Page 35 of Concrete Evidence
“Not sure how I’d fit in among the churchy parents. But Tessa would get an excellent education. I spent a lot of years in parochial school.” Marc’s father had insisted upon his son receiving his early education from nuns, a matter in which his mother disagreed.
“Where do you think my girls go but a Christian school?”
Marc whipped his attention to his partner. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope, and trust me, you’ll be praying the first time a boy comes knocking on the door.”
“Tessa looks seventeen.”
“Consider installing bars on the windows.”
A canned female voice from the security cam said they’d been approved to enter, and the gate swung open. Marc pulled through and followed a winding paved road leading back into the property. Along the far right, the Brazos River flowed, lending its waters to irrigate the pastures and livestock.
Roden pointed to the Elliott mansion set on a hill resembling antebellum-style architecture. The opulent house had to be over twenty-five thousand square feet of living space. The two-story Greek columns, black shutters, and twin winding staircases in front rose to a massive second floor with a wraparound porch. Definitelya monument to Elliott money and Southern hospitality. Magnolia trees and pruned roses shaped the estate’s exterior on a blanket of green that rivaled the most luxurious golf courses. In the rear of the home, a gazebo nestled between oak trees overlooking a flower garden with Texas native bushes and color.
Marc followed a sign indicating the office lay eight hundred feet ahead, a white stone building trimmed in cedar and shutters. The stables and barns were constructed of steel with stone frontage, cedar pillars, and metal roofs that spoke of wealth and prestige.
“Would you kill for this?” Marc said.
“They did over a hundred and fifty years ago.”
Roden’s sobering response reminded Marc that racial unity in the US was an ongoing project. “Very true.”
Marc parked in an area designated for visitors. From the looks of the other trucks, his Ford model had the traits of an ugly stepchild. “We’ll see what Craig Holcombe has to say. The senator took him in as a favor to an old friend who later died from cancer.”
“Yep. Background disclosed Holcombe has a record from his younger days, drinking and fighting. Stole a car at seventeen. The senator cleaned him up. Now he’s the senator’s right-hand man.”
“My guess is he’s as loyal as the bloodhound running around here.”
The two exited the truck and shrugged off their suit jackets in the heat. They walked to the office door, the hound sniffing at their heels and wagging his tail. The sights, sounds, and smells of a working ranch filled Marc’s longing for a vacation. Hadn’t taken one in five years. Must have been real hard for Avery to leave this behind, except for the fear.
Within a few feet from the truck to the office, sweat beaded on Marc’s forehead, and Roden swiped at his face. A handwritten note on the office door stated the office was closed and gave a number to call. Marc obliged and introduced himself and Roden.
“Agent Wilkins, this is Craig Holcombe. I’m in the far stable at the right if you’d like to join me. You could take the golf cart parked there by the office—the key is in it. Or I’ll be with you in a few.” The man sounded friendly. A good sign.
Marc and Roden chose the stable route on foot. A man talked more when he stood in familiar territory.
Inside the stable, air-conditioning offered a cool change of temps. Working at the Brazos River Ranch had its perks. Marc noted the polished wood and metal stalls, stamped concrete floors, and impeccable equipment.
“Higher dollar than my apartment,” Marc said. “Even the scent of horses is less than what I imagined.”
“Air purification,” Roden said. “But horse smells better than nail polish.”
A thirtysomething man approached them. His dark hair and blue-green eyes matched the pic they’d seen online of Craig Holcombe. He held out his hand to each agent and greeted them. “I figure you’re here about the senator and his granddaughter’s disappearance. I’m not lying—we’re worried about them. And I can’t tell you if they’re in the same place. Told the Army investigators the same thing.”
“Can we talk privately?” Marc said.
“Sure. My office is here in the stables.” He turned to three men working with an active, reddish stallion. “Go ahead and bridle ’im. Get ’im used to a lead in the arena. Nice and slow. Avery’s been working him, and he responds well to her touch.” The stallion snorted and reared. “Zoom, can’t you pretend one of us is Avery?”
“Beautiful animal,” Marc said.
“Thanks. He certainly has a mind of his own. Runs like a streak of lightning.”
Roden took a few steps closer to the stallion. “Is he broken?”
“Avery’s ridden him a few times. He’s a handful, but she manages.”Holcombe smiled. “She has a gift when it comes to horses. She should patent her technique.”
Admiration for Avery and her horsemanship sent Marc’s pulse racing, one more positive for her.
