Two days after her mother's funeral, nineteen-year-old Goldenhawk Vandeleur rode the elevator to the thirteenth floor of the Standard Insurance Center. I can imagine her:  impatient, silently cursing every stop as the building's employees chat with each other about the weather, the quality of food in the downstairs deli, and various insurance matters. The rosewood walls add elegance to an otherwise utilitarian necessity, but the piped in music would have done nothing to soothe Golden's troubled soul. 

    As she entered the northeast corner office of Shirley Combs, Golden must have noted the deep cut pile of the Chinese rug, the high quality photographs of the usual Northwest scenes:  Mount St. Helens prior to the May, 1980 eruption; downtown Portland by night with the snow on Mount Hoo...

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