Don't Look (Pike, Wisconsin #1) - Alexandra Ivy Page 0,2

found dead at the bottom of the stairs, he’d asked for his body to be sent to the local funeral parlor. Everything had been such a blur since then that he hadn’t questioned why this pastor had been selected to perform the service. He’d assumed it was some sort of package deal that went with the grave plot, the headstone, and the flowers that had been placed on top of the casket.

Now he frowned in confusion. “When did he ask you?”

“A couple weeks ago.”

“I didn’t realize the two of you were acquainted.”

“It’s a small town, so of course, our paths had crossed, but I can’t say that we were acquainted,” Bradshaw admitted. “His request came as something of a surprise, to be honest. It isn’t uncommon for elderly parishioners to contemplate the end of their lives. Many even make arrangements for their funeral. But your father was in the prime of his life and he assured me that he wasn’t ill.”

Kir winced. His father’s death had come as a complete shock. Despite his heavy drinking, he had always maintained robust health. It had taken a fall down the stairs that cracked his skull to kill the stubborn old fool.

“No. His liver wasn’t in great shape, but he certainly wasn’t on death’s door,” Kir said.

Bradshaw shrugged. “Ah, well. He did say something about being tired. Perhaps he had a premonition. It does happen.”

A shiver threaded its way down Kir’s spine. Was it possible his father had some sense that the end was near? No. His rational mind fiercely dismissed the ridiculous explanation. If his father had reached out, there was a logical reason.

“Why you? I mean . . .” Kir paused as he tried to imagine his father seeking out a pastor. Rudolf rarely left his house unless it was to go to the neighborhood bar. “He didn’t attend your church, did he?”

“No. To be honest, I’m not sure why he chose me. I was returning to the church after spending the morning at the local thrift shop and your father suddenly pulled his truck into the parking lot and jumped out, waving his hands to get my attention. I thought at first there must be some sort of emergency.”

Kir frowned. Had his father been drunk? Perhaps delusional? “What did he say?”

“He introduced himself and we spoke for a couple minutes. Then he asked if I would arrange his funeral.” Bradshaw glanced toward the leaden sky as if trying to remember the encounter. “I asked him to come inside and discuss why he’d sought me out and if perhaps there was something I could do to assist him in his time of need, but he refused. He insisted he had to get home. When I read in the paper that Rudolf had passed, I contacted the funeral director to inform him of your father’s request.”

“How . . .” Kir’s words faded. It was simply impossible to imagine his father appearing on a church doorstep with the sole purpose of asking a complete stranger to officiate his funeral.

“Weird?” Bradshaw offered.

“Yeah.”

“‘It is He who reveals the profound and hidden things,’” the pastor quoted from the Bible.

“I suppose.” Kir wasn’t in the mood to discuss theology. He wanted to know what was in his father’s mind. “Did he say anything else?”

“Not really.” Ron’s eyes abruptly widened. “Oh. Wait. I almost forgot.” He dug into the pocket of his heavy jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. “Here.”

Kir allowed the man to shove the paper in his hand. Was it a bill? Maybe he expected to get paid on the spot.

“What’s this?” Kir demanded, even as he mentally calculated how much cash was in his wallet.

“I don’t know.” Ron shrugged. “Your father handed it to me before he left the church and asked me to give it to you after the funeral. I assume it’s a personal note he wanted you to have once he died.”

The vague sense of unreality was laced with a strange prickle of fear as Kir stuffed the paper into the pocket of his coat.

“You really didn’t know my dad,” he muttered, suddenly needing to get away from the snow-smothered cemetery and the pastor who was regarding him with a sympathetic smile. “Thanks again.”

“The doors to the church are always open,” Ron called out as Kir turned to hurry down the narrow path to his waiting SUV.

“Rest in peace, Dad,” he prayed as he drove away.

Dear Rudolf,

I’m sorry to say you had a shitty funeral. The attendance was sparse and