I tucked my crowbar under the wood and began the dance of prying it off without breaking it. As I worked, I let my mind play back through my memories.
I practically grew up in the manse, the pastor’s house, at the church my parents attended when I was a kid. The pastor’s daughter, Sue Ellen, was my best friend, and since my mom was the church music director and the manse was next door, I was there on the church grounds most days.
Sue Ellen was a bit more of a girly girl than I was, or at least her mama thought her one, so she had all these creepy, pristine porcelain dolls that sat on high shelves in her third-floor bedroom. Their frilly dresses and lace caps always puzzled me because it made no sense to me to have toys that you couldn’t play with, but Sue Ellen knew better. She knew that
