I gave him a twenty-dollar bill and took the stamped pages.

Julian had launched his legal attack on my home twenty-four hours before David was buried.

I turned into the driveway on Elmwood Lane at a quarter to twelve.

A big white box truck was parked across the gravel, its back ramp lowered onto my front lawn.

Two men in blue denim work shirts were struggling to get a huge oak executive desk down off the back of the truck.

Harper stood by the porch steps in her wool coat, pointing a manicured finger toward the open front door.