“Pick them up right now.”

A little kid in a red swimsuit shut off the brass water spigot, and the sprinkler quit swinging with a sharp metal click.

Thirty yards off, Harry Caldwell sat behind the padded wheel of his custom gas-powered golf cart.

He leaned back into the dark leather cushion and laughed out loud, turning his heavy gold signet ring around and around his pinky.

Arthur Peterson pushed his silver-framed glasses up by the bridge again and again and stepped out from behind the charcoal grill.