Four
I HURRY BACK TO THE Rectory with my partially-eaten Monte Cristo. Father Leonard is exactly as Anna described him. I find him pacing in the living room again, muttering “she’s ruined me” repeatedly.
“He got back here quickly, didn’t he?” I say. “How many sick calls did he have?”
“Six. Five at the nursing home and one—” she sighs “—one at Gloria MacMillan’s.”
“Oh,” I mouth. I only had the pleasure of visiting Gloria MacMillan once. She spent most of the time berating me about the supposedly crooked bingo game run for years by Father Anthony, the former pastor of Saint Clare’s. She was liable to say anything and I’m certain she was the source of Father Leonard's distress.
“You’d better get in there before he has a stroke,” Anna says as she shoves me into the living room.
He doesn’
