The door clicked shut, cutting his voice off behind the tinted glass.

Victoria was standing on the upper porch by the decorative brick columns.

She held her crystal champagne flute by its thin stem, the bubbles drifting slowly up to the rim.

“I’m giving you five minutes to get these vehicles out of my driveway,” Victoria said as Michael climbed the porch steps toward her.

“The family pastor is coming at three for Easter supper, and I won’t have this circus on my lawn.”

Michael reached into his dark suit jacket and took out a sheet of paper.