Don't Look (Pike, Wisconsin #1) - Alexandra Ivy Page 0,42

office, and a dozen other places in town. It was because Pastor Bradshaw ran the charity. “You can’t believe he’s a suspect?”

“Why not? I only have his word that my father asked him to speak at the funeral or to give me the mysterious note.”

“But—” Lynne cut off her protest. She better than anyone knew that the most devoted, seemingly kind people could hide a dark side. She’d seen the evidence in the animals they brought to her clinic. She never let herself be fooled by the façade they showed the world. This was no different. Anyone could pretend to be godly. Still, it didn’t make sense that Ron was the killer. “If he was involved in the murders, why would he give you the note?”

“I’m not sure a lunatic has a reasonable explanation for the things he does.” Kir’s jaw tightened. “But my guess is that he wanted to include me in his sick game now that my dad is dead.”

Lynne’s mouth went dry. Was it possible? Could the killer now be fixated on Kir?

“Oh God. That’s an awful thought,” she breathed.

“And nothing more than a wild theory. I have no idea how to discover if the good pastor is involved or not.”

Lynne’s hands clenched in her lap. She wanted to reach over and give the man a good shake. Or maybe a kiss. Wait, no. A good shaking. “It’s not your job to discover if he’s involved.”

“Maybe not, but I can’t ignore the fact that the women of Pike are being murdered.”

She frowned. Kir was stubborn—almost as stubborn as she was—but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t deliberately put himself in danger unless. . . Oh.

“You’re doing this because you feel guilty,” she accused.

“Excuse me?”

“You think you should have believed your father when he warned you about a killer in Pike.”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. “It’s more than that.” He slowed to a mere crawl as they passed the local park where kids were playing in the thick layer of snow. It wasn’t unusual for someone to lose control of their sled and end up in the street. “It’s almost as if he’s whispering in my ear, urging me to stop the madness.”

Lynne shivered. She was a scientist at heart. She believed in hard facts, not mystic fantasies. But she couldn’t deny the tendrils of dread creeping down her spine, as if there was something or someone trying to warn her of danger.

Was it Rudolf Jansen’s spirit?

She shook her head, refusing to let her imagination run wild. “I knew your father, Kir, and the last thing he would want is for you to put yourself in danger.”

“Where do you want to eat breakfast?” he asked, changing the conversation rather than admitting she was right. “There’s not much choice when it comes to restaurants in Pike. I can cook if you want.”

Lynne swallowed a sigh. It was a waste of energy to try and convince Kir to give up his determination to hunt down the killer.

“Let’s have it at my house,” she said. “It’s my turn to cook.”

“It’s your day off,” he protested. “Besides . . .”

“Yes?”

“Ah.” He tried to look innocent. “Nothing.”

Lynne narrowed her eyes. “Are you scared of my cooking?”

His lips twitched. “I’m sure you have many fine skills, but is cooking one of them?”

She rolled her eyes as he allowed his words to trail away. “I might not have your magical talents in a kitchen, but I can pour out some cereal and toast a few slices of bread.”

Kir’s tension seemed to ease as he turned onto the street that led to the small, ranch-style house that Lynne had called home from the day she was born.

After pulling behind her battered truck, he switched off the engine and they climbed out of the SUV. “It seems strange to think of this place without your father.”

“I still expect him to walk through the door and call out my name,” she admitted as they entered the house. They shed their heavy coats and wiped the snow from their boots before she led Kir toward the kitchen. “I’m happy he’s enjoying his life in Florida, but it gets lonely without him.”

“You could always get a roommate,” he suggested.

Lynne shuddered at the mere thought. “I’d be a horrible landlord.”

“Why?”

“My hours are crazy, I foster sick animals, and I walk out of the house with the oven on or the door wide open when I’m preoccupied.” She moved to the fridge to pull out the