He took a yellow clipboard out of his back pocket.

“Just sign at the bottom of the bill, Mrs.

Briggs.”

I signed the receipt and gave him a twenty-dollar bill from my handbag.

The van’s engine turned over in the gravel drive, and the street fell quiet once more.

I went to the edge of the porch and looked down Willow Creek Lane.

A red delivery truck rounded the corner two blocks off, creeping past the citrus trees.

By two o’clock I had walked four blocks north to the row of shops on 4th Street.