I crossed the street and passed through the wrought-iron gate into the inner courtyard. The front door was inset with three panels of stained glass that depicted a rose, a donkey, and a saguaro cactus with a sombrero perched on top. I rang the bell.

The balding man who opened the door had a leathery face and a pate splotched with sun damage where hair had once been. He was roughly my height, five-six, with a barrel chest and a tangle of white hair sprouting from the V of his Hawaiian shirt. His shorts revealed bowed legs the color of caramel corn.

“Mr. Holderman?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“My name’s Kinsey Millhone,” I said. “I was just looking at a house for sale on Ramona Road and the woman next door thought you could answer questions about the property. Her name’s Judy, by the way, and she said to tell you hi.”

“Judy’s a nice gal. Tell her hi back from me. You’re talking about Bob Tinker’s place. Well built, but it’s overpriced. House is worth three-point-five tops and he’s asking six, which is ridiculous.”

“Judy says he moved out and he hopes to rent or lease.”

“Man’s a fool. Anything he has, he thinks is worth double the actual value. You said questions.”

“I was wondering about the lot line. I have a friend waiting in the car who played on that hill as a child. There was an old oak he loved, but when we walked the property just now, he said the big tree he remembers is gone and the wire fence is new.”

“I wouldn’t say new. I put that fence in fifteen years ago, for all the good it does. Riders go over or around it. I might as well set up a toll booth and make ’em pay. You talk about trees. We lost a dozen or more in a storm some years back. Two eucalyptus and a big live oak went down. The oak was a beauty, too, a big guy, probably a hundred and fifty years old. It might well be the one he’s talking about. The utility company should have kept the deadwood trimmed. Tree was on the easement and had nothing to do with me or I’d have pruned it myself. Winds came up and the damn thing split in half, taking out trees on both sides. Woke me up out of a sound sleep.”

“Must have been a mess,” I said.

“Big time. The utility company sent a fellow with a chain saw to clear the downed trees. He wasn’t paid to work that hard so he took his sweet time—ten minutes’ worth of sweat and then a cigarette break. Went on for days. I know because I watched. Pay minimum wage, you get minimum work. Nobody seems to get that. Took him three weeks.”

I half turned, indicating Sutton in my car. “Would you mind if the two of us went up and looked around? It would mean a lot to him.”