The first tires crunched on the gravel lane at three minutes past four.

Nate stepped out onto the porch beside me and wiped his palm flat against his dark blue pants.

Ron pulled his Buick up the lane first, stopping right next to the flower bed where the red peony shoots were coming up by the old concrete cistern lid.

Kim’s rusty sedan pulled in right behind him, followed by Jeff’s gray pickup with his steel toolbox in the bed.

Judy climbed out of the passenger side with her leather handbag tucked tight under her arm, her small eyes fixed on the front of the two-story house.