Devlin slipped close by the committee boat.
“Another one for your collection, my boy,” Hank reached out a pole between their boats.
“Thanks, Hank.” Devlin plucked his prize from the gripper at the end of the pole.
“You rafting up?” Sissy, one of Hank’s daughters had her hand out, ready to take a line.
He usually did. The Duck Dodge traditionally ended with a whole line of boats rafted up to the committee boat. Dinner, drinks, jokes, and occasionally willing companions would drift back and forth across the tied-up boats for hours as night settled over the city.
But then he thought of Isobel. She’d be recognized in a heartbeat. In fact, he saw Sissy’s eyes widen suddenly. She might be past fifty, Hank was in his eighties after all, but she looked to be on the verge of a complete fan-squ
