“Willow Creek Lane,” I said.

“The Craftsman house, number seven forty-two.”

He lifted his eyebrows and studied me, his hand resting flat on the desk.

“That house sold just yesterday,” he said.

“My brother’s in real estate, and he said some corporate investment group paid cash for it.”

“Your brother had it wrong,” I said.

“Could you start at eight tomorrow morning?”

He jotted the address down and tapped the pad with his pencil.