The steam curled up in a thin gray twist, smelling of citrus peel and warm rain.

The sun broke over the ridge of the mountains to the east and struck the top branches of the orange grove across the lane.

The white blossoms caught the light and glowed against the deep green leaves.

Daniel had phoned Arthur Vance’s office once more at eight on Tuesday morning, asking whether the trust might ever consider selling the Willow Creek house back to a family member in five years.

Arthur had unscrewed his pen cap three turns, heard out the whole request without cutting in, and then replied in his low, unhurried voice.