"I wasn't addressing you," William replied before returning his attention to Mattie. "I hope the topic isn't too painful."

"Not at this point. Barry died six years ago of heart failure. I believe cardiac ischemia is the term they used. He taught jewelry making at the San Francisco Art Institute. He was a very talented man, though a bit of an eccentric."

William was nodding. "Cardiac ischemia. I know the term well. From the Greek, ischein, meaning 'quench' or 'seize,' combined with haima, or 'blood.' A German pathology professor first introduced that term in the mid-1800s. Rudolf Virchow. A remarkable man. What age was your husband?"

"William," Henry sang.

Mattie smiled. "Really, Henry. I'm not sensitive about this. He died two days shy of his seventieth birthday."

William winced. "Pity when a man's struck down in his prime. I myself have suffered several episodes of angina, which I've miraculously survived. I was discussing my heart condition with Lewis, just two days ago by phone. You remember our brother, I'm sure."

"Of course. I hope he and Nell and Charles are all in good health."

"Excellent," William said. He shifted in his chair, lowering his voice. "What about your husband? Did he have any warning prior to his fatal attack?"

"He'd been having chest pains, but he refused to see the doctor. Barry was a fatalist. He believed you check out when your time is up regardless what precautions you take. He compared longevity to an alarm clock that God sets the moment you're born. None of us knows when the little bell will ring, but he didn't see the point in trying to second-guess the process. He enjoyed life immensely, I'll say that about him. Most folks in my family don't make it to the age of sixty, and they're miserable every minute, dreading the inevitable."

"Sixty! Is that right? That's astonishing. Is there a genetic factor in play?"