From: Miranda Glass, Curator of Anthropology, Central Oregon Museum of Natural History.

To: Members of the Western Association of Forensic Anthropologists.

Subject: Sixth Biennial WAFA Conference

Esteemed Fellow Body-Snatchers:

June 16-22, the week of our eagerly anticipated bone bash and weenie roast, is fast approaching. As this year’s host I hereby bid you a genial welcome.

Fittingly enough, this year’s enlightenment and jollification will be held where it all started: the decaying but still scenic Whitebark Lodge…

Nelson Halston Hobert, president of the National Society of Forensic Anthropology, Distinguished Services Professor of Human Biology at the University of Northern New Mexico, and at sixty-four the undisputed dean of American forensic anthropologists, frowned as he read the letter. The breakfast dishes had been cleared to one side, his third cup of coffee was freshly poured, and his morning pipe was newly lit and fragrant. His posture was one of thoughtful repose, his mood benign but troubled.

“Damn,” he murmured, “that’s going to stir up a few old anxieties.”

Across the table from him his wife appraised him and found him wanting.

“You have something in your beard,” she told him in a matter-of-fact tone. “Banana bread, I believe.”

“Mm,” he said abstractedly, “I suppose.” He continued to read.

“Honestly,” Frieda Hobert said, not unfondly. She reached across the pile of mail and used the tip of her folded napkin to dab the offending crumb from her husband’s bristly gray beard. Another flick removed a shred of tobacco from his old brown jogging suit. She looked him over once more, this time approvingly, and sat back satisfied.

If Hobert was aware of these attentions he gave no sign. “Miranda’s set up this year’s WAFA meeting,” he told her. “The week of June sixteenth.”