Fourteen
AFTER DROPPING HELEN off at the station and promising to pick her up for dinner around 6 p.m., I go back to the Rectory, arriving there a little before 3 p.m. The activity on the church lawn has died down, but the area is still ringed with yellow crime scene tape. Most of the attention of the technicians in their blue jumpsuits is focused on the vegetable stand. I’m guessing that’s where the shooter hid.
Even to my untrained eye, it’s a good spot for a sniper. The elevation changes between it and the church—there’s a slight incline which means the stand is above where we were on the stage. Also, the sniper would have had a clear view of Helen and me, unobstructed by one of the two large maples.
Whoever shot at us knew what they were doing.
It’s a chilling thought.
Once inside
