I also tried calling Lars and Beverly. When there was no answer at their place, I left a message on their machine saying I was thinking about them. Then I took a shower and put on clean clothes. A little over an hour later, when I opened the door in answer to Mel’s ring, she walked into my apartment in a pungent cloud of garlic. “Hope you don’t mind chicken or garlic,” she said. “It’s shish tawouk from the Mediterranean Kitchen. They’re right next door to where I live.” “I didn’t know you lived on Queen Anne Hill,” I said. She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “I don’t,” she said. “I mean the one in downtown Bellevue. I live in the Parkvue Apartments, just down from Bel-Square.” She set the bags of food on the kitchen counter, along with a bottle of chardonnay. “And I brought along an opener in case you didn’t have one.” “I have openers,” I said. “And glasses. I just don’t keep wine around anymore. Or booze.” “In AA?” The offhand way she asked the question made it sound as though she knew something about the subject.
