Five
SINCE MARTIN CAN’T tell me the name of the woman in my parish who’s being abused, there’s little I can do right now.
But I know someone who might have an idea who she is.
“Anna,” I say, standing at the door of her office. “Busy?”
“Always,” she says with a smile, looking up from her laptop. “Does this have something to do with Martin’s visit? Now don’t look at me that way, I didn’t hear anything.”
“Oh, I know that,” I say, trying to figure out how I can get the information I need without connecting it to Martin and thus betraying his confidence.
“So he told you he’s going to ask Mae to marry him?” she says.
I look at her incredulously. “I thought you said—”
“And I didn’t,” Anna said. “I had lunch with Doris Trent a couple of days ago and she said Martin had invited her and Alan
