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Leonard and I slipped outside and hugged the wall of the building, using the canoe shack for cover. When we reached the picture windows, a superstitious impulse made me glance in the building, afraid there was someone watching us from within. There was no one, but the glass reflection was a reminder that Meathead quietly heeled alongside me.
We paused at the canoe shack, simple wood framing with a corrugated roof overhead and what looked like heavy chicken wire to enclose it. Inside, canoes rested on equally simple wooden racks, stacked in several sets of four. On the far side, a couple of racks held plastic kayaks stacked more closely together. I squatted, bringing me to Meathead’s eye level, and Leonard followed my lead. Not quite lined up with a visual gap, I adjusted my stance, an
