Jack's former attempt to pass up the chimney, it may be remembered, was obstructed by an iron bar. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. She placed the freezer back on top of Ray Plote's old hiding place, now his permanent resting place. Both had lived rather quietly until a scandal had opened up a can of worms for the son, allegations of child abduction, reported sightings of a white van around nearby elementary schools. ‘But there is something still I do not understand. “I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath. Even an unlikely episode such as this could not be ignored.
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