“Anna. This is Amelia. There’s a stranger, a man, coming over to your door. He knocked here, but I didn’t let him in.”

“No to worry, Señora Amelia. Señor Max, he tell me never open door to anyone I not know. I no let him in, and I get Jose to go round and chase him away.”

“I don’t know what he wants. He may just be asking for directions or something.” Was she making too much of this, making a mountain out of a molehill? The man had reached Max’s front door. Amelia could see his feet; the roof of Max’s porch hid his head. “He’s at your door now, Anna.”

“I call Jose. He take care of everything. You no worry.” And Anna hung up.

Amelia watched from her window as Jose strode around the corner of the house. He carried a pitchfork in one hand, and in the other led one of the dogs on a leash. The dog, Hero, barked and jumped toward the man, but Jose restrained him. The stranger descended the steps and, keeping his distance, stood for a few moments talking with Jose before shoving his hands in his pockets and strolling from the yard. When he turned left and headed for Elk Road, Amelia breathed a sigh of relief and wondered what she had made such a fuss about. Then the phone rang.

Anna said, “He say to Jose he lost, and Jose tell him how to go, and he go. Jose say he no like the look of the hombre. He too pretty.”

Too pretty? An interesting way to describe someone you didn’t like the looks of. “Thanks, Anna. I’m leery of any strange man going door to door.”

“It no problem, Señora Amelia.”

“Well, thank Jose for me.”

“Sí. I tell Jose. Adios.”

He was gone, thank goodness, and that was that. She might as well go downstairs to the dining room and lay out the dozen black-and-white photographs Mike had asked her to critique. She had been flattered by his request. Mike routinely critiqued her work and rarely asked her to reciprocate with his.

She laid the photographs side by side, stood back, and studied them carefully. With black-and-white you worked to capture a range of shades from white through gray to solid black, which was not always easy. Your eyes could trick you; you could miss either end of this spectrum and end up with a too-gray and murky look. Amelia examined each photograph seeking the kind of clutter the human eyes could overlook: an electric wire, a twig or leaf. And then there was the matter of balance and composition.