Chapter 32

And something Maisie had said earlier came back to me. “He woke up in a snowbank…” It didn’t strike me as odd at the time, but now it did, because Seattle, in my many years of living there, rarely saw snow in the winter. No, winters there were gray skies and drizzle, temperatures in the forties.

A snowbank? Something about that gnawed at me, at just the periphery of conscious memory. I grasped for it, but nothing would come.

Finally I put the car in gear and gave the little ranch house what I thought was a parting—and final—glance as I pulled away. Maisie stood at the living room picture window, shoulders slumped. I told myself she was depressed about the weather. 10: I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas

Dark Beer and Beef Stew

Some bacon grease

2-3 lbs. stew meat, cubed

Salt and pepper for the meat

4 carrots, chopped

2 parsnips, chopped

1 turnip, chopped

3 big cloves of garlic, minced

4 onions, quartered