“Ah, Nouwen,” she said lovingly. “Do you admire his work?”
“I do,” I said. “Very much.”
She pulled down a copy of Life of the Beloved and put it in my hands. “This is my favorite,” she said, and looked at me sincerely from watery blue eyes.
“I’ll take it,” I said, even though I had my own copy, and the audio, to boot—read by Nouwen himself.
She walked over to the cash register—the old-fashioned kind, on which you pushed down on keys—and put the book next to it. “Would you like to look around a bit before buying?”
“Sure,” I said. Boyd and Marla were eyeing the statuettes of the Holy Family. I looked down into a case of rosaries and tried to think how to broach the subject of Holly. Maybe you knew my friend who used to be a parishioner here, but now she’s been murdered? Could I say that
