Thirty-One
THE SEVENTY-TWO HOURS or so after Lester Wright quietly went with the EMTs into an ambulance that took him to Myerton General for admittance to their psych ward—complete with his own private room and police guard—are relatively calm.
Calm in the sense that no one takes a shot at us. And in the sense that no one leaves a bloody sword on Helen’s front steps.
I spend the time actually trying to be the pastor of Saint Clare’s. At the forefront of my mind is trying to get something going with the project to renovate the Myer Mansion into our new educational facility. I’ve had to put Tim Cooper off from meeting with him to walk through the building and get a professional architect’s eye. But with Lester tucked away and Helen occupied with reviewing what evidence Gladys has been abl
