“Excuse me. You wouldn’t happen to be Maura Isles?”

She looked up at the man who’d risen from his seat two rows ahead. He was about her age, tall and athletic, with a deep tan and sun-streaked blond hair that made her automatically think: California boy. His face seemed vaguely familiar, but she could not recall where she’d met him, which was surprising. His was a face that any woman would certainly remember.

“I knew it! It is you, isn’t it?” He laughed. “I thought I spotted you as you came into the room.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. This is really embarrassing, but I’m having trouble placing you.”

“That’s because it was a long time ago. And I no longer have my ponytail. Doug Comley, Stanford pre-med. It’s been, what? Twenty years? I’m not surprised you’ve forgotten me. Hell, I would’ve forgotten me.”

Suddenly a memory popped into her head, of a young man with long blond hair and protective goggles perched on his sunburned nose. He’d been far lankier then, a whippet in blue jeans. “Were we in a lab together?” she said.

“Quantitative analysis. Junior year.”

“You remember that, even after twenty years? I’m amazed.”

“I don’t remember a damn thing about quant analysis. But I do remember you. You had the lab bench right across from me, and you got the highest score in class. Didn’t you end up at UC San Francisco med school?”

“Yes, but I’m living in Boston now. What about you?”

“UC San Diego. I just couldn’t bring myself to leave California. Addicted to sun and surf.”

“Which sounds pretty good to me right now. Only November, and I’m already tired of the cold.”

“I’m kind of digging this snow. It’s been a lot of fun.”

“Only because you don’t have to live in it four months out of the year.”