Twenty-Seven
I’M SITTING ON THE back patio of the Rectory, enjoying the cool September evening with a cup of hot cocoa laced with a little rum—for flavor, of course. I’m trying to relax after one of the more stressful days I’ve had since coming to Saint Clare’s.
OK, not as stressful as the day I was arrested for murdering Donna Dupree, but today is definitely in the top ten.
I haven’t heard from Helen since I left the station. I’m just about to send her a message when I hear the Rectory door open and she calls, “Tom, it’s me.”
“I’m on the patio,” I say. “Get a drink and join me. There’s hot cocoa on the stove you’ll have to heat up.”
“The rum?”
I smile just a little. “On the counter.”
A few minutes later Helen comes out, steaming mug in hand, and leans over to give me a kiss. She th
