Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. ! He’ll come a cropper one of these days, if you ask me. I can’t imagine what possessed you, Veronica. Pews had been brought in and set in two rows before the huge table, covered in white cloth, that formed the altar at the far end. Three little letters can’t make a bit of difference. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me.
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