ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, I’m working on my homily when Dan calls my cell phone.
“Tom,” he says when I answer, “are you coming for lunch with Helen today?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I always do.”
He sighs. “You better be prepared, then. She left the building about fifteen minutes ago, telling Annette, her secretary, that she’d be gone for a couple of hours and would have her radio with her. But she didn’t say where she was going.”
“She’s at the range,” I say.
“That would be my guess.”
“I’m going over there,” I say, and stand up.
“Oh, no, you’re not, Tom,” Dan says firmly. “Remember, you’re not even supposed to know about this. I’m just calling to let you know so you’ll be ready.”
I sit back down and lean back in my chair, looking at the ceiling. “You think it will be bad?”
“Barring a miracle, y
