Lou was curious about the cannibal in Idaho.
Idaho.
Idaho.She couldn’t even think about the state’s name without hearing a jingle from her childhood about potatoes.
She tried to refrain from making a joke about meat and potatoes as she waited for night to fall.
meatIt wasn’t enough to wait until the sun had set in St. Louis. Idaho was two hours behind her. So she padded around her apartment, drank coffee, and ate dinner—chicken and broccoli tonight—and watched the bravest of boats cut a path up the Mississippi River in defiance of the ruthless April wind.
Once she was certain full dark had fallen even in Idaho, she gave up her view of the Arch, with the artificial spotlights encircling it, and stepped into her converted linen closet.
On the other side of the darkness, she found herse
