he eyed Kir. “Not again.”
“The proverbial bad penny,” Kir quipped. “Was that Chelsea Gallen I just saw leaving?”
The pastor clenched his teeth. He clearly wanted to tell Kir to go to hell, but he bit back his words. Was he afraid Kir might reveal his secret connection to Randi Decker? Probably.
“She stopped by to ask if she could speak at Nash’s funeral.” Something that might have been genuine sympathy darkened his eyes. “Unfortunately, I had to tell her that it would be up to his mother to decide who would be allowed to have a part in the service.”
Kir arched a brow. “You’re officiating Nash’s funeral?”
Bradshaw looked at Kir in surprise. “He was a member of my flock, even if he didn’t attend as regularly as his mother might have wanted.” He smoothed his hands down his chunky sweater. “In fact, I’m preparing my sermon now. So, if you don’t mind. . .”
Kir folded his arms over his chest. He wasn’t going anywhere until he had the answers he wanted. “I have a few questions.”
The pastor rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”
“These questions aren’t personal. These are about my father.”
“What about him?”
“I want to know what happened the day the two of you met.”
“I already told you. And as I said, I have work to do.”
“This is important, Bradshaw,” Kir snapped as the man waved a dismissive hand.
Bradshaw stiffened with a defensive anger. “So is my sermon.”
Kir ground his teeth. He didn’t want to bully the man into answering. Not this time. What he needed wasn’t a confession, but a detailed account of exactly what Rudolf Jansen had told him on that fateful day. He was only going to get that if he could convince the man that he wasn’t his enemy.
“I’m sorry,” he forced himself to apologize, his tone strained. “I need your help.” He held Bradshaw’s gaze. “Please.”
A portion of the man’s stiffness eased. “Why?”
Kir considered how much he wanted to reveal. Right now, the only person in Pike he trusted was Lynne. Everyone else remained suspects. “I think the day my dad came to this church he’d discovered something about the killer,” he told the pastor.
Bradshaw looked confused. “That was before any of those poor souls were murdered.”
“I know, but I think the killer was already in Pike.”
The man arched his brows, as if considering the possibility. “You know, I recently heard rumors that your father claimed to be getting letters from a crazed lunatic before his death.”
“Yes, he was,” Kir said in firm tones. “I’m assuming they must have given him some clue to the identity of the person sending him the letters.”
There was a short pause before the pastor asked the obvious question. “Did he tell you who it was?”
“Not in so many words.” Kir reached into the pocket of his leather coat to remove the list, holding it in front of Bradshaw’s face. “He left the answer with you.”
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