I said, as I pulled up in front of Dr. Zampa’s residence. It was my dream house, the one Jimmy and I chose out of all the others as we’d driven around Jacaranda playing “What will we buy when Jimmy wins the Masters?” Built of cream stucco, it had a red-tiled roof and arched windows. A cream stucco wall, with a crimson vine growing on it, enclosed a front lawn shaded by a broad old orchid tree. The black wrought-iron gate, set in an arch of the stucco wall, opened onto a rough brick path that led to the front door. Jealousy took a huge bite. The woman who opened the door didn’t look as if she were enjoying the house I coveted. “Mrs. Zampa? Lara Zampa?” “Yes.” Her highlighted brown hair hung limp and unwashed to her shoulders. Her green eyes were swollen and red-rimmed. But still she was pretty. “I’m Sherri Travis.” She stepped back in surprise but I preferred to take it as an invitation and followed her in, closing the door firmly behind me. “I need to talk about Jimmy.
