Clifford Barbour steps out of the family home in Seacliff, San Francisco. The night is pleasant, with the moon shining in the sky. Father Barbour's garden, which reaches all the way down to the seawall, is magically beautiful in the soft light. A zephyr of salt air wafts from the ocean. Clifford takes a deep, contented breath, and starts for the garage, just as his niece Joan pulls into the driveway in her smart, yellow convertible.