“They’ll serve it Wednesday at six forty.”

“Six forty, then.”

“If he isn’t home, the sheriff leaves a copy and comes back with a locksmith.”

I put the folder back in the suitcase and zipped it closed with one sharp, final pull.

At seven forty the lift groaned, and the sound bounced off the stucco and rolled up the hill toward the mountain.

I stood in the driveway with my hands in my coat pockets while the driver worked the steel arms under the Mercedes.

David had his pen uncapped and nothing yet to write on.