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“How’s that?” Forrest asked. “Seems like I already have been, and then you left to work for the sheriff upstate. Now you’re back, and the case is moving again.” She shrugged.
“I brought in Reuben Merrington to talk to your lawyer.”
Fire flashed in Forrest’s gaze. “Why?”
“I’m thinking you know why.”
The writer looked aside. Another shrug.
“You’ll go to jail just so his father doesn’t find out he wants to be a writer? His dad already knows about the stories.”
“Does he? He could be one, you know. He’s got some serious talent.”
“My father managed it without a whole lot of skill.” Kenna stepped closer to the bars and tucked her thumbs in her pants pockets. “But I don’t actually know if he wants to be a writer. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he wants to journal and be a farmer, but he can do that still…after he’s done writing out his statement corroborating the one you’re going to give. He’s going to help you fight this.”
“His idea, or yours?”
“It should beyouridea,” Kenna argued, “to not go to jail for a murder you didn’t commit because you were nowhere near the diner when Bruce collapsed.”
Destain shifted in his chair. The guy might be looking at his phone, but he was also listening to every word they were saying to each other. Maybe he was currently running a web search on Forrest Crosby, looking up who she was and the book she had published. Articles about the accident, and more recent ones about her arrest.
Forrest let out a loud sigh.
Shoes clipped the floor behind Kenna, and she turned to face Lucas, who striding toward her. He lifted his chin, then to Forrest said, “I’m going to meet with the judge and thedistrict attorney assigned to your case. The state police are refusing to return my calls, so the sheriff will log the statement the boy gave me, and I’ll get the DA to drop the charges.”
“That’s great,” Forrest said. A knot in Kenna’s stomach eased.
“The state police can go jump off a bridge,” Kenna muttered.
Forrest’s brows rose.
Lucas waved a hand. “My father says that a lot. I guess I’ve picked it up.” He held his hand out to Kenna. “Thank you for bringing that young man here.”
She shook hands with him. “I’m glad I could help.”
Inside the cell, Forrest sat on the cot.
Lucas didn’t leave.
Kenna looked over and spotted his attention on her. “Help you?”
“No one else dies,” he said. “Got it?”
She lifted both hands. As if she had control over that? Why did people think she could have such an effect on what was meant to be? She’d learned the long hard lesson that she had no control, and what she did have she needed to give to God so He could be in control. Otherwise, she was only wrestling with Him the whole time.
Resting her forearms on the bars, Kenna looked at her friend again. Forrest would be out soon. This inaction would go back to not putting her freedom at risk. Forrest could retreat back into her house and go back to working on her book. “You should get a dog.”
But something had triggered all this. More than Kenna being here, or the pastor leaving that note on the door. There had to have been a moment or event to kick it all off.
Forrest was going to have to face that if she wanted this to beover.
“Even if you’re released,” Kenna added, “you could still be at risk.”
Forrest glanced over. “No one has tried to kill me.”
From her expression, it almost seemed like Forrest had been expecting that. But why would someone frame her for murder just to kill her in a jail cell. Sure, they might want to get rid of her. That could’ve been solved by killing her not Pastor Bruce. Not framing her and killing her as well later.
Seemed like an overly elaborate plan.