Hopefully, to signal it was okay to come in. Darkness had nearly pushed the sunset from the sky. But with the light that remained, Ben could easily tell the house was magnificent. Most of the houses on this part of Ridgewood Avenue were like mansions. Ben had seen homes this size in Germany, many of them confiscated from wealthy Jews, then turned into headquarters for high-ranking Nazi officers or used for special training missions. Like the estate house his team had been assigned near Brandenburg, out in the Prussian countryside. He remembered something his Abwehr commander had said as they sipped cognac in the living room: “Can you imagine . . . a Jew owning something like this? It’s almost obscene, an absolute waste!” Claire’s house might actually be bigger than that one. It had two stories, a third if you included the attic. It was surrounded by ancient live oaks with moss hanging down from every limb. A wide porch wrapped across the front and down the right side.
