“Well, one time resisting arrest.” Ryan paused.

Mr. Ritchie said, “What else?”

“Another time B and E.”

“What’s B and E?” the girl said.

He looked right at her now, at the nice nose and the big round sunglasses and the dark hair hanging close to her face.

“Breaking and Entering,” Bob Jr. said.

The girl kept her eyes on Ryan. She said, “Oh,” and again brushed aside her hair with the tip of one finger, a gentle, almost caressing gesture.

She would be nineteen or twenty, Ryan decided: slim and brown in white shorts and a striped blue and tan and white top that was like the top of an old-fashioned bathing suit, sitting there with her ankles tucked under her and moving the funnies now so Ryan or Bob Jr. or anybody who wanted to could see her nice tan legs.

“We’re taking the boat out,” Mr. Ritchie was saying to Bob Jr. “We might leave it at the beach place, I don’t know.”

Bob Jr. straightened. “Right. I’ll have it picked up if you do.”

“I’ll be going back to Detroit about four thirty. You can check on the boat anytime after that.”

“Right,” Bob Jr. said. “You’ll be back Friday?”

Mr. Ritchie was looking at Ryan. “We don’t mean to keep you, if you want to pack and get going.”

“I didn’t know if you were through with me,” Ryan said.

“We’re through.”

“Just remember,” Bob Jr. said.

Ryan kept his eyes on Mr. Ritchie. “I was just wondering, you said you were driving to Detroit-”

“What’d I tell you!” The curled brim of Bob Jr.’s cowboy hat jutted toward him. “I said now. You know what that means? It means you leave now. This minute.”

Ryan felt the girl watching him. His gaze shifted from Mr. Ritchie’s solemn expression and he gave her the Jack Ryan nice-guy grin and shrugged and, just as he saw her begin to smile, walked off toward the washhouse.