AFTER MASS, I SAID goodbye to Father McCoy. I still had plenty of time to get to the police station, but I didn’t want to risk being late.
On my way out I bumped into Glenda.
“Oh, good afternoon, Glenda,” I said with a smile.
“Father,” she said curtly.
“I didn’t see you in Mass.”
“Trying to catch up on some parish affairs,” she said. “Father McCoy’s an adequate priest but has no administrative ability. He’ll learn, though. I’m bringing him along.”
The vision of Glenda leading Father Leonard with a leash and dog collar flashed through my mind, an image I quickly dismissed.
“Why are you here?” she asked in an accusing manner.
“I was in Myerton visiting John Archman. I had time before another appointment, so I thought I’d come to mass.”
“I see, I see. Well, as a priest, visiting pri
