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Knobcone Lake, I was a bit surprised when Neal, still ahead of us, turned left onto Pine Lane, a road heading up the steep hillside near some small lakeside hotels. This was nearly opposite where the resort sat at the far side of the water.
    In this area, some pretty sumptuous estates overlooking the lake lined the streets and the ridge. I’d never visited any of these homes, although one person who lived up here was my friend Wilhelmina —Billi—Matlock. I hung out with her often at Mountaintop Rescue, the animal shelter she ran in Knobcone Heights, or at my veterinary clinic whenever she brought some of the animals in for treatments or shots. She also owned the Robust Retreat, a posh day spa and fitness club. I got together with her for coffee or meals when we could both work it in—not always easy for either of us, especially since we both had multiple careers. She was particularly busy, considering that in addition to her two businesses, she was also on City Council.
    Despite how we were becoming good friends, she hadn’t been at my small home and I hadn’t been at her large one, although I knew where it was.
    I was buddies with Billi’s fellow City Council member Les Ethman, and his home was up here, too. Not the rest of the Ethmans, though; although they were one of the town’s most elite families, and Neal’s bosses at the resort, their estate was in a different affluent area. But many of the town’s wealthiest residents did maintain their vast homes here. And even though I knew that some of the hikes Neal conducted included the hillsides and remote views of the estates located there, I hadn’t thought today’s tour was one of them.
    Without explaining why to Reed, I tugged Biscuit’s leash lightly and hurried ahead to catch up with my brother. Janelle was beside him, unsurprisingly, on the sidewalk along the unexpectedly wide street. Or maybe it wasn’t so unexpected, considering the people who lived here and the limos they might ride in to reach their homes.
    Neal held his red staff in his left hand and was pointing at a large wrought-iron gate with his right one.
    I was a bit out of breath as I caught up. “Hey,” I said, “aren’t we off our planned route?”
    My bro looked at me with his blue eyes that resembled mine and smiled without slowing down. “Hey yourself, and the answer’s yes. I imagine my paying guests will be glad there’s no additional charge for this detour that’ll show them some of the fanciest homes in the area.”
    â€œIt’s my fault,” Janelle chimed in. She didn’t look out of breath at all, which I was sure added more bonus points for her on my brother’s scorecard. “I did my research on Knobcone Heights before I came and know that some families here are pretty well known and wealthy, and some of the ones I’ve heard of in LA also have vacation homes in this area. I asked Neal to show me where. I hope it’s okay with you and the others.”
    â€œI’m fine with it,” I said. “Don’t know about the others, though.” But when I turned around, I didn’t see irritation on any faces, just a bit of awe as they looked past a fence toward the mansion beyond.
    â€œWho lives here?” asked a young woman holding a leash with a Rottweiler mix on the other end.
    â€œThe Frenches,” Neal replied without even hesitating. He’d obviously done his homework, possibly for prior hikes he’d led. It might not be particularly kosher to give out specific information, in case someone used it for some ill purpose like planning a theft, but it wasn’t as if chatter about who lived where wasn’t available online anyway.
    â€œWhose place is that?” called a guy without a dog who stood with a group of other men. He pointed to across the street, to where a stone mansion was barely visible behind the trees lining its fence.
    â€œThe