Sonja gazed around the property at the end of the peaceful neighborhood block: the perfect two-story house with its tiny back porch and wooden rocker, a colorful light shawl draped over an armrest; the tidy garden with its newly planted and wide-spaced blooms; black tuxedo cat half-napping under dense shrubbery hugging the side of the house; four sweetly curved granite steps leading up to a cheerful purple door.

“Purple,” she muttered, looking uneasily at the neighbors peeking out at her from behind lace curtains, noting “Definitely suspicious that the address in question in this sweet little neighborhood has a purple door.”