Don't Look

by Alexandra Ivy

  “The one at your grandparents’ farm?”

  She nodded. “There are a couple strays that came in last week that I’m treating for injuries and malnutrition.”

  Kir clenched his jaw. He couldn’t stay next to Lynne 24/7. Not if he intended to track down the person responsible for threatening her. But the thought of her traveling to such an isolated spot made his stomach cramp with fear.

  “Will you be there alone?”

  “No. Either Grady or Monica will be there.”

  “Who are they?”

  “A young couple who take care of the sanctuary in exchange for living rent-free in my grandparents’ house,” she explained. “They’re both finishing their online degrees so it’s a perfect arrangement for all of us. But I still try to check on the animals every couple of days.”

  A portion of his fear eased. “Be careful.”

  “I’m always careful.” She sent him a chiding glare. “Unlike some people I know.” He started to shut the door only to be halted when Lynne leaned across the console of the truck. “Oh wait. You’ll need a key to get back in the house in case I have an emergency.” She grabbed her worn leather medical bag and dug through a side pocket. At last she pulled out a single key and handed it to him. “Here.”

  Holding her gaze, he pocketed the key. “Thank you,” he murmured, knowing it was more than just a gesture of convenience.

  Lynne wasn’t a woman who would easily open her house or her heart to others.

  For now, he’d take the key to her home.

  She flushed, as if feeling exposed by his intense gaze. “You should go before you freeze.”

  With a nod he closed the door and stepped back. He waited until the truck pulled away before he crossed the street, his gaze sweeping over the small, tidy homes that lined the block. They looked like something off a postcard, with their roofs covered by a layer of snow and smoke curling from the brick chimneys, but Kir was more interested in the heavy curtains across the windows and peaceful silence that surrounded him.

  Were the neighbors all at church? Or maybe just sleeping late on a lazy Sunday morning. Either way it offered him the opportunity that he needed.

  Maintaining a leisurely stroll, Kir pushed open the front gate to the house directly behind the church. He avoided the porch as he circled to the side of the house. For now he preferred to avoid breaking and entering. He wasn’t entirely certain Lynne would bail him out if he was arrested.

  He paused at the first window, peering through the crack in the curtains. He could see a narrow living room with green shag carpeting, tan leather furniture, and blank walls. It looked like it was stuck in a seventies time warp. Obviously, Pastor Bradshaw wasn’t into home décor. Accepting that there was nothing suspicious to be seen, Kir moved to the next window. This one revealed a kitchen just as dated as the living room. There was an old gas stove and an avocado green fridge with a square table in the center of the tiled floor.

  Nothing there.

  He moved to the last window. The curtains were pulled tightly closed, but they were sheer enough that he could make out a bed and a heavy dresser. There didn’t seem to be anything on the walls, although the shelves were packed with books.

  With a grimace, Kir continued across the backyard toward the nearby church. He didn’t know what he’d been looking for, but all he’d discovered was a house that looked as if it was as sterile as a hotel room.

  Following a narrow pathway that had been tunneled through the snow, Kir headed toward the addition that had been built on the back of the church. He expected it to be locked, but the door easily swung open and he quickly darted inside.

  Instantly he was hit by the smell of mold from the piles of old choir gowns and well-worn hymnals. He wrinkled his nose, weaving his way through broken chairs and folding tables precariously stacked on the wooden floor. This was obviously the storage area.

  He continued forward to enter the main building. There was a darkly paneled hallway that led to the nave where he could hear Pastor Bradshaw delivering his sermon. His voice echoed and soared through the air, ringing with a sincerity that was impressive.

  Kir didn’t listen to his words. He wasn’t there for the preaching.

  After glancing around to ensure he was alone, Kir opened the nearest door to find a coat closet. The next two doors were marked for the men’s and women’s bathrooms. He inched toward the opening at the end of the hallway where he could glimpse the sparse congregation dotted around the pews. Far from a full house, but that didn’t seem to dim the pastor’s enthusiasm.

  Reaching the last door, he pushed it open and slipped inside. He smiled with satisfaction as he realized he’d located the office.

  It was a cramped room lined with bookcases and a wooden desk loaded with stacks of papers along with a laptop computer. It looked as if the pastor spent more time in this office than he did in his house.

  Hopeful he could find something that would connect him to the dead women, Kir did a quick search of the shelves. Nothing. The books were all theological, with a few historical biographies. Next he moved to the desk. Again he came up empty. The papers were all official correspondences for the church or the various charities that Pastor Bradshaw had started. Kir even pulled out the list the pastor had given him to try and compare the handwriting. It didn’t look the same, but he wasn’t an expert.

  Frustrated with the feeling that he was stumbling through the dark even as the killer was creeping closer and closer to Lynne, Kir left the office. He intended to slip out of the church before the service ended, but he’d barely taken a step down the hallway when the door to the bathroom opened and a middle-aged woman was suddenly standing directly in front of him.

  She pressed a hand to the center of her chest, as if she was as surprised as he was by the unexpected encounter.

  “Can I help you?” she at last demanded, a hint of authority in her voice. Did she work for the church? Then her eyes widened. “Kir?”

  Kir frowned, taking in the woman’s thin face that was lined with wrinkles and the dark hair sprinkled with silver that was pulled into a knot on top of her head. She was wearing a pink pantsuit with a frilly white top and low, sensible shoes. She looked vaguely familiar.

  “Ms. Lockhart,” he murmured, finally placing the face with a name.

  When he’d been young, she and her husband had run a corner grocery store. She’d always had a stash of candy beneath the counter she would hand out to kids when they came in. Her habit had made her a local favorite, at least until her husband had died and the store had closed.

  He hadn’t known what had happened to her after that, although there were shadows beneath her eyes and a droop to her shoulders that indicated life hadn’t been entirely kind.

  “I haven’t seen you forever.” She studied him with genuine interest. “Are you still in Boston?”

  “Yes. I’m just home for Dad’s funeral.”

  “Oh, I heard.” She clicked her tongue. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks.”

  She glanced over his shoulder where the choir was performing the farewell song as the congregation rose to their feet. “Are you here for the service?”

  Kir smiled, realizing this woman might be able to answer some questions for him. “I actually wanted to see Pastor Bradshaw. He spoke at Dad’s funeral.”

  “Did he?” The older woman looked surprised. “I don’t remember Rudolf attending this church.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Ah well, it wouldn’t matter to Ron.” Ms. Lockhart’s expression softening with an unmistakable fondness for the pastor. “He loves everyone.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Yes.” Her hand moved to touch the pearl necklace nestled against the lacy shirt. “We’re so fortunate to have him in Pike. He’s not only revived this church, but he’s become a vital member of this community.”

  “So I heard. He started a charity shop in the old bowling alley, didn’t he?”

  She nodded
. “Not only that, he also sponsors the T-ball team during the summer, and volunteers at the nursing home.”

  He sounded like a saint. Kir never trusted saints. They were usually the most corrupt people around. “What about supporting local businesses?” he inquired.

  Ms. Lockhart blinked, as if confused by the question. “I suppose he does.”

  “Especially the local flower shop.”

  There was a short silence before the woman sucked in a shocked gasp. “Kir Jansen, you of all people know better than to spread malicious gossip,” she chided.

  He refused to back down. “You know people whispered about his interest in Randi, don’t you?”

  “So what if Ron enjoys flirting with pretty women? He might be a servant of God, but he’s still a man. Show me one who isn’t attracted to flashy baubles. It’s harmless.” She sniffed, obviously willing to turn a blind eye to the pastor’s flirtatious habits.

  Kir wasn’t as forgiving. “You’re certain he’s harmless?”

  “Yes, I am. Unlike some men, Ron understands how to keep his hands to himself.”

  “Some men? Do you mean a specific man?”

  “Nash Cordon, for one,” she snapped.

  Kir was caught off guard by the woman’s unexpected words. “Nash Cordon is a member of this church?”

  A sour expression hardened the older woman’s face. “Only because his mother insists he bring her every Sunday. I expect the place to be hit by lightning each time he walks through the door.”

  Kir tilted his head, studying the sudden anger that darkened her eyes. “Not a fan?”

  Her lips pinched, her body vibrating with emotion. “He dated my daughter Sonja a few years ago. After they broke up, they found Sonja in a cabin near the lake. The sheriff said it was an overdose, but I know in my heart she killed herself.”

  The bleak confession hit Kir with unexpected force. He had a vague memory of a tiny, blond-haired girl who was always running around the store. She’d been several years younger than him, so he hadn’t really known her, but the thought that she was dead was oddly disturbing.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She sucked in a slow deep breath before she spoke. “It was Ron who offered me a job as his secretary. He understood I needed a purpose in my life.”

  Kir was starting to understand her unwavering loyalty to the pastor. That didn’t, however, mean he wasn’t a killer.

  “Do you know where he was before he came to Pike?”

  “Minneapolis,” the woman said before she frowned. “Or maybe it was Chicago.” She shrugged. “It was a big city. Too big for Ron. He prefers being in a small town. He says he likes knowing his congregation as more than faces in the pews.” The choir came to a halt and Ms. Lockhart squared her shoulders. “The service is ending. I need to open the doors. Have a safe trip back to Boston.”

  “Thank you.”

  He followed behind her as if he intended to leave through the nave, but instead halted in the shadows to watch the congregation shuffle out of the pews. His gaze easily located Nash, who was looking bored out of his mind as an older woman next to him was chatting with a gaggle of fellow parishioners. That must be his mother.

  About to turn away, Kir stiffened in surprise when a younger woman dashed through the doors that Ms. Lockhart had just opened and made a beeline for Nash.

  Chelsea Gallen. Lynne’s receptionist.

  Kir pressed against the wall, watching as Chelsea stepped between the pews to directly confront Nash. The man looked more annoyed than surprised by the appearance of the younger woman, reaching out to grab her arm and tug her away from his mother and her cronies.

  They huddled together, Nash leaning down to speak directly in her ear. From a distance it appeared to Kir that Chelsea was pleading for something and Nash was refusing to give her what she wanted. Then, with a shake of his head, the man was turning to stomp out of the church, leaving his mother and a tearful Chelsea behind.

  Kir frowned. The receptionist had assured Lynne that sex with Nash had been a terrible mistake. A brief madness.

  Now it appeared she’d been lying. It was obvious she was still obsessed with the arrogant jerk. What would she do to please him? He studied her shattered expression. He was betting the answer was that she’d do anything.

  Remaining in the shadows, Kir waited for the congregation to filter out the open doors where the pastor was standing in his heavy robes to shake hands. He briefly considered waiting to confront Bradshaw. The man had lied to him. Then silently he turned and hurried out the back of the church.

  He would keep a watch on the man for a day or two. It was possible he would reveal whether he had any interest in a woman besides Randi Decker. And if his interest was deadly.

  * * *

  Desperate to keep herself busy, Lynne drove to the sanctuary and focused her attention on the variety of wounds and infections that needed her treatment. She gave a medicated bath to the poor beagle who had been dropped off with a skin infection and swabbed the infected eyes of a litter of kittens before replacing them beneath the heat lamp. Next she checked the two boxers who had lost a battle with a porcupine to make sure their injuries were healing.

  Once she was done, she grabbed the hose and power-cleaned the kennels while Monica took each of the animals to the enclosed shed for some exercise. It felt good to have both her mind and body occupied. As if the mounting sense of dread couldn’t find her as long as she kept moving.

  At last, she washed her hands and waited for Monica to join her in the small office she’d built onto the end of the barn. It was amazing how much paperwork went into running a not-for-profit charity.

  The younger woman had long, dark hair she kept in a braid and a pretty oval face with large brown eyes. Beneath her heavy coveralls she was so slender she looked incapable of dealing with the duties of running the shelter. But Monica had been raised on a nearby farm and she could handle even the most aggressive animals with remarkable skill, not to mention hauling around sacks of food and supplies as if she was a linebacker.

  “Everyone is back in their kennels,” she told Lynne. “I’ll give them fresh water before I go to bed.”

  Lynne nodded. “You’ve cleaned out the pens in the back?”

  “Yep, they’re ready to go.”

  Lynne leaned against the edge of her cluttered desk, a sadness tugging at her heart at the knowledge of what the next two weeks were going to bring. It happened every single year. “Unfortunately, the holidays are great for people buying or adopting pets to give as gifts, but once the new wears off they realize it’s a lot more work than they want to invest. We need to be prepared,” she warned her companion.

  Monica nodded. “I hate the thought, but I think we’re ready. I asked for extra food donations, plus I found a few blankets we’d stored in the attics.”

  “Thank you.” Lynne smiled with genuine gratitude. She knew she was lucky to have Monica and her husband to keep an eye on the shelter, and she honestly had no idea what she was going to do when they finished their degrees and took the next step in their careers. A worry for another day. “Have you run into any problems?”

  “No . . . oh, wait.” Monica snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot.”

  “What?”

  “Sheriff Hancock stopped by.”

  The anxiety Lynne was trying to keep locked in the back of her mind whispered down her spine. “When?”

  “Yesterday.” Monica furrowed her brow. “Or maybe the day before. She was asking if we keep any medications here for the animals.”

  Lynne forced a stiff smile, her mouth oddly dry. It wasn’t fear. Not precisely. It was more a jittering sense of unease. “I suppose that makes sense,” she said, pretending indifference. “It’s no secret that the sheriff suspects drugs were stolen from my clinic.”

  Monica rolled her eyes. “I saw the news. That reporter is an idiot.”

  Lynne’s smile softened in appreciation at the blunt, unconditional certainty that Lynne couldn’t be inv
olved in anything nefarious. “What did you tell the sheriff?” she asked.

  “That you always bring any medication with you, unless it’s a prescription we need to give every day,” Monica said. “And that those are locked in a cabinet in the house.”

  “Good.”

  Monica cleared her throat, shifting from foot to foot. “And . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I told her that a few months ago Grady discovered someone had pried open the back door to the kennels.”

  “They did?” Lynne blinked in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Monica shrugged. “Nothing was missing, and the animals were fine. You were—” She hesitated, as if choosing her words with care. “Distracted, and there was no point in worrying about a door that was easily fixed.”

  Lynne thought back, trying to figure out why she would have been distracted. Then she swallowed a sigh. That was about the time she’d started dating Nash. The relationship had been in the new, giddy stage when she wanted to spend every spare minute with him.

  It hadn’t lasted long. In fact, it’d taken only a couple of weeks before she started to suspect she’d made a mistake. Still, she’d continued to date Nash, a part of her worried that she was too finicky when it came to men. She’d told herself she had to accept that no one was perfect.

  What a waste of her time.

  “If anything else happens, no matter how trivial, let me know, okay?”

  Monica nodded, clearly relieved that Lynne wasn’t angry that she’d kept the break-in a secret. “Of course.”

  “And keep the doors locked when you’re home alone,” Lynne continued. “I never thought about how isolated this place is until bad things started happening in Pike.”

  Monica nodded toward the open doorway where they could see the kennels that lined the walls.

  “When Grady has to go somewhere, I always have a few friends in the house with me.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” Lynne’s gaze moved toward the large English mastiff that had been dumped at the shelter a couple months ago. King was a cream and black beauty who she didn’t doubt would be quickly adopted once she finished his heartworm treatment.