We need to talk about the kids again. Call me.Message six was a hang up.Number seven: Sorry dad I had to get away. I have decided to see the almost sh...ink. I need help. This is not your fault. Call Jon, he needs to explain about the truck. I’ll call you later.I decided not to call Agent Wilkes until I spoke to Mica. I pushed her memory number, and it went directly to message. “Leave it and I’ll call, or not.”“It’s Ed. Maybe I’ll talk to you, if you call. Or not. Oh the FBI is ridin’ after me.”I. Every twenty minutes, the little drug-dispensing machine would whirl a revolution and dispense a drop of morphine into his IV drip. Morphine and the small female hand laid over his were his only pain relief.The hand belonged to Maryann, who had been, in every physical sense, Mrs. McManus for the last thirty years. She had even legally changed her last name so that the two sons and a daughter she bore the bishop would carry their father’s name. Thomas was 73 years old and had retired a year. More

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