FOURTHE TROUBLE with hunches is they don’t last. Here I had this premonition of buzz saws and booby traps, and yet by the time I parked on Ynez Terrace, it might all have been something I ate the night before. And a hunch like that hadn’t much chance on Ynez Terrace.
The terrace had been a curve of residential street in the steam-trolley era Nelda mentioned. They had left the glossy privet and scarlet blooming tropicals, and had turned it into a street of medical and legal and tax service offices without resorting to any flashy modem architecture.
Number 555 was typical. It had a front of softly silver-stained vertical cypress flanked by recessed doorways with two narrow, horizontal, tilt-glass display windows. The one door belonged to “Briggs, Burton & Leppner, Members N.Y. Stock Exchan
