Fourteen
CONTRARY TO POPULAR belief, I really don’t spend all my time at the police station, or following Helen during a case, or even doing a little investigating on my own. After sending her the photographs, I resume my normal life as a parish priest.
Well, as normal as possible, I guess.
“Tom,” Anna says on Tuesday morning, “Dominic Trent’s here.”
I look up from a proposal submitted to the church to purchase several hundred acres of wooded area on the south end of the Myer Estate for a new housing development. The offer would go a long way to giving us the funds necessary to convert the mansion into my dreamed-of education center. “I didn’t hear the doorbell ring,” I say.
Anna looks behind her and steps to my desk. Leaning down, she whispers, “I found him walking up and down the si
