Free Dead Run by Erica Spindler Page A

“And exactly how are you going to pay your rent? This address doesn’t come cheap, that I know.”
    â€œAs best I can,” she answered evasively, then smiled. “I don’t live lavishly, Pastor. As far as I’m concerned, there are things much more important than fancy cars and designer clothing.”
    The truth was, she had sold her parents’ home to finance this endeavor. They had left it to her and Rachel when they passed away last year, and she believed her parents would have supported her decision.
    He grinned. “Luckily, neither of those things fit inhere on Key West. A pair of cutoffs and a moped and you’re all set.”
    She liked him, Liz decided. As much as she could under the circumstances. “Don’t forget sunglasses and a baseball cap. Very important, I’ve learned that already.”
    â€œSmart lady.” He glanced at his watch. “I tell you what, I’ll put some feelers out. There are many confused teenagers on Key West. They run the gamut from runaways and the Rainbow Nation kids, to kids of great privilege.”
    He paused a moment, as if carefully considering his next words. “However, there’s one girl who comes to mind immediately. Nice girl, but troubled. Her parents are frantic… She was seeing the previous pastor but refused to allow me to counsel her.”
    Liz caught her breath. “The previous pastor was counseling her?”
    â€œYes, Pastor Howard. But when she left—”
    â€œDisappeared, wasn’t it?” Liz dropped her shaking hands into her lap, praying she didn’t overplay her hand. “I overheard someone talking about it. They said it was kind of a freaky thing.”
    â€œTalking about it? Really?” He frowned. “I’m surprised to hear that.”
    â€œWas it…freaky, like they said?”
    He returned to his chair and sat, expression pensive. “I never met Pastor Howard, but I had to…box up her things when I took over. It was an uncomfortable task.”
    Liz remembered getting the boxes. Remembered looking at them and falling apart. When she had finally found the strength to go through them, she’d seen nothing to indicate her sister had been in a crisis. Or in danger.
    But maybe the pastor had.
    â€œWas there anything…in her things that suggested what happened to her?” she asked, hoping she came across as simply curious. “Anything at all?”
    For a second, as the pastor stared at her, Liz was certain she had given herself away. Then he shook his head. “The police feel she suffered a mental breakdown and ran off. Everything I’ve heard seems to support that.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” She wondered if she sounded as upset as she felt. From his expression she feared she did.
    He leaned forward. “Look, I don’t feel comfortable talking about this. The Ninth Commandment warns us against bearing false witness against another. In today’s vernacular, that translates to not talking about others, not gossiping or spreading rumors. If I knew the facts, I would share them—”
    â€œI understand,” she said quickly. “But if there’s a possibility I’m going to counsel the teenager you mentioned, or anyone else whose life was touched by Pastor Howard and her disappearance, I feel I should be informed.”
    â€œThe police…” He let the thought trail off, then began again. “Pastor Howard was liked quite well by the congregation…at first. As time passed, her behavior became erratic. Or so many in the congregation told me.”
    He looked down at his hands, folded on the desk in front of him. Big hands, Liz noted. Callused and strong. Not the soft hands of an academician or scholar.
    He returned his gaze to hers, the expression in his troubled. “She’d let her pastoral duties slip. Calls to the sick and elderly weren’t made, appointments weren’t kept.