He parked his car just outside the hillside community and then entered on foot. The neighborhood had big family homes with trimmed lawns, long driveways, and streets with Spanish names. Here and there a few windows were lit, but for the most part, everything was dark, asleep. He tried to appear casual, like he was on an insomniac’s stroll. Over his shoulder, if it were day, he would be able to see a peel of ocean. Instead, he felt only the breeze.
The fourth doormat he lifted, he found a key. The house was ranch style with a stone path leading to the front. He tried the key and the Dutch door released. He pushed it open a few inches and waited for the alarm. Then he went inside.
In the open foyer, he took off his shoes. He took off his socks. He rooted his bare feet for a moment on the oak floors and let his eyes adjust to the dark. Ahead was a living room with a vaulted ceiling. Through the big picture windows, he saw the outlines of trees and hills.
He stepped onto the limestone of the kitchen. He placed his hand on the cool marble island. He looked around. He kept the lights off. Everything was orderly in the white cabinet kitchen. The drying rack was empty. The countertop was bare except for the usual appliances. The plant on the windowsill near the sink was well maintained. Outside, just beyond, the pool lay still.