“Morning, David,” Harry called over the fading hum of his motor, setting the basket on the flat stone cap of my porch wall.

I stepped down off the wooden riser and tapped my left thumbnail against my knuckles twice.

“What’s all this, Harry?” I asked.

“Call it an olive branch,” he said, spinning his heavy gold signet ring round and round his pinky.

“Neighbors should settle their differences over coffee, not town filings.”

He reached into the inside breast pocket of his crisp linen shirt and drew out a thick, unsealed white envelope.

“Two thousand dollars in fifties,” Harry said, laying the envelope on top of a wheel of cheddar in the wicker basket.