All the Beautiful Brides by Rita Herron Read Free Book Online

to her.
    Nothing to indicate she lived with a man.
    The desk in the living room held a laptop, which he’d have to send to the lab for further study. He also found books on computer programming, brochures on the grad school programs at various colleges, and a ticket stub to a movie at the local theater. One ticket, not two.
    He searched for notes regarding wedding planning, a copy of an invitation, tickets for a honeymoon, but found nothing. He glanced at the day calendar on the desk, but all he saw noted were dates when school projects were due.
    A picture of Gwyneth and a woman he assumed was her mother sat on the mantel. In the photograph, Gwyneth’s hair was long, not chopped off above her shoulders.
    Odd. If she had been involved with a man, why no pictures of the two of them?
    Maybe they were all stored on her phone or computer.
    He checked the bathroom cabinet but found no second toothbrush or male toiletries. No shaving kit.
    The bed was made, the pillow on the right side flat as if it had been slept on, while the left one was still plump.
    Maybe she was an anomaly and the boyfriend didn’t stay over. Or maybe they spent the night at his place.
    He glanced in the closet, frowning at the bare interior. A few pairs of jeans and shirts, tennis shoes, and boots.
    Gwyneth was either not into shopping, had little money for frivolities, or . . . she’d moved some of her things to the place she and her fiancé planned to share. Hell, maybe they’d bought a house.
    Hopefully the girl’s mother would know.
    He sat down at the desk, opened the laptop, and scanned Gwyneth’s browser history. Mostly research sites for a paper she was writing. She had a Facebook account, but there were few posts, again mostly about school projects.
    She did have several male friends, including a couple of men who’d suggested meeting up in a bar, both seeking a long-term relationship.
    He made a note to have Peyton check out the names and find out where the guys lived so he could question them. Maybe one of them had become interested and had killed her because she’d chosen another man over him.
    But there were no pictures of her and her lover in her Facebook profile. No posts about a wedding date or plans.
    Now that was odd.
    He skimmed emails and found several to a girl named Rosalyn, but they were comments about school, meeting for coffee, and a bar date at Blues and Brews.
    Same bar as the men who’d Facebooked her had suggested.
    He made a note to talk to Rosalyn.
    His cell phone buzzed, and he pressed Answer. “Agent Coulter.”
    “It’s Deputy Kimball. I’m at Gwyneth Toyton’s mother’s house. You need to get over here now.”

    He carried Constance into the cabin, hating that he’d had to subdue her. But she’d looked as if she might run, and he couldn’t let her leave him.
    They were soul mates.
    Or at least he’d thought they were when he’d seen her smiling at him over those books on children.
    The tests would tell, though, if she would be the one.
    He brushed snow from her hair as he laid her on the sofa by the fire. Mama sat hunched in her wheelchair watching him, the afghan over her legs slipping slightly.
    He hurried to tug the blanket around her legs—Mama did get so cold. The circulation in her legs had gone downhill fast with the sugar, and she was always freezing. He poked the fire to stir it up again, then set the poker on the hearth.
    Constance lay like an angel on the sofa, her long hair spilling across her shoulders, her lips parted slightly in sleep.
    “What do you think, Mama?” he asked. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
    “She’s pretty, all right,” his mama said. “Where did you meet her?”
    “In the library.” He didn’t tell her he’d actually found her online. Mama didn’t know everything he did in his spare time.
    He lifted Constance’s hand in his. Her skin felt cold to the touch, and her face was pale now, her hair tangled from the wind.
    An image of her holding that blood-red rose