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“Office.”
Kenna strode in, ignoring the fact she normally stayed by the door, and flopped down on the armchair that was Forrest’s “thinking” chair. She wouldn’t be here long enough towarrant taking off her Converse. It took too long to lace them back up.
Because after telling nearly everyone she wouldn’t be going up to see the police unearth all the bodies, Kenna planned to get a look after the fact. Just to be sure they found them all.
Forrest stared at the papers pinned up all over the walls. Her desk had nothing but a laptop on it. Cluttered mind, clear surfaces. Kenna liked that about her—including the way she almost obsessively cleaned. She loved to tidy and wipe things down. Forrest had told her that the rote movements helped her think through problems. And procrastinate when she didn’t want to do something.
Kenna had never seen Forrest work out, and she was on the slender side. She probably should eat more protein. Then again, when they hung out, they ordered pizza. So it wasn’t like Forrest never ate. Life was about balance. And not being miserable or feeling guilty for enjoying something.
Forrest tipped her chin. “Looks like they’ll be pulling out bodies soon.”
Another civilian with one eye on the police department. Usually it wasn’t more than interest. Unless it turned into a problem.
“You have that app as well?” Kenna asked.
“Of course,” Forrest said. “It gives me ideas.”
“Part of me thinks she was lying. That she might’ve given up the information a little too easily.”
“Maybe it was a lie, and she wants to keep giving y’all the runaround so she can be in control.” Forrest glanced over, then looked back at her wall.
“She has more leverage before they find the bodies. After that, her fate is pretty muchsealed.”
“Maybe she wants it to be over,” Forrest said. “She’s been caught.”
Kenna had met plenty of killers who lost the will to fight the moment their power was stripped away and they were put behind bars. “Maybe we should talk about that note.”
“Leave me to my misery.” Forrest shook her head. “Your dad said that to me. Pretty sure it was just about how to finish the chapter he’d been trying to write.” She glanced over, the tiniest of smiles on her face. “I don’t want to talk about it, drag it up, or think about it. I just want to do my work.”
And that might be the whole reason for leaving that note. As a way to stop Forrest from writing the book. Would she figure out the identity of the killer before she was done? Someone out there might be worried she already had.
“I know how it feels to have the past dredged up again,” Kenna said. “And you know nothing will bring them back.” Kenna had lost the man she loved and the child they would’ve had together.
“I read everything about you, so I know what happened,” Forrest said softly. “After your assistant sent the application, I dug up all the information I could find. I don’t need help, Kenna. I’m not a danger to myself or anyone, and I don’t need a boyfriend…as much as Charlayne thinks that will fix things.”
Kenna rolled her eyes.
“Agreed.”
“What about church tomorrow?” Kenna asked.
“We’ll see.”
That might be about as much enthusiasm as she was going to get. Kenna stood up and headed for the door. “I’m gonna get something to eat, then swing by the site and see how it’s going.”
She was at the door when Forrest said, “You know, if you ever want your story told, I could write it for you.”
Kenna glanced back at her. “Who would want to read a book about me?”
An hour later, she pulled over on the highway, behind a red compact and a white SUV with the sheriff’s department decal on the side. Both were empty, so she followed dirt road. Probably fire access to this area of dense trees. Not well-known, so Marion had chosen it because few people came this way. Maybe a few hunters in season. Hikers. People with their off-road vehicles. Dog walkers.
Killers.
Kenna found the Backforth Trail and followed it, looking for an oak. She found a clearing with a lone tree in the center. Where was everyone…or anyone at all?
Kenna took a deep breath and called out, “Hello?” as loudly as she could.
A dog ran into view, wearing a vest. The dog barked at her and lifted its front paws off the ground as he did it a second and third time. This was the working dog.