“Squirrelly packrat?”
“Sorry, I’m mixing my rodent metaphors. You going to eat these truffles?”
“Go ahead. Marla— Is there a church organization with the acronym P.R.A.Y.?”
She took a bite of chocolate and munched thoughtfully. “Pray? Not that I know of, and you know if anyone would know about church organizations, it’s me.”
“Well, when was the last time you read the story about Judas?”
Marla finished her first truffle, looked over the tray, and chose a second, this one a plump dark mound dusted with cocoa. She popped it into her mouth, put a hand on her large chest, and frowned. “I certainly don’t know. Why?”
“Tom wrote something down before Olson died,” I murmured. “He mentioned this P.R.A.Y. and Judas, but nobody knows what he was talking about.”
“Judas? He wrote something about
