Snow clung to the stone pillars, and two floodlights threw bright white beams across the private asphalt lane.

I leaned out my window and pressed the silver call button on the brass intercom panel.

The speaker crackled twice before Ethan’s voice filled the cold air.

“Caldwell residence, who’s calling?” he asked.

“It’s Grace,” I said.

There was a short pause on the line, followed right away by a smooth, raised warmth meant for anyone listening nearby.

“Grace, wonderful,” Ethan said through the speaker.

“Security has your name.