Murder was the last thing on my mind as I hurried into church to worship morning Mass. As usual, my family and I arrived late, and this massive chamber, with its soaring cathedral ceilings and marble floor, made each click of my spiked heels reverberate throughout the Catholic Church.

Easing into a pew that surprisingly still had extra room at the end, I noted the church nearly filled to capacity, with cradle Catholics seeking solace and praying for forgiveness. Judging by some of the rumors I'd heard about several of these patrons seated around me, it sounded like they could use some.

My friend, Geneva, and her son, Nick, slipped in beside us. She leaned her cheek into mine. "Psst, Lila, did you see the morning news?"

"No, I was too busy trying to get to church on time. Why?"

"Deanne Buffington was murdered."

"What?!"

My outburst drew dirty stares from my husband and Father Michael.