Chapter 27
Bradshaw glanced toward the paper with a confused expression. Kir had no way to know if it was genuine or not.
“What is that?” the pastor asked.
“The note my father left with you,” Kir said.
“Oh, I remember.” Bradshaw glanced back at Kir. “What does it have to do with the killer?”
“I’m not sure, beyond the fact that it’s a list of initials that correspond to the victims.”
“You . . .” The pastor’s mouth hung open, as if he couldn’t form the words. “Is that a joke?” he eventually demanded.
“See for yourself.” Kir unfolded the paper and turned it so Bradshaw could see the column of initials. “Sherry Higgins. Randi Decker. Madeline Decker. Nash Cordon.” He pointed toward the bottom line. “I’m worried that the last initials refer to Dr. Lynne Gale.”
The color leached from Bradshaw’s face. “Did your father write this?”
“No.”
“Then where did he get it?”
Kir’s lips twisted. If he had that answer, he wouldn’t be standing in this church digging for information. “I’m assuming he got it from the killer.”
“He sent it to him?”
Kir heaved a harsh sigh. “Perhaps. After my father’s death I discovered someone had broken into his house to steal the letters.” He waved the paper. “It’s possible the killer was trying to get this back.”
Bradshaw frowned. It didn’t take a genius to realize that Kir had more questions than answers. “Why send it if he didn’t want your father to have it?”
“Cold feet, maybe? Perhaps my father started to put clues together and it spooked the killer.” Kir shrugged. The explanation didn’t feel right. His father had told him the letters he was receiving were filled with gruesome desires. As if the person writing them was wallowing in his self-indulgent fantasies. Why suddenly send a boring list of initials? Kir made a sound of impatience. “Or maybe he found the list,” he continued. “Whatever happened, I think my father was desperate to keep it out of the hands of the killer. That’s why he gave it to you for safekeeping.”
“Why me? Why not the sheriff?”
That one was easy to answer. “Because the sheriff didn’t believe him.”
Bradshaw didn’t look convinced of Kir’s logic. “Surely he had friends he could trust?”
Kir considered the people who’d been a part of his father’s life toward the end. Rita. Perhaps a couple other drinking buddies. Certainly no one who could be depended on to keep their lips shut. Plus, Rudolf was still a sheriff at heart. He would never put one of his buddies in danger.
“I’m still trying to work it out in my mind,” he vaguely told the pastor. “Which is why I need your help.”
“Okay.” Bradshaw nodded, although there was no missing his hesitation. The pastor didn’t really want to get involved, and Kir couldn’t blame him. There was a killer on the loose. And if Kir was right, then both his father and Rita had been murdered when they’d gotten too close. “I’ll do what I can,” the pastor offered.
“Tell me what happened the day my father gave you the note.”
Bradshaw furrowed his brow. “It’s hard to remember exactly.”
“You told me after the funeral that you were arriving at the church when my dad stopped by.”
“Yes.” The pastor slowly nodded. “I was unlocking the front door when he pulled into the parking lot and waved his arm to catch my attention.”
“Then what?”
“He climbed the steps and introduced himself. We chatted for a few minutes and then I asked him to come inside. He refused.”
“That’s when he asked you to speak at his funeral?”
Bradshaw nodded. “I was surprised since he didn’t attend my church, but he insisted.”
“Did he act like he’d been drinking?”
Bradshaw looked shocked by the question. “No. I would never have let him get back in his truck if I thought he was drunk.”
Kir nodded. His father had many faults, but as far as Kir knew he’d never gotten behind the wheel when he was inebriated.
So what had been in the older man’s head that caused him to worry about his funeral? Did he have a premonition? No. Kir shook his head. His father didn’t believe in anything remotely mystical. He was a lawman who dealt in hard facts. Which meant he must have realized he’d done something to alarm the killer.
“Was he nervous?” Kir asked the pastor. “Afraid?”
“He said he was tired.”
“Tired?” Kir frowned. Did Rudolf mean he hadn’t slept well? Or that something was weighing on him?
“I thought perhaps he was sick, but he denied it,” Bradshaw retorted. “I think he even said he was as healthy as a horse. That’s why I was afraid he might have deliberately fallen down the stairs when I heard about his death.”
It took Kir a second to realize what the man was implying. “Suicide?”
“I don’t judge.”
Kir snorted. “Rudolf might have been willing to drink himself into an early grave, but he would never have deliberately broken his own neck,” he said in firm tones. Even when Rudolf was at his lowest point, he’d never been suicidal. He would have considered it the easy way out. “Someone else ensured that he fell down those stairs.”
“Someone else?” Bradshaw repeated. “Are you saying he was murdered?”
“I think it’s possible.” Kir paused, allowing the pastor to consider the possibility. Then he turned the attention back to the past. “What else did my father say to you?”
Bradshaw’s fingers nervously tugged on the sleeves of his sweater, his face pale. “I really don’t remember.”
Kir narrowed his eyes. Was the man being honest? Or was he being deliberately evasive? Hell, it was possible his father had never come to the church at all. Kir only had Bradshaw’s word, which he’d already proven was less than dependable.
Kir grimaced. What choice did he have but to accept the man was telling the truth? At least until he could prove he was lying. “He gave you the note, right?”
“Yes.” Bradshaw continued to fidget with his sweater. A fine layer of sweat covered his face. “He’d asked me to arrange his funeral and I told him he needed to make an appointment so we could discuss the details. He promised he would call.” He glanced away, seemingly shaken by the thought that Rudolf had been killed. “I remember that he stepped closer to me to hand me the note and he lowered his voice as if he was afraid someone might overhear him when he asked me to keep it until after the funeral. In fact, he made me swear I wouldn’t let anyone see it except his son.”
“You didn’t think that was odd?”
“I’ve had a lot of odd requests over the years. One elderly lady insisted that I be in the room when the undertaker prepared her body, and another asked me to speak at her cat’s funeral. Last year a man insisted his funeral service be nothing but Beatles lyrics,” the pastor nervously babbled. “As I said, I don’t judge.”
Kir bit back a curse of impatience. “So what did you do with the note?”
“I placed it in a folder and locked it in my filing cabinet.”
“You didn’t look at it?”
“Certainly not.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone that my father gave it to you?”
Bradshaw stiffened, his face hard with unmistakable indignation. “My meetings with my parishioners, regardless if they attend my church or not, are sacred,” he rasped. “I would never compromise their privacy.”
Kir nodded, ignoring the man’s outrage. He was forming a theory of why Rudolf had chosen to leave the note with Pastor Ron Bradshaw. “My father would probably have known that,” he spoke his thoughts out loud.
“What?”
“If my father was trying to find a place to hide the list, it would make sense to choose a person who had no connection to him, and someone who could also keep it secret until they could give it to me,” he explained. “Who better than a man of the cl
oth?”
Bradshaw looked skeptical. “Why not send it to you directly?”
Kir’s lips parted to say he didn’t know why, but then he snapped them shut with a grimace. He did know why his father hadn’t sent the letters to him. He just didn’t want to admit the truth.
With an effort, he swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. “Because he didn’t trust me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
Kir smiled wryly at the pastor’s shocked expression. “It is, unfortunately. I was just as bad as the sheriff. For years I ignored his claims that he was receiving letters from a killer. If he’d sent me the list, I probably would have thrown it in the trash. But after he died . . .” He shook his head, familiar regret weighing heavy on his heart. “Everything that belonged to him was suddenly important.”
Bradshaw seemed to consider Kir’s words before giving a shake of his head. “That doesn’t explain why he would have chosen me. There are six other churches in this town. Most of them much larger than mine.”
Kir didn’t have a ready answer. There were certainly churches closer to his dad’s house. And there wasn’t a bar within blocks, so it seemed unlikely he would have spent a lot of time in the area. Of course, the road that ran past the church was the access road heading to the nearby highway.
“Maybe he was driving by and happened to see you,” he absently suggested.
Bradshaw made an odd sound. As if he was choking. “Yes, that’s right!”
Kir sent the younger man a startled glance. “What is right?”
“You just reminded me that when your father first walked up to me, he looked uncomfortable, as if he didn’t know how to start the conversation,” the pastor said. “It’s something I’m accustomed to, so I happened to notice his boots were covered in snow and I asked if he needed any help shoveling his driveway. There are several young men in my congregation who are always looking to make some extra money.” He paused, as if waiting for Kir to commend his consideration toward his flock. When Kir sent him an impatient glare, he flushed and continued. “Your father said he hadn’t been shoveling snow, he’d been out fishing that morning. I happen to be an avid angler myself, so we spent several minutes chatting about a new pole he’d gotten from his son for Christmas.”
Kir hissed as the words hit him like a physical blow. When he’d bought the pole for his dad, he’d intended to fly home for Christmas and give it to the older man in person. Instead he’d gotten caught up in being wined and dined by the corporation that was hoping to buy his business, and he’d wrapped up the gift and sent it through the mail.
When had he become such a selfish prick?
“Yeah. He’d been talking about it for years, but he refused to spend the money to get it,” Kir said, his voice thick with regret.
Bradshaw glanced away, as if giving Kir a sense of privacy. “Anyway, I asked if he’d been to the lake and he said no, that he had his own slice of heaven where he liked to fish.”
Kir grimly forced himself to focus on what the man was telling him. The only way he could make amends to his father now was by catching his killer. And keeping Lynne alive. “The road in front of the church would lead to my grandparents’ old farm,” he conceded.
Bradshaw shrugged. “I don’t know if that helps or not.”
“Me either.” Impatience crawled through Kir like a living force. He needed answers, but he didn’t know where to look. Hell, he didn’t even know what questions he needed to ask. “Is there anything else you can remember?”
Bradshaw shook his head. “No.”
“Thanks for your time.” Retracing his steps, Kir was pulling open the door when Bradshaw spoke.
“You should let the authorities deal with this.”
“Not as long as Lynne is in danger.”
“Have you heard the proverb that ‘a prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself: but the simple pass on, and are punished’?”
Kir glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll face down the devil himself if I have to.”
Chapter 28
Lynne shoved aside her half-eaten sandwich and reached for her phone. Nothing. She tossed it back on her desk with a grimace.
She’d texted Kir twenty minutes ago but he hadn’t responded. It shouldn’t be a big deal. He could be busy with the official files. Or eating lunch. Or driving. Or . . . Or a hundred other things. It wasn’t like she instantly responded to texts. Not unless it was an emergency.
Still, his silence was starting to wear on her nerves.
She was impatiently drumming her fingers on her desk when Bernadine stuck her head through the open doorway with a questioning expression.
“Well?”
“I haven’t heard back yet.”
Easily sensing Lynne’s seething concern, Bernadine stepped into the office and pasted on a reassuring smile. “If he discovers anything, I’m sure he’ll call,” she assured Lynne.
“Maybe.”
“If you’re worried, we can go find him,” Bernadine suggested. “You don’t have any appointments this afternoon.”
Lynne shook her head. It’d only been a few hours. It was likely he was still at the sheriff’s office. She had enough worries without fretting every time Kir was out of sight. “No. I have to go to the sanctuary to film the ‘Pets’ Corner.’”
Bernadine looked confused. “I thought that was on Friday nights.”
“That’s when it airs, but we always film on Wednesday afternoon.”
Reluctantly Lynne rose to her feet. She wasn’t in the mood to parade around dogs and cats and even goats for the camera, but the weekly segment had allowed her to rehome over a dozen animals. She wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to have a new episode of “Pets’ Corner” for the Friday night news.
“How long does it take?”
Lynne pulled her purse out of her desk drawer and grabbed her phone. “No more than an hour.”
“If you haven’t heard from Kir by the time you’re finished, we’ll go and find him,” Bernadine said in decisive tones.
“There’s no we.”
“You’re not leaving this clinic without me.”
Lynne frowned, confused by the older woman’s tenacious insistence. “But I need you here.”
“You have interns who can handle things for a couple hours.”
“Bernadine—”
“I promised Kir I wouldn’t let you run around without someone with you,” Bernadine interrupted.
Lynne was caught off guard. She had no idea Kir and her receptionist had been scheming behind her back. “When?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Bernadine’s expression had never been more stubborn. “I intend to keep my promise.”
Lynne sighed. “You’re going to insist on this, aren’t you?”
“You betcha.”
“Fine. Get your coat.”
It took a few minutes to get bundled up and to discuss the schedule for the afternoon with her interns. Then, helping Bernadine climb into her truck, Lynne drove to the sanctuary, parking between the old farmhouse and the large barn that had been converted into kennels.
“Oh my. I haven’t been here since you had your open house.” Bernadine took a slow survey of the long, L-shaped stables and huge paddock that held a dozen horses and several mules, along with a couple llamas. In the attics of the stables Lynne had created a heated aviary. “I had no idea it’d gotten so big.”
Lynne sighed. “I’m afraid it’s getting out of hand. When I opened the sanctuary I was thinking about a few stray dogs and cats, but so many people in the area are struggling.” She shook her head in resignation. It was hard enough for families to care for their children during these hard times, let alone feed their pets or livestock. Still, she couldn’t keep accepting more animals if she couldn’t keep them properly sheltered. “I’m going to have to start thinking about cutting back or find the funding to hire more employees.” Switching off the engine, Lynne glanced around. “Parker must be running late.”
It wasn’t unusual. The ambitious reporter worked even more hours than Lynne.
Bernadine’s gaze moved toward the old, weathered house. “Do Grady and Monica still live here?”
“Yep. They’ve been great, but once they’re done with their degrees I can’t imagine they’ll want to stay.” Lynne reached over the back of the bucket seat to grab her medical bag. “Yet another problem to be solved.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Lynne smiled wryly at the woman’s confident tone. “I’m glad one of us thinks so.”
Bernadine turned back to face Lynne. “Your father was a beloved part of this community.”
Lynne blinked, not sure where the older woman was going with the conversation. “Yes, I know.”
“He was everyone’s friend and he volunteered for every community event,” Bernadine continued.
A wistful sadness settled in Lynne’s heart. Although she was happy to know that her father was happily retired in Florida, she missed him every single day. “I’m still amazed by his energy,” she murmured. “I’ll never be able to live up to his reputation.”
Bernadine clicked her tongue. “You’ve already surpassed him, my dear.”
“That’s kind, but not true.”
“It is true,” the receptionist insisted. “There were many folk worried when your father retired. They thought it would be too much for such a young woman to handle, but you’ve proven you’re just as good a vet as your father. Maybe better.”
Lynne felt her cheeks warm with pleasure. She’d been equally worried. It was one thing to dream of being a vet and another to take on a clinic that had hundreds of clients.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Lynne told her companion.
“Your phone wouldn’t be ringing off the hook if the citizens of Pike didn’t think you were the best vet around,” Bernadine told her. “They have too much invested in their livestock to take any risks.”
Lynne didn’t try to argue. It would be false modesty to claim the clinic wasn’t flourishing under her care. But she was honest enough to admit that she would never be capable of replacing her father. “I still don’t have Dad’s ability to mix with the community,” she reminded Bernadine.
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