“Arthur never owned the deed,” I said.

“He had power of attorney while David was overseas,” Julian said.

“That stands up in county court.”

“It doesn’t stand up under federal jurisdiction,” I said.

Far down the curve of Elmwood Lane, beyond the row of dark maple trees, a pair of bright white halogen headlights swung onto the street.

Julian turned his head toward the glare, his forehead wrinkling as a second set of headlights appeared right behind the first, and then a third.

The heavy, low growl of multi-ton diesel engines started to vibrate up through the cold asphalt beneath our boots.