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“He saw the only therapist in town. Part of his parole agreement was that he check in regularly with a mental health professional.” Alonzo tucked his hands in the pockets of hisslacks. “She is making her calls now, but she’s pretty upset. Apparently, they were good friends. He helped her husband when he got hurt, and still does. Came over last week to help clear leaves out of her gutters before the next snow.”
Someone wanted him dead.
Because of a bunch of deaths made to look like accidents…or natural causes. Tragedies. Loss that was part of everyday life. Maybe she was barking up the way wrong tree and there was nothing to this but coincidence or correlations that only looked like they fit.
“What do you think?” Theo asked.
Kenna didn’t like being wrong. “Everything in me is telling me he was murdered.”
Chapter Seventeen
Kenna pulled onto the street, ready to be home. Moisture had crystalized on the branches of the trees, and the road was slick in places where water had puddled. The temperature was dropping rapidly from where it had been the past few weeks, during the unseasonably warm spell that kept the temperature hovering almost at freezing.
There had been nothing at the church about Forrest’s family, nothing about accidents, or information about any deaths at all apart from funerals the church conducted. Whatever Bruce knew before he died that had compelled him to leave that note on Forrest’s door he hadn’t written it down. He must have learned the information orally and never made notes.
Or whoever had been in his office making a mess found what they were looking for.
She had looked everywhere, even in his sparse living space. Bruce’s residence hadn’t been like the last pastor’s house she’d been in. The man might’ve looked like a gangster, but he lived like a monk.
Thankfully, there had been no severed heads anywhere.But that didn’t mean Kenna was happy that a man was dead and she had nothing to go on.
Was it even murder?
If it was because of what he knew, and had been determined Forrest find out?
Kenna gripped the wheel and frowned. Outside Forrest’s house, Sheriff Gingrich had parked by the curb. As she pulled up, he got out of his car. Kenna eased hers onto the driveway, feeling the need to stake her claim to being here—something he didn’t have—but unsure why she felt the need to do that.
He stayed by his car.
Kenna strode over, making sure she didn’t fall on a patch of ice. She didn’t need to land on her behind in front of the sheriff. “How was court?”
He had an impassive expression on his face. “Court was court. I’m not here to chitchat.”
“Why are you—” Kenna started. Several cars pulled onto the street. Three. “State police?”
Her first instinct was that they were there for her. Kenna’s thought spiraled trying to figure out what on earth they might be arresting her for. Could go one of several ways, and even have something to do with the FBI. Or Stan Tilley.
She stood as still as possible. “What’s going on?”
“Care to share what you found at the church earlier?” the sheriff asked.
He wanted to know about Bruce? “You think I was looking for something?”
His eyes narrowed. “You expect me to believe it wasn’t about searching his residence and his office?”
That entirely depended on whether he’d feel it was interference in his case, or if he’d want a statement he could add to the case file. “A man is dead. It’s very sad, the community losing their shepherd like this. I’d like to help out the church ifI can. I don’t belong to it except that I’m a family member from out of town.”
The look on his face said he wasn’t sure what to make of that. “I’ll need a write-up. Did you find anything?”
“No. Why are you worrying about it if it’s not a case? Just crossing i’s and dotting t’s, or what?” She studied his expression as she spoke, and saw a shift.
The officers from the state police had suits and wool coats. Most had pins on their shirt collars. How far had they driven to get here?
Kenna said, “What did you need the cavalry for?”
“You’ve decimated my department and piled on their case load.”
“Yeah, sorry about finding that girl still alive.” She folded her arms, tugging the back of her coat across her shoulder blades. A piece of fluff from her hood tickled her cheek, but she ignored it.