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“That’s pretty new.” She explained a little about what had happened in her heart the past few months. “But not why I’m in Wisconsin.”
“So you did come here to solve this case?”
She nodded. “I’m glad I could help.”
Bruce shook his head. “Seems like they’d never have been found if you didn’t come here.”
“We all have our callings. This is mine.” She figured she would ask the pertinent question since she was here. “Do you have any reason to believe Forrest Crosby’s family were murdered? The police assume they were killed due to an accident, but perhaps it wasn’t as it appears to be.”
“Don’t pull any punches, do you?” He nearly smiled, but this guy was the kind of man who’d learned early how to school his features.
“You’ve been around this area a while.” Longer than they’d been buried, at least. “Have you heard anything you’d consider credible about their deaths?”
Bruce shifted in his chair. “If I had, there would be a problem telling you. There’s an assumption of confidentiality in counseling appointments.”
“Unless that person committed a crime, in which case you’re legally obligated to report the crime, or you become an accessory.”
His brows rose. “Guess you feel strongly about that.”
“You have no idea.” As long as the pastor hadn’t knowingly been an accessory to a crime. She was horrified by the idea of church leaders counseling a person and allowing someone to continue to be victimized when they should be removed from a situation for their own safety.
One of the things that her innate need for black-and-white justice had to let go of, so she could find some of that hope. So she could believe God would sort it all out.
All she could do was trust He had it.
“So you can’t tell me anything.” She stood since there was no point in staying if he could only hedge. Maybe he felt as powerless as she did when she heard about people being hurt, but Kenna didn’t need another best friend.
“How about you call if you have any more questions, and I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”
She eyed him while he wrote something on a small piece of paper. “I don’t?—”
“Here.” He held it up.
For the sake of not arguing, Kenna grabbed it. “Thanks.” She didn’t say,See you later.
On the way out, through the sanctuary, she looked at the note. There was a trash can by the door, and she could simply drop it in rather than make more contacts in this town that would be connections tying her to this place.
She blinked, staring at the paper. The circle hole at the top, that had been ripped free of what held it. The handwriting. The note read,
Nice to meet you.
Followed by a number that was way too many digits to be his phone, even with the area code.
“What?” The quiet question dissipated fast in the empty room.
Kenna turned back to the door across the sanctuary. His note had the same handwriting as the one left on Forrest’s door. Same circle where it had been torn away and used. He’d wanted her to know it washimthat reached out.
She strode back to his office but found it empty. She checked the storage areas, then behind the church. The pastor’s parking space was empty.
He had left.
Kenna headed for her car, parked in front of the building. Chill wind bit at her legs and face. She tucked the collar of her jacket closer around her face, feeling the cold to her soul. Bruce wouldn’t have left that note for Forrest if it wasn’t possible it was true.
So who had told him the information…
And was that person the killer Forrest was writing a book about?
Her phone rang just as she got to her car, a local number she didn’t recognize. “Banbury.”