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representing the Relief Society—it was getting stuffy. Stuffy meant it was time to get it over and done with.
    “Brent, you still need the Scout fundraiser totals, right?” Brent Millington was the Young Men president. “Catch Glen after church before we start tithing so he can print it out for you. And make sure he deposited the fundraiser checks against the Young Men account. He’s still learning the ropes.” He paused, shuffled his papers, and said, “All right, anything else?”
    “Fast offerings,” said Bill Garner, the second counselor.
    “Right.” Back to Brent: “Can you cover half the routes before church?”
    “I’ll round ’em up.”
    Brother Ellis, the elders quorum president, said, “I heard someone moved into the Lindstroms’ place.”
    Brother Garner said, “Sister Gunderson’s been trying to rent it out for a couple of weeks now.”
    The bishop’s wife said, “LaDawn told me she has a new tenant.”
    Everybody turned. Other than to explain Norma’s absence, Rachel hadn’t spoken up till now. A good Relief Society president knew more about what was going on in the ward than anybody else, including the bishop. But Norma was out of town, and so was Mary. And so here she was filling in.
    “It’s a single woman. LaDawn didn’t think she was a member. That’s just her impression, though.”
    “We’ll have to make sure someone stops by and says hello.”
    Brother Clark said to Brother Ellis, “Hey, Troy, hear that? She’s single. ”
    The bishop said to his wife, “Did Sister Gunderson say how old she was?”
    “Mid-twenties.” No need to add attractive.
    Troy said, “Okay, okay, you talked me into it.”
    Rachel didn’t think Troy Ellis was the best person to head the welcoming committee. The bishop didn’t either. “Hold your horses, Troy. We’ll let the Relief Society handle this one.”
    After the prayer everyone but the bishop’s wife filed out. The bishop kicked a jam under the door to let in some fresh air. Rachel said, “You’re going to be through at three, right?”
    The bishop barked, “Todd!”
    The executive secretary stepped back into the room. He opened his three-ring binder and shook his head. “Nothing three to six. Interviews at six-thirty, seven, seven-thirty.”
    “There you go.”
    The same routine every Sunday. Odds were fifty-fifty he’d be home on time.
    The shower was running when she got home. Laura was up. Good. What else? Make a few calls, make sure Amy Lewis had the Relief Society lesson ready—
    The doorbell rang.
    She opened the door. Gary Reed and Kyle Matheson stood there in their Sunday best. Kyle was Laura’s age, Gary a year older. Kyle said, “Hi, Sister Forsythe.” Gary handed her a fast offering envelope.
    She looked at the envelope. Across the flap she’d written the month before, Pay with tithing. Glen, the ward finance clerk, was supposed to pull all the pay-with-tithing envelopes, but he was still learning the ropes. She said, “How about I keep this, okay? I’ll give it to the bishop.”
    “Okay,” said Kyle.
    Rachel closed the door and tossed the envelope on the coffee table and went back to the kitchen. She put on an apron and got the roast out of the fridge.

Chapter 10
    An open door may tempt a saint
    M ilada was pretty sure somebody was at the front door. She rolled over and tucked the covers around her shoulders. The clock radio on the nightstand flashed 9:05. In the bloody morning.
    The doorbell rang again.
    She groaned. It’s Sunday morning! Her visitors were impertinent and impatient. She could ignore them. Probably. Maybe it was some neighborly thing they did here, some city statute about welcoming new residents on Sunday morning. Hell, she didn’t know. This was new territory for her.
    She pulled on her yukata , tying the sash as she marched up the stairs. She turned the deadbolt and flung open the door. Sunlight reflecting off the roof of the house across the street nearly blinded her. She squinted and