Don't Look (Pike, Wisconsin #1) - Alexandra Ivy Page 0,108

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.”