“Nothing,” I said. “I’ll go anyway.”

“Oh, dear,” said Anita. Holding Baxter tight, she walked into the house.

Cheryl flashed me a look—helpless, apologetic—then followed.

Kent said, “Let me give you some advice: When someone offers you something, you should take it. Just out of courtesy.” He waved the three twenties.

“Donate it to charity,” I said.

He smiled. “I thought I was— Okay, you’re a stubborn guy. Let’s get you back to your canoe.” Placing a hand on my shoulder. Squeezing a little too forcefully, and when I resisted he dug his fingers in even harder. I freed myself from his grip, and his hands rose protectively. Boxer’s instincts. But still smiling.

I turned and headed back down the pathway. He caught up, laughing, his pink T-shirt spotted with sweat. He wore a strong cologne—orange brandy and anise and some other scents I couldn’t pinpoint. “What exactly happened with Cheryl and Bax?”

“Just what Cheryl said.”

“The kid wasn’t drowning? You just decided to play hero?”

“At the time it seemed the right thing to do.”