Chuck Allen lived with his parents on the canal side of Harbor Vista Terrace in a bright orange stucco house. Out back a twenty-two foot Sea Ray hovered above the murky brown waterway on a covered boat-lift that kept it mostly out of the weather. The salt air and pernicious humidity of southern Florida sought out corrodible boat parts the way water seeks its level, which is to say, the boat was rusting away from neglect. The lift stood on four round wooden pilings, eaten at the water line by wood-boring insects that mimicked the damage caused by beavers. Eventually the pilings would fail, but not for a few more years. Manaloosa’s tranquility was in more imminent danger of collapse. John Maynard sat on the edge of a weathered dock next to the lift in Chuck’s back yard. He held a bolt-action 22 caliber Remington rifle the boys found in the back of the shed where Mr. Allen kept his lawn mower. Chuck was gathering oranges from a nearby tree. “Toss one in the water...