Julie foraged in the plate of raw vegetables and came up with a broccoli stalk. Then she fished the letter out of the pile of mail. Behind her, the big bay window looked out onto a wet, somber world. It had been a typical early-May day in Port Angeles, Washington: raw, overcast, and drizzly. The sky at 6:00 P.M. looked exactly the way it had at 8:00 A.M., a featureless and dismal slaty gray. According to the KIRO weather report, it was going to look much the same tomorrow.

“‘To Members of the Western Association of Forensic Anthropologists,’” she read aloud. “‘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.’”

She looked up at him from under lifted eyebrows. “Bone bash and weenie roast? Well, you’re certainly right about them not being stuffy.”

He smiled. “Miranda’s a little more irreverent than most. Read on.”

“‘Fittingly enough,’” she continued, “‘this year’s enlightenment and jollification will be held where it all started: the decaying but still scenic Whitebark Lodge near Bend, Oregon. I must tell you that the lodge is not quite what it was ten years ago (who among us is?), but the management promises to do its best. Dinner and continental breakfast will be provided daily, and those of you who wish more variety will find the restaurants of Bend and Sisters just a short drive away. In addition, the general store in nearby Camp Sherman stocks an ample supply of gourmet comestibles (bologna, American cheese, tuna Fish), which you may prepare in the privacy of your cottages. As usual, we’ll set up a kitty to take care of lunch and beverages so that we are not unnecessarily torn away from our scholarly pursuits. Naturally, potables stronger than Diet Coke are the responsibility of the individual. As always, cocktail hour begins at sunrise.’”