Thirty
FOR JUST A MOMENT, I can’t believe my own ears.
Lester Wright.
LW.
Maybe I should have waited for Helen. How to talk to a possible serial killer is not something they covered in Seminary.
Someday, I really should offer a workshop for priests. I have enough material.
“Lester—may I call you Lester?” At his nod, I say, “Fine, Lester, why don’t you have a seat and we can talk about it.”
He looks at the chair I offer, apparently decides it’s OK, then sits on the edge like he wants to be ready for a quick getaway.
I sit in the recliner—I’m going to need to be as comfortable as possible for this, I think—and say, “So, Lester, you claim that Saint Michael sent you to warn me against marrying Mrs. Parr.”
“She’s not who she appears to be, Father. She’s not a real woman. She’s the w**
