The haze on the lake almost hid the rear of the row boat as Jeff trapsed down the path to the mooring. October mornings usually bring along the bite of Arctic breezes that make the lake skimming seem like having snow jammed down under your collar when you were a kid. Just as Jeff shoved off he noticed the oar lock was dangling from its mount again suggesting to him a good route this morning might just be better if he went to the tackle shop and picked up a new mount. Jeff's steady strokes often unleashed those imaginary sculls on the Thames with lovely lasses cheering from the banks. Jeff hit ground on the shore and dragged the boat into the marsh grass and headed to the front door when the song coming from the back of the shop almost stopped him cold. Was it Dick Powell singing "Say it isn't so"? Usually Carlos has some mariachi crap blasting but Dick Powell? Seriously? The craziness hit with another jolt when Jeff saw that Carlos was replaced by a dead ringer for Esther Williams, replete with high collared blouse tied at the belly and short shorts. Jeff introduced himself and found out Ms. Williams was actually Carlos' sister-in-law minding the shop for an hour or so until Carlos takes care of a personal matter. Jeff explained that he needed a new mount for his oar lock and Lily (phew! if her name was Esther, well . . ) Lily said she wouldn't know where to begin to look for something like that in the store but Jeff was welcome to go in the back and look for himself. He knew where the marine stuff was kept and as he pulled out drawers and looked through boxes, Carlos came in through the back door and asked Jeff if he needed help. Jeff explained and before Carlos could direct him, his cell rang with a Tijuana Brass ringtone and Carlos looked like he was in shock as he listened without saying a word.