the end of the hallway where he could glimpse the sparse congregation dotted around the pews. Far from a full house, but that didn’t seem to dim the pastor’s enthusiasm.
Reaching the last door, he pushed it open and slipped inside. He smiled with satisfaction as he realized he’d located the office.
It was a cramped room lined with bookcases and a wooden desk loaded with stacks of papers along with a laptop computer. It looked as if the pastor spent more time in this office than he did in his house.
Hopeful he could find something that would connect him to the dead women, Kir did a quick search of the shelves. Nothing. The books were all theological, with a few historical biographies. Next he moved to the desk. Again he came up empty. The papers were all official correspondences for the church or the various charities that Pastor Bradshaw had started. Kir even pulled out the list the pastor had given him to try and compare the handwriting. It didn’t look the same, but he wasn’t an expert.
Frustrated with the feeling that he was stumbling through the dark even as the killer was creeping closer and closer to Lynne, Kir left the office. He intended to slip out of the church before the service ended, but he’d barely taken a step down the hallway when the door to the bathroom opened and a middle-aged woman was suddenly standing directly in front of him.
She pressed a hand to the center of her chest, as if she was as surprised as he was by the unexpected encounter.
“Can I help you?” she at last demanded, a hint of authority in her voice. Did she work for the church? Then her eyes widened. “Kir?”
Kir frowned, taking in the woman’s thin face that was lined with wrinkles and the dark hair sprinkled with silver that was pulled into a knot on top of her head. She was wearing a pink pantsuit with a frilly white top and low, sensible shoes. She looked vaguely familiar.
“Ms. Lockhart,” he murmured, finally placing the face with a name.
When he’d been young, she and her husband had run a corner grocery store. She’d always had a stash of candy beneath the counter she would hand out to kids when they came in. Her habit had made her a local favorite, at least until her husband had died and the store had closed.
He hadn’t known what had happened to her after that, although there were shadows beneath her eyes and a droop to her shoulders that indicated life hadn’t been entirely kind.
“I haven’t seen you forever.” She studied him with genuine interest. “Are you still in Boston?”
“Yes. I’m just home for Dad’s funeral.”
“Oh, I heard.” She clicked her tongue. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.”
She glanced over his shoulder where the choir was performing the farewell song as the congregation rose to their feet. “Are you here for the service?”
Kir smiled, realizing this woman might be able to answer some questions for him. “I actually wanted to see Pastor Bradshaw. He spoke at Dad’s funeral.”
“Did he?” The older woman looked surprised. “I don’t remember Rudolf attending this church.”
“He didn’t.”
“Ah well, it wouldn’t matter to Ron.” Ms. Lockhart’s expression softening with an unmistakable fondness for the pastor. “He loves everyone.”
“Everyone?”
“Yes.” Her hand moved to touch the pearl necklace nestled against the lacy shirt. “We’re so fortunate to have him in Pike. He’s not only revived this church, but he’s become a vital member of this community.”
“So I heard. He started a charity shop in the old bowling alley, didn’t he?”
She nodded. “Not only that, he also sponsors the T-ball team during the summer, and volunteers at the nursing home.”
He sounded like a saint. Kir never trusted saints. They were usually the most corrupt people around. “What about supporting local businesses?” he inquired.
Ms. Lockhart blinked, as if confused by the question. “I suppose he does.”
“Especially the local flower shop.”
There was a short silence before the woman sucked in a shocked gasp. “Kir Jansen, you of all people know better than to spread malicious gossip,” she chided.
He refused to back down. “You know people whispered about his interest in Randi, don’t you?”
“So what if Ron enjoys flirting with pretty women? He might be a servant of God, but he’s still a man. Show me one who isn’t attracted to flashy baubles. It’s harmless.” She sniffed, obviously willing to turn a blind eye to the pastor’s flirtatious habits.
Kir wasn’t as forgiving. “You’re certain he’s harmless?”
“Yes, I