“A word, if you don’t mind.” Mrs. Powell-Jones, the wife of the minister of Capel Beulah, came bearing down the street toward Evan as he stepped out of his car. She was wearing a wide white cardigan that flapped out around her, giving her the appearance of a galleon under full sail. It was too late to get back in the car again. Evan took a deep breath and resigned himself to his fate. He wondered what she’d found to complain about this time. She usually found some small infraction in the village... and didn’t seem to understand that he was no longer the community policeman, in charge of such things. He was on the spot. That was all that mattered. “What’s the problem, Mrs. P-J?” he asked. “You are, Constable. I’ve just heard the most distressing news.” “You have?” “I understand that you are to be married shortly.” “That’s hardly distressing news, is it?” Evan asked. She ignored this. “Of course I had hoped—well, expected, really, that my husband, being the senior pastor in this place, would have the honor of performing the ceremony.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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