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used to during the worst days of her dependencies. She hurried to the cell and punched the talk button while she poured herself some coffee with the other hand.
    “Veronica? It’s Tara. How are you?”
    “Tara, how lovely to hear from you. I’ve been fine lately, my dear, much better than most of your memories of me when I was ill, I assure you. I believe we can both consider ourselves successful alumni of Mountain Manor Clinic. How are you and your little charge, Claire, doing?” she asked as she sat down on the edge of the bed to steady her legs.
    “Fine, thanks. I’m so glad to hear you’re well. Are you still on the advisory board for Red Rocks?”
    Red Rocks was a huge outdoor amphitheater, set in a stunning array of mammoth, tilted sandstone monoliths. Between Conifer and Denver, it was nearby for Tara and the senior Lohans, whose home was in Kerr Gulch in Evergreen. Jordan and Veronica Lohan had long been benefactors of Red Rocks, and for years Veronica had been active in helping to select the wide range of cultural events staged there.
    “Yes, a real veteran of the advisory board,” Veronica told her with a little laugh. “But why do you ask? May I get you tickets for something?”
    “I was wondering if we could meet there today. I’ve appreciated how kind you’ve been through everything and was hoping we could keep in touch. I haven’t had a mother for years, but I’ve always valued your advice. I don’t suppose Laird would approve but—”
    “Nor would his father or brother, so let’s do it!”
    There was still something exhilarating, Veronica thought, about bucking Jordan, the head of the clan, or even her dyed-in-the-Lohan-wool sons, Thane and Laird, who always thought they knew what was best for her. Talk about the Kennedy women having to toe the line for their husbands’ careers!
    Veronica smiled stiffly, recalling she’d once overheard Tara tell Laird that he really didn’t want a Lohan wife but a Stepford wife, a clone windup doll like his brother Thane’s Susanne, who was a perfect and perfectly obedient wife.
    Tara had always reminded Veronica of herself, back when she still thought she could maintain her career as a concert organist with the symphony. But she hadn’t managed to even play a theater organ for classic silent movies in the summer or be some church’s guest organist. Instead, Jordan had bought her not one but two massive pipe organs, one here at home and one in the chapel at the clinic. She usually ended up just playing for family or friends, when she’d always longed for a bigger stage—like the one at Red Rocks.
    “What time shall we meet?” she asked Tara. “It’s already after ten, but we could meet near the restaurant in the Visitor Center at one.”
    “Would you be willing to make it one-thirty? I’ve got a doctor’s appointment. Can you meet me out by the first set of rocks to the left of the west entry, the one with the great view of Creation Rock? You remember, where we took that walk and had that heart-to-heart talk?”
    “The one with the natural table and bench?”
    “Yes. I’ll bring a picnic for us, then we can get caught up in private without all the people you know coming up to our table to chat in the restaurant. It’s been a while since we’ve really talked, though I treasured your visits after I came out of the coma.”
    “Is there something wrong, Tara? You can tell me, and it will go no further.”
    “I hope not. I’ll save it all for our lunch.”
    “I’ll be there, my dear, and if something goes awry, I’ll call you.”
    “Tara, I don’t want to sound like an alarmist, but I think someone’s been watching the house,” Nick told her. She was madly stuffing chicken salad into pita bread; a wicker picnic basket sat on the kitchen counter. Her hands stopped; she looked up at him, eyes wide.
    “Did you see someone?”
    “No, but Beamer found a trail to that old hunter’s cabin, which has been swept out and used. I know it’s