By Emilie Richards

Meet the radical Aggie Sloan-Wilcox, a minister's spouse together with her personal calling: supporting afflicted  souls wanting justice.  whilst the bare physique of a murdered girl turns up on Aggie's entrance porch--and suspicion falls on Aggie's husband--she does not have a prayer of clearing his identify except she will discover the reality in a city now not identified for confessing its sins.

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Just me and those ceased-pledging-and-breathing members whose secrets rest in scrapbooks and file cabinets and 8 mm movies of church picnics and ministerial installations. Call me crazy, but no one in the great unknown wants to fire my husband, paint the parsonage walls Ace Hardware puce, or give me advice on how my children should dress on Christmas Eve. Reindeer antlers, it seems, are not in the best of taste, particularly when teamed with a bulbous, electrified nose. The archives are a wealth of information, and I’ve shared some teasers with the Women’s Society board, along with my grandiose plans to put Tri-C’s history in apple pie order and present it a la PowerPoint at the September meeting.

What a bargain. Ed had heard every detail of that conversation from a number of different sources, all of them female and post-sixty. Luckily for us, most had been smiling as they recounted it. I tried to calm the waters. ” Deena had been a PK—preacher’s kid—from birth. She knew the score. Picks on kids. On ministers. On the partners of ministers. “Something like that,” I said. ” As long as it took to drop hints that whatever we thought of the Society’s plans for pruning our yard didn’t matter.

No one was sprinting across Church Street. That seemed promising. We stopped in the entryway and gazed around. The living room was to my right, the kitchen straight ahead, just past a stairwell curving to the left. Lucy had been right about the lovely woodwork and the mess. The house smelled like mildew and looked like the final day of Tri-C’s annual rummage sale. “Don’t say it,” Lucy said. “Every realtor in town has tried to get the owners to clean it out. We’ve even found people to do it for them, but they’re odd ducks.

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