I climbed the porch steps and took the straight-backed teak chair by the railing, while Harry lowered his wide frame into the green wicker armchair across from me.

“I had a talk with Trent last night,” Harry said, leaning forward with his thick forearms on his knees.

“He knows he acted like a dumb kid kicking those wooden stakes on your border.”

I kept my back straight against the teak and didn’t say anything.

“Arthur Peterson thinks this whole boundary business is getting blown out of proportion,” Harry added, twisting his signet ring around his pinky again.

“He told me yesterday at the clubhouse that you’re a sensible man who wouldn’t stand in the way of neighborhood improvements over thirty-six inches of dirt.”