“Arthur didn’t say anything about the clubhouse when he was measuring my lawn,” I said.

“Arthur knows who’s paying for the new community park gazebo,” Harry said, giving a tight smile.

“He understands how things get done in Oak Creek.”

Harry folded his big hands together in his lap, and the bright morning sun caught the face of his signet ring.

Deep, fresh gray scratches ran across the heavy gold, as though the metal had lately scraped hard against iron gym weights or a solid steel fence post.

“Young guys get overtrained at the gym,” Harry went on, looking me straight in the eye without blinking.