In the morning, Denise and Joe were up first, a little after dawn. In early April, it's twilight from just after five, but dawn isn't until around hal...-six, so they were on deck as the sun, bright gold, was showing to the east. The air had that clarity you only see after rain, and it would have been cold had there been any wind at all, but it was flat calm. The water around them was like a mirror between expanses of mud, but if you watched carefully, you'd be able to tell the tide was rising,. The van had just turned onto Clinton Street, and they were driving slowly, looking for a street number, the house where Malcolm Swiftwater's grandson lived. The houses were small, mostly ranch-style and at least a generation old. Almost every house needed some repair work or a fresh coat of pain or both. The lots they stood in were also small, covered with yellowing grass and the occasional cactus. Children and dogs ran across the yards, the children shouting, as children will, but not always. More

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