I HAVE JUST SETTLED into bed with a good book when my cell phone rings. Assuming that a call this late is probably from the hospital, my feet are already on the floor when I pick it up.
Unfortunately, it is not the hospital.
It's my mother.
I answer as cheerfully as I can, “Hi, Mom, how are you?”
“Oh, Tommy,” Mom says in that perpetual whine of hers, “I’m so glad to hear your voice. Diana was over here this morning and she said that she had seen on the Internet yesterday that a priest was murdered in Myerton and she was just wondering if it was you. Well, of course, I had to tell her that I didn’t really know since I don’t hear from you very often, not every day like when you lived at home. Then she said that surely somebody would have called to let me know if you had been killed, but
