I BEAT THE SNOW BACK to the Rectory. When I step inside the toasty-warm house, I’m hit by the smell of Anna's wonderful Brunswick stew. I head straight for the kitchen, suddenly remembering I hadn’t had lunch.
“You’ve been out all day,” Anna comments.
I nod. “I’ve had a lot to do.” I fill in Anna on my drive with Helen—omitting the obvious of course—as well as my meetings with Angela Jenkins and the Archbishop.
“All in all,” I say, grabbing another piece of cornbread, “he took the news surprisingly well.”
“Tom, he’s probably used to you being involved in a murder,” she says with a grin. “They do seem to happen when you’re in town.”
“So you think I’m a jinx too?”
She shrugs. “Either that or the unluckiest priest in America.”
We both laugh when my phone beeps. Digging it out of my poc
