great, but don’t tell my wife, Elaine. Don’t need her getting a swelled head.”
“I’ll take it to my grave, partner.” The forensic tech’s camera flashed in Brody’s peripheral vision. “Like you to meet Sergeant Rick Santos. He and I are working this case.”
Santos extended his hand. “Danner. I think we’ve crossed paths before.”
“Sure did. That bank robbery in San Antonio last year.”
“That’s right. Hell of a mess, that one.
”
“Yes, sir, it was.”
Santos nodded toward the crime scene. “You first on the scene, Gary?”
The laughter eased from his eyes. “One of the first.”
Brody rested his hands on his hips, glancing toward the opened mound of dirt. “Fill me in.”
“The construction crews were preparing to lay the foundation when one of the workers spotted an oddity. The foreman did a little digging and found a hand, which turned out to be attached to a woman’s body. She wasn’t more than a foot under the ground and by the looks of it hadn’t been in the ground too long. The medical examiner’s assistant has already had a look at her and thinks she might have died of asphyxiation in the last twenty-four hours. Forensics is doing their job now.”
Brody pulled on his gloves. “The boys that found her have more to add about what they saw or heard?”
“No. They were running behind because of mechanical delays and were focused on getting the foundation in the frames. They might remember details when you talk to them. The foreman is out here a good bit, he says. He might have seen someone yesterday or the day before. He’s a little shook up.”
Brody eyed the slim, grizzled man who leaned against his truck, his arms folded over his chest and his eyes closed. “He looks okay to me.”