41
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d set foot in a church for something other than a funeral. What did one wear to church when no one (other than the Savior) had died? Something with flowers? But it was November, and everything I owned with flowers was short-sleeved. I avoided black and wore the same kind of clothes I might wear to court on the rationale that judgment was judgment.
The Todds usually attended the later of two services, so Roger’s car pulled up at a little before ten on Sunday morning. I hurried out to meet him.
“Good morning,” he said. “Are you going to explain why you wanted the pleasure of my company on a Sunday morning?”
“Not just wanted—needed. But no, not yet.” The truth was, I hadn’t yet figured out what I was going to say. “I do have a mission for you, though
