“What I’m feeling is sick.”
“Close your eyes, see if you can feel something.”
Since Tom was about the least New Agey person I’d ever encountered, I did as bidden. After a moment, I got it. What I felt was a struggle. The more I focused on it, the clearer it was. I opened my mouth in surprise. “What is it?” I asked him.
“The presence of good and evil,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the altar. “You’re feeling the conflict. Unresolved.”
Somehow, we got through it. In John Richard’s will, he’d designated an old doctor friend to take care of the funeral arrangements. Payment for the funeral was supposed to come out of John Richard’s estate—which I doubted was very large. But the doc had bought the coffin and made all the arrangements, so at least there was enough money for that. I’d have to
