Peter Burke's car, upstate New York. Thursday morning. March 17, 2005.

Peter and Elizabeth Burke sat in the front seat of the car, with Angela sandwiched between Henry and Neal in the back seat. Having picked Henry up at the airport, the plan was to drop the cousins at the Burke family cabin, and then Peter and El would continue to Albany to spend a couple of days with Peter's parents. They'd return Sunday evening for the trip back to New York City.

Neal was pleasantly surprised at Henry's peaceful acquiescence to the spring break plans. Sure, he'd complained a bit when Neal first made it clear that he was in charge this year, but ever since then Henry had gone along.

It had been easy.

Too easy?

Neal pondered that while the others described the cabin to Angela. They were telling her how Peter's father and uncles had purchased the cabin decades ago, for their families to share. These days Peter's mother Betty kept the schedule of who was using the cabin when.

Earlier this month, Neal had called El to learn how to reserve the cabin. If it had been booked, he'd have looked into one of the Catskill resorts instead, but that would have put a strain on his budget. El had put him in touch with Betty.

During a pause in the conversation in the car, Neal said, "When I called Betty, she mentioned how lucky it was that no one was using the cabin this week. She said it tends to be in high demand over spring break, but this year everyone had made plans elsewhere."

"You're right," said Peter. "Usually one of my cousins books the cabin for spring break. I guess their kids are getting to the age where they want to do something on their own, instead of a family vacation."

Elizabeth immediately jumped in with a reminder to her husband about needing to stop at the grocery store on the way. She looked a little flustered.

Interesting.

Normally he left conspiracy theories to Mozzie, but this time Neal believed something was up. Someone was manipulating things behind the scenes. And Henry was the master manipulator.

When they stopped at the grocery store, El and Angela were eager to go inside and pick out food for the cabin, and Henry insisted he needed to have a say.

Neal pulled Peter aside before they followed the others into the store. "When you get to your parents' house, would you ask Betty how long ago Henry asked her to reserve the cabin?"

Peter frowned. "I thought you called to make the reservation."

"I did, but I'm starting to think we've been bamboozled. If I'm right, Henry started working with Betty and Elizabeth to plan a trip up here before the idea ever occurred to me."

"You think he manipulated you into coming here?"

"He'd probably say he anticipated me. I'll work on getting the truth out of him over the next few days. It's possible Angela was an accomplice, and she might give him away. If you look into it while you're in Albany, we can compare notes."

Peter agreed, and then they joined the group inside. Henry was advocating stocking up on hot dogs and marshmallows and cooking all meals over a campfire, but Neal sided with Angela on healthier options. As long as they promised Henry didn't have to cook, he gave in to most of their preferences with minimal grumbling.

The remaining area of dispute was over the cabbage. "It's St. Patrick's Day," Angela insisted, gesturing toward her green blouse. "We're Irish. It's traditional. It's the least you can do. I mean, look at you. Blue jeans and red sweatshirt." Imitating their grandfather's occasional brogue she added, "You're not even making an effort. Shameful."

"We're not making the cabin smell like boiled cabbage," Henry said. "If you want green, pick up some of that green beer."

A fan of neither boiled cabbage nor green beer, Neal intervened. "How about a Guinness onion soup to go with our steaks?"

When the cousins agreed to Neal's compromise, they were finally ready to check out. When they arrived at the cabin, Neal wasn't the only one surprised to see another vehicle there. "Isn't that Dad's truck?" Peter asked as he parked.

Luke and Betty Burke stepped outside the cabin to hug everyone. "Welcome to the Burke family cabin," Betty said. "We wanted to make sure everything was in order."

"Yeah, and we brought someone who wants to spend the weekend with you," Luke added. "Barclay!" he called. A black labrador ran over with a rope in his mouth. "He's a sucker for anyone who'll play tug-of-war with him."

Neal crouched down to greet the dog and then took hold of one end of the rope. Barclay started pulling and Neal's shoes slid across the new grass. "Whoa. Let me get some leverage here." He stood up and braced his feet before tugging again.

Luke patted Neal's back. "You've made a friend for life."

It seemed to Neal it was only a minute later that he gave up and let go of the rope, but when he looked around all of the groceries and luggage had been carried inside. "C'mon, Barclay. We'd better see what they're up to."

The interior of the cabin was rustic with modern touches. It had polished wood floors, log walls, and big windows that framed spectacular mountain views. Two plaid sofas flanked a massive fireplace, and shelves around the fireplace held games, books, and toys. There was also a TV over the mantle, and Henry was reviewing the cabin's collection of DVDs.

"A lot of those movies look new," Peter told Neal in a low voice. "Could be one of my cousins brought them up on a recent visit, but it's possible Henry requested things he wants to watch."

"Or wants me to watch," Neal agreed. "What are they? Spy thrillers?"

"Kids movies. Disney stuff mostly, and some old classic cartoons."

An intriguing clue, but it was still too soon to guess what what Henry was up to.

Burke family cabin, upstate New York.

Betty fixed lunch, and after they'd eaten she and her husband left, with Peter and El following. Neal and Henry showed Angela the highlights outside the cabin, including a picnic table and the hill where they'd gone sledding the first time they'd been here.

From the picnic table they could see a lake, and Angela wanted to walk down the trail that led to the water.

"Good idea. This way," Henry turned and walked back toward the cabin.

"But..." Angela traded looks with Neal. "Why's he going in the opposite direction?"

"C'mon!" Henry yelled at them.

"Let's see," Neal suggested, and they hurried after the oldest cousin to find him tugging at the door of an old shed. Neal remembered that it held sleds and skis and ice skates. None of those were of any use with the early spring that had banished snow weeks ago.

"A little help here?" Henry said, as the warped door seemed stuck in place.

The three of them pulled at the door, and when it was open a few feet Henry went inside. "Yeah, I thought I'd seen this last time." He was reaching up toward the ceiling, and Neal realized a rowboat and oars were suspended above them.

Neal reached up to help and soon they had the boat on the ground.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Angela asked. "It looks kind of old."

"The Burkes wouldn't keep it around if it weren't seaworthy." Henry picked up one end, instructed Neal to grab the opposite end, and told Angela to bring the oars.

"I thought you'd like this," Neal teased as they walked back to the trail. "Michael's a rower. Show an interest and you can patch things up with him."

Angela looked at him wide-eyed. "M-Michael?" she stammered. "But we're... I mean, we already..."

"Already got over that Las Vegas misunderstanding? Good." Neal gave her his most innocent smile, but he was thinking, Gotcha. Yeah, that bit about Michael and Vegas had been an act.

"Keep up!" Henry ordered. "We're wasting daylight." He sped up their pace, making it difficult to talk. They were all panting when they reached the lake.

Neal bided his time. As they pushed off from shore he said, "You should have invited Michael along. He could have shown us how to work these oars."

"This is a family vacation," Henry said. "And I know how to row a boat. Winslows are born sailors."

"Okay, but there's no sail on this thing," Angela pointed out. "And it isn't Michael's kind of boat. His scull is more streamlined, like a kayak. Are you sure this isn't leaking?"

"Seems dry to me," Neal assured her.

"Were there life jackets in that shed?" she asked.

"Don't you know how to swim?" Neal asked, concerned that they'd brought her into something she wasn't comfortable with.

"Of course she can," Henry said. "She was right there with us, running around in the ocean in Hawaii."

"That was warm," Angela noted, "and we don't know how deep this lake is."

Neal glanced back at the shore, where Barclay was patiently waiting. The dog was getting smaller as the boat took them away from shore surprisingly fast. "Maybe that's far enough, Henry. You know how to turn this thing around, don't you?"

"I know how to turn around a rowboat. You just —" he leaned over sharply to the side and rowed with just one oar.

"Henry!" Angela shrieked as the boat tipped, taking on water.

"Henry!" Neal yelled a moment later as the boat turned over, and it dumped them in the lake with a resounding splash.

###

They righted the boat and helped Angela back aboard, and then Henry and Neal tugged it back to shore. The snow might be gone at their elevation, but the water was still cold. They dashed back to the cabin for warm showers and warm clothes. Angela sat on a sofa in a big flannel shirt she'd found in one of the closets, holding a cup of hot chocolate that Neal had made for them while Henry started a fire. Angela hadn't packed a hair dryer, assuming the cabin would have one. She was towel drying her long, dark hair.

Soon they were all huddled around the fireplace. Henry sat on the floor, and Barclay rolled over beside him, clearly expecting a belly rub which Henry administered with gusto.

"You have any pets growing up?" Neal asked Angela.

"Not really. Moving from one Air Force base to the next made it difficult to have pets. Goldfish were about it. How about you?"

"Nah." Neal's mother had been increasingly challenged to take care of him. As much as he'd loved dogs, a pet had been out of the question.

"Henry did," Angela said, to Neal's surprise. "A golden retriever named Lulu."

"Mom named her," Henry added.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd had a dog?" Neal wondered aloud.

"I could tell you'd wanted one. Didn't want to make you feel bad by going on about the fact that I had it better than you did."

When they were warmer, they fixed their St. Patrick's dinner of steaks, salad, and onion soup. Henry drank one of the Guinness beers, and Neal poured wine for Angela and himself. "This reminds me of a story," Neal said. He adopted an Irish accent and told - with a few slight embellishments - a story he'd heard about the time a family friend had volunteered to babysit all three of them on St. Patrick's Day.

Henry had been five years old at the time of the story. The more he heard, the more he remembered, and he contributed to the embellishments. Angela had been less than a year old, and she had never heard the story of how her screams had terrified their babysitter. "You stole a car when you were two?" she asked incredulously.

"Days away from my third birthday," Neal pointed out, "and it was a mistake. I didn't mean to put the car in gear."

They were doing the dishes when the cabin's landline rang. There were few cell towers out here. Their phones were turned off to conserve the batteries, and they'd given the cabin's phone number to anyone who might need to reach them.

Neal answered and grinned when he recognized the voice of the caller. "Angela, it's for you."

She grabbed the phone, "Hello?" When the caller responded she turned her back on the others for a bit of privacy. Her voice lowered, she said, "Hi, Michael," and sounded a little breathless.

"Her boyfriend. And you didn't take advantage of the chance to hassle him?" Henry shook his head at Neal. "Watch and learn. Hey, Michael!" he yelled.

Angela covered the phone. "Hush!"

"Ohhh, Michael," Henry called out, batting his eyelashes, and holding his hand over his heart.

"Cut it out," Angela insisted. "Sorry, not you, Michael. My cousin's being juvenile."

Henry made kissing noises.

"Shut up," Angela said. "Go away."

Neal laughed at them, but twenty minutes later regretted not supporting Angela when the phone rang again and it was his girlfriend, Fiona. Both Henry and Angela were catcalling and generally making it impossible to say or hear more than a few words. When he finally ended the call he rolled his eyes at them. "Really?"

He'd learned his lesson. He set his alarm clock for a ridiculously early hour in the morning. As soon as it sounded, he silenced the clock and then snuck downstairs to make a call. Moving with the stealth of a cat burglar was a skill he'd mastered years ago, and he didn't let any of the creaking stairs give him away.