Dead Silence by Brenda Novak

become mayor of Stillwater and, when Grandpa Milton died the year Kennedy was born, Otis inherited another million.
    Otis Archer had gone from being a poor, uneducated boy to the most important man in Stillwater. He’d built quite a legacy.
    His secretary buzzed, but Kennedy didn’t respond. After the call he’d just had from the police chief, he knew it would be Joe. Besides the fact that he didn’t want to talk to his friend, he had an off-site meeting and needed to leave so he wouldn’t be late. But something about his grandfather’s portrait held him fast. Although the town wasn’t as sophisticated as a lot of other places, Kennedy loved Stillwater. He thought he’d make a good mayor. He’d certainly been groomed for the job, was comfortable with the path that lay ahead. But he wasn’t ready to see his father’s memorial picture hanging next to his grandfather’s. It was too soon after Raelynn’s death to say goodbye to another member of his family.
    “I told her your car was still in the lot.”
    Kennedy turned as Joe Vincelli barged into his office. “What a surprise to see you.”
    Joe didn’t pick up on the sarcasm in his voice. “Why didn’t you answer when Lilly buzzed?”
    “I was preoccupied.”
    Joe’s eyebrows shot up; apparently he considered that a pretty lame excuse. But then, no one else knew about the cancer slowly destroying Otis’s body. Neither Kennedy nor his parents wanted word to get out. The bank’s stock would plummet once investors realized that the chairman of the board probably wouldn’t live through Christmas. And Kennedy wasn’t sure he could take the pity he’d receive.
    He wasn’t sure how they’d keep his father’s condition a secret, when Otis started chemotherapy next month. But for the good of the bank and its employees—and for the sake of preserving the privacy he and his mother both prized—he knew they’d try.
    “What’s up?” he asked as though he hadn’t already heard.
    “I want McCormick to reopen my uncle’s case.”
    Kennedy looked at his friend, wondering why, after so many years of letting the case grow cold, Joe was so keen on another investigation. Sure, Barker was a member of his family. But Joe had been thirteen when the reverend went missing. And he’d never pressed particularly hard for a resolution before. “Chief McCormick called me a few minutes ago to say you’d been in,” he admitted.
    “He told me he couldn’t reopen the case without areason,” Joe said, slouching into a seat. “But I know if you’ll put a little pressure on him, he’ll do it.”
    “What good would it do to reopen the case?” Kennedy asked.
    “Maybe we’d find something this time.”
    “And maybe we wouldn’t.”
    “Come on, Kennedy. We all know Clay or Irene killed my uncle. It’s time to prove it. And think what a great running platform it would make for you. Vicki Nibley wouldn’t have a prayer if you were responsible for figuring out what went on at the farm that night.”
    Kennedy moved back to his desk and sat on the corner. When they were twelve and Joe’s father had taken them camping, Kennedy had slipped on a slick rock and fallen into the Yocona River. It was barely dawn. Joe’s father was still sleeping, and there was no time to get him. It was Joe who’d jumped in to save Kennedy from the brutal current that had swept him under the ledge of a second massive rock. He’d nearly forfeited his own life in the process.
    Kennedy owed Joe a lot, but this wasn’t right. “I’m not worried about the mayoral seat,” he said. “If I lose, I have enough work here at the bank to keep me busy.”
    “What are you talking about? You’ve dreamed of filling your father’s shoes for years.”
    “It won’t destroy my life if I don’t take public office.”
    “Don’t you want to know what happened to my uncle?”
    Kennedy was curious. Everyone was. Grace’s sudden return had started tongues wagging all over again. Some people said they