How Eighty Acres of Wisconsin Oak Ridge Exposed My Ex-Husband’s Cash Scheme
It had a dent near the bottom rim from the time Arvid dropped it off his tractor back in ’88.
I twisted off the cup lid and filled the metal flask to the top with hot black coffee right from the pot.
“That’s still steaming,” Dale said in his slow, low voice.
“Grandpa bought this thermos at the hardware store in Menomonie forty years ago,” I said, screwing the stopper down until it clicked.
“It keeps things hot till noon, even up in the high wind on the ridge.”
I put the heavy thermos in the middle of the table beside three blaze-orange safety vests.
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