“Leigh does many remarkable things, although athletically she isn’t accomplished. She’s kind of…uncoordinated. She hasn’t been out here for a long time. Well, two years ago last October, and then only for a couple of days. She prefers that I visit her, since she has so many obligations, and she has plenty of room. Los Angeles is a nice place to get a tan in winter. That’s about all I care to do there, anyway.”

Los Angeles? It had been Los Altos when she was at Stanford University. But she had said there was a job at UCLA if she wanted it. He shook these thoughts from his mind. God, so long ago. She’d never looked back; what had she decided their relationship was? Dalliance? Panic attack? Mistake? He’d written her at her office, only to have letters returned. He’d called; a secretary took messages. Her home phone number in Los Altos, which had been difficult to find, was changed. Shovel ready, he mentally scanned those events while he dug, and dug hard.

He plunked the tree into the hole and started pushing dirt in around it. “If she’s coming for a long visit, I’ll probably meet her,” he said. He thought about getting drunk later.

“I’m practically forcing her to come. I’ve been trying to get her back here for a long, long time. Now the darnedest thing has come up. You just won’t believe it. It seems I’ve developed some kind of heart problem.” His eyes shot to her face; Jess was a breathtakingly robust sixty-year-old woman with the appearance of absolutely rude good health. Her hair had been thick gray for as long as he’d known her; her face was healthily tanned and only slightly wrinkled at the corners of her clear, intelligent blue eyes. Her cheeks were pink, her lips cherry red, and she looked smashing on skis. If it weren’t for her shock of silver hair, she could pass for forty, maybe forty-five. She shrugged off his look of concern. “Not unheard of at my age.”

“That’s awful. What’s Doc doing about it?”

“Heavens! Tom Meadows doesn’t even know,” she said, which instantly made John suspicious. Tom Meadows was seen with the widows often…with one or all of them. He must be some kind of late-in-life beau.

“You’re not seeing Doc about this?” he asked. He had just assumed Doc was everyone’s Doc.

“Well, now, Tom is a fine doctor, I’m sure, but he isn’t a cardiologist.”

“I really hate to hear this, Jess. Please, be careful. Do as you’re told.”