The conductor came through. “Next stop Whitham Junction,” he announced. “Change here for…” and he named a string of places no one ever heard of, Pattaskinnick among them. Carolyn nudged me and pointed out the window. Snow was falling.

“Well, they said it would snow north of the city,” I said. “And here we are, north of the city, and that’s what it’s doing.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” she said, “and I hope it doesn’t stop. I hope it snows all weekend.”

I might have bridled at that if I’d been paying attention. But my mind was otherwise engaged, so much so that I missed what she said next. When I’d let a couple of lines pass without comment, she said, “Bernie?”

“Sorry. I guess I was lost in space.”

“She’s been on your mind a lot, hasn’t she?”

“Who, Lettice?”

“Uh-huh. It’s okay, Bern. It’s only natural. You took a real shot to the heart, and now you’re on this trip with me instead of her, and it stands to reason you’re going to spend a certain amount of time mooning over the woman.”

“Mooning,” I said. “Is that what I was doing?”

“Well-”

“I don’t think I was mooning,” I said. “As a matter of fact I wasn’t thinking of Miss Lettice Runcible at all.”

“You weren’t?”

I stood up, got our bags down from the overhead rack. “As it happens,” I said, “I was thinking of Raymond Chandler.”

CHAPTER Two

I should start at the beginning.

Well, near the beginning, anyway. At my apartment, say, some ten days before Carolyn and Raffles and I caught a train to Pattaskinnick by way of Whitham Junction. It was around eleven o’clock, and my Mel Tormé tape was about to reverse itself automatically once again, and I was trying to decide what to do about it.

“Would you like to hear it again?” I asked Lettice. “Or should I put on something else?”

“It doesn’t matter, Bernie.”

I reached out a hand, rested it on her flank, and let my fingers do the walking. “We could try silence,” I suggested, “interrupted only by our own heavy breathing, and occasional cries of passion.”