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“That’s between you and the sheriff.” Kenna eased up on one side of the door, Theo on the other.
The hand signals he gave her dispelled all doubt that he’d been a cop.
Kenna nodded in reply. She counted to two and eased the door open, then stepped inside. The place was a mess. It had been recently tossed. She checked every corner and the door in the corner that led into a tiny bathroom. As she stepped back into the room, she said, “Clear.”
Theo stowed his weapon. “Looking for something?”
“He already gave me a case number, but maybe he had notes or files?” Kenna replied, easing around the room.
Becky started to cry. “What’s happening?”
Alonzo touched her shoulder. “Where’s your kettle, Becks? Let’s go make some tea.” They disappeared into the hall.
Kenna said, “US marshal?”
Theo flinched. “Dang. You are good.”
And yet it was less satisfying than he probably thought. “Let’s figure out who wanted Bruce dead.”
“Apart from a mystery killer who hasn’t ended a life in years and who everyone thinks is dead?”
“Yeah, apart from him.”
Theo grunted, his face in the credenza cabinet. “If it is a him.”
Kenna looked around, trying to find rhyme or reason in the way the mess had been made. “We should probably let the police do this. State or the sheriff.”
“We’re doing them a favor.” Theo paused. “Only, don’t tell them I was here, all right?”
“And you expect that to work when there are witnesses?”
“A guy can hope.”
Kenna opened the first drawer on a file cabinet. “Let meguess? I shouldn’t run your face or Alonzo’s through any databases in case I flag something? Or will there simply be a suspicious lack of information on the two of you?”
He chuckled. “You probably have someone who could find out whatever you need to know under the radar, but we also paid a lot of money to take steps to protect ourselves.”
“And the book you and Alonzo were worried about?”
Theo shrugged. “It’ll turn up.”
“I thought I had time to speak to Bruce about the case file he pointed me to. I thought Forrest was safe in her grief, working on her book. I figured I’d find my friend’s sister, and the killer would get arrested, and that would be the end of it. Not that I’d be here waiting to run into a guy who works for a serial killer trying to get a rise out of me and finding heads under beds.”
He didn’t laugh because it wasn’t funny. “So I should tear up the town in a panic?”
Kenna looked at the desk, now covered in papers mostly strewn from the second drawer of the cabinet. Financial records. Giving statements. Old sermon notes from the previous pastor. “I’m not the one to ask about overreactions. I’m having enough of my own.”
Fear was as crippling as worry—or full-blown anxiety.
“And what do you do to keep fighting?”
“Work the case,” Kenna said. “And lately, pray.”
“There you go.”
Movement at the door drew her attention. Alonzo stood there alone. “Anything?”
“Nothing definitive, but we haven’t looked over everything.” And none of it was personal. Kenna said, “You?”