—Ellis Peters, The Raven in the Foregate “Do you know how much I love working down here?” Kristen said as we strolled out of the Soames-Dunn Building, arm in arm, as much to stick together on the crowded sidewalk as to reaffirm our best-friendship. “It’s like, in the Market, anything can happen.” “And does.” Across Pike Place, in the craft stalls, Bonnie’s absence created no visible gap. But those invisible gaps are a whole other story. A familiar figure wearing Seahawks number 12—the fans’ number—sauntered out of Starbucks. The staff know Hot Dog’s love of cappuccino and occasionally buy him one from the tip jar. “Summon your persuasive powers,” I told Kristen. She gave me a conspiratorial wink, and we flanked him. “Uh-oh. Two pretty women picking up a dude like me, somethin’ ain’t right.” “Ah, Mr.
