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lulled Deena to sleep. She hadn’t taken an afternoon nap since she was in kindergarten. It was a lifetime ago. Where had all those years gone?
    Whatever dreams she was having made her toss and turn.
    Meanwhile, far across the lake, a man on the lake’s mountainous eastern shore was watching her through a pair of high-powered binoculars.
    A few days earlier the man had been out on his deck when he spotted someone swimming near the lake’s western shore. It was too far for him to make out who it was, but it appeared to be a woman. His curiosity was aroused. The swimmer seemed to have come down from the old Andersen cabin. When the swimmer climbed up onto the dock, the man went back inside his house for a pair of binoculars he had picked up at a garage sale at Coach Lupo’s a few years earlier.
    The binoculars were powerful. They brought the woman so close he felt he could practically reach out and touch her. And looking at the steaming black bathing suit that clung to her body, he wanted to.
    The man was a professional. He prided himself for always being available to his clients at their convenience. But now he found himself making excuses.
    “No, I’m sorry,” he would say. “I can’t meet between 1:30 and 3:00.”
    The best he could do for them now was any time before 1:00 or after 3:15.
    “Would that work?”

    * * * *

    Russ Meyer, the mayor of Turtleback Lake, stood on a stage hung with red, white, and blue bunting. A crowd of hundreds was gathered on the green before him. His amplified voice came crackling through loudspeakers mounted to poles at the corners of the stage.
    “Everybody thinks that turtles are slow,” began the mayor. “But as the young people of our town have proved – on land and in the water – the turtles from this neck of the woods are anything but.”
    Mayor Meyer paused to clear phlegm from his throat with a cough. Then he continued.
    “The runners on our track team take top honors, year in, year out. Our swimmers leave the competition in their wake. And as for our turtles, well, I think I’ll let our turtles’ speed speak for itself. And so, without further ado, boys and girls, please place your turtles on the starting line.”
    Dozens of children bent down and placed the turtles they’d been holding on a white chalk line that had been drawn across the green.
    “On your mark...get set...”
    BANG!
    Deena was a half-block away but the sharp crack of the starter’s pistol made her jump.
    Deena had walked into town to get groceries for the coming week. Everywhere she looked there seemed to be a poster or banner heralding the town’s 50th Annual Turtle Trot. Now, as she recovered from the shock of the gun blast, Deena glanced in the direction from which it had come. She saw the large crowd gathered on the green.
    For weeks now, Deena had kept her interactions to a minimum. It wasn’t because she was unfriendly. If anything, she was the opposite. She just wanted to stay focused on what she was here for. And she had succeeded. Though cordial to shopkeepers, she had as yet to divulge her name to a single person. And she liked it that way. She liked being the mysterious stranger.
    But now her curiosity was piqued. What was happening over on the village green?
    Deena made her way to the edge of the crowd then started slipping through the throng of tightly packed bodies. Soon she had wriggled and squirmed her way to the second row. Only one person – a tall, broad-shouldered man – was left blocking her view.
    “Excuse me!” she said, addressing the back of the man’s head.
    Either he didn’t hear her, or he was choosing to ignore her.
    “Excuse me!” she said again, louder.
    Still the man didn’t respond.
    The crowd was going wild. Deena was afraid she’d miss whatever it was that they were cheering about. So she made her first contact with a native. She tapped the man in front of her on the shoulder.
    Still he ignored her. So Deena tapped again, this time harder. The man