Father Jackson came every day and droned his platitudes. I seldom listened to him, but I learned to interpret the rise and fall of his voice so I could nod wisely and with apparent acceptance at appropriate moments.

Then one day he said something that caught my attention.

“By the way, Maggie, it may comfort you to know that the boy has been taken away from the Weber home.”

“George?”

“Yes. Apparently he wasn’t going to school and someone must have complained about it. He was placed with another family. Then the other day when I drove by the place I noticed that there was a lot of junk mail in the box. I asked the mailman about it and he said he thought the Webers and Mrs. Reddy had gone away for a while.”

That night I thought for a long time about what he had said. Mrs. Reddy and her daughter might not be in the house, but the coffins of General Caine and Margaret Dorn were undoubtedly still there. It seemed to me I had a great opportunity to make certain that the contents of those coffins could never again be used by Mrs. Reddy in her ceremonies.

The following Friday afternoon I went to a nearby liquor store and bought a fifth of Scotch. I was expecting Father Jackson to visit me about four and I was hoping he would drive his car. Sometimes he walked over from the rectory. My rented Plymouth had been returned to the agency while I was in the hospital. I could have rented another car, I suppose, but considering what I was planning, I preferred it be thought I had no access to a car.

He parked his old Ford in front of my room shortly after four. I fixed drinks for both of us, making his considerably stronger than mine. Then I let him talk, refilling his glass regularly but not mine. There was only one chair in the room and he usually sat in that while I sprawled on the bed. I didn’t tonight, but sat on the floor near him, pretending to be fascinated by everything he said.

Ordinarily he went back to the rectory in an hour or so, but this time I persuaded him I needed more words of comfort. About six we went over to the coffee shop and had some vile fried chicken and then came back to the room. I kept asking him leading questions that enabled him to show off his theology and quote Thomas Aquinas.

Around seven-­thirty the bottle was almost empty and he was becoming incoherent. At close to eight he passed out in the chair. I took off his coat, his shoes and his trousers and toppled him on the bed. Then I covered him with a blanket, took his car keys and went out.