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Do you know them?”
    “Of course. Jacob Rubenstein was one of the most important people in my life. He bought my family’s land, everything except the farmhouse and this piece of property, the enclave.”
    “The what?”
    “That’s what we call this area,” Penn interjected. “An enclave is a piece of territory unique unto its own. That’s us,” she said proudly.
    “Before we talk business, you eat your pie.”
    She quickly obliged as it postponed the reason for her visit that much longer. Sweet potato pie wasn’t one of her favorites so she readied a lie—until she ate the first bite.
    “This is fabulous,” she said.
    “Thank you, dear. It’s my mother’s recipe. In fact, Jacob Rubenstein liked it so much he served it at his restaurant. As far as I know, they still serve it.”
    “Well, it’s the best dessert I’ve ever had,” she said honestly. She devoured the rest in four bites and withdrew a map of the subdivision while Viv and Penn finished.
    “Tea’s too sweet,” Viv scowled. “I put too much sugar in it.”
    “ It’s fine,” Penn said flatly, and CC noticed the shift in her tone. Penn was watching her carefully, not with interest but with wariness—like a lawyer.
    She took out a pen, hoping her hands weren’t shaking. Penn’s gaze felt like an arrow stuck in the side of her neck.
    “Now, this is the original piece of property that Mr. Rubenstein purchased, correct?”
    They all studied the square half-mile that now sat in prime Phoenix real estate and Viv nodded. “Yes,” she said, pointing. “All of this used to be beautiful orange orchards when I was a girl.”
    CC took her pen and drew a circle around the farmhouse, the carport and the cottages. “And so this is the area you refer to as the enclave?”
    “Uh-huh, that’s us.”
    “And your family has retained the rights to this property, correct?”
    She nodded assuredly. “Absolutely. That was the deal. He bought everything around it and we kept this.”
    “And as far as you know, that’s never changed?”
    “What’s your point, Ms. Carlson?” Penn interrupted. “Apparently there’s a dispute or you wouldn’t be here.”
    She took a sip of the too-sweet tea. She felt like she was standing in a desert. There was nothing friendly about Penn’s tone now. She reached into her file and withdrew a photocopy of a handwritten note dated August of nineteen fifty-five and watched as they read it together, while her foot clicked against the bamboo.
    She knew what it said. She’d read it several times over the last few days after Blanca had dropped the file on her desk. She’d read it carelessly, while she was eating lunch or taking notes on the case, recognizing none of the ramifications. But as she sipped tea and watched Penn’s face turn angry and Viv shake her head, she realized she’d missed a critical piece of processing the case.
    She heard Blanca’s monotone voice say, “We’ll make it easy for your first time in the field.”
    “This is bullshit!” Penn exclaimed, jumping off the sofa. “Have you authenticated it?”
    She couldn’t look at them. She withdrew the next paper in the file, for she’d made sure she was highly prepared, and handed it to her.
    She turned to Viv and said, “It’s a request from the court, ordering you to produce correspondence from your father that can be examined by a handwriting expert.”
    “Why are we hearing about this now?” Penn asked acidly.
     She avoided the question and looked at Viv. “We’ve attempted to make contact several times, but you’ve never returned our calls.”
    She shrugged. “Well, thanks to caller ID I don’t answer the phone unless I know who it is. I’m too busy. I guess your number came up as unknown caller. I thought you were a salesman.” She looked up at Penn. “What is she saying?”
    Penn glared. “You tell her. I’m not doing your dirty work.”
    She swallowed hard. “If this is valid, it means that in nineteen fifty-five your