“TOM, REVEREND HUCKLEBERRY’S here to see you.”
I look up from my notes about the Thanksgiving dinner, preparing for the meeting with my fellow Myerton clergy. “Did I have an appointment with him?” I ask.
“No, and he apologizes for the interruption, but promises it shouldn’t take long.”
I stand up. “OK, send him in.”
Anna opens the door and allows in a corpulent man with a red face, no hair, and an earnest look. The Reverend Dexter Huckleberry runs a small non-denominational church just outside the town limits. Before he discovered a call to the ministry, word is he participated in a number of multi-level marketing businesses, selling everything from vitamins to cleaning products to men’s grooming aids. He still comes off as more of a salesman than a minister, but I’ve found him relativ
