Candace stared at her. “And let them think they can show up here and take whatever they want?”
Lorna looked toward the pavilion again. “They didn’t take it. They reserved it.”
“You’ve been listening to the teacher.”
“I heard the Parks man, too.”
Candace’s expression cooled. “Lorna, you’re my oldest friend. I don’t need you to play devil’s advocate every time the town makes a mess.”
Oldest friend. There it was, the debt called due with a familiar phrase. Lorna wanted to be loyal. She wanted to go back to when the afternoon had seemed ordinary. She tucked the phone into her bag and said nothing more.
The silence bought peace for another few minutes. It also cost her something she could feel leaving.
Chapter 13: A Funeral Before a Wedding
At three-fifteen, a white van pulled into the back parking area, and Lieutenant Cornell Radford stepped out wearing a dark suit without his dress jacket.
He was a tall man with a deliberate way of moving and a face that appeared stern until someone gave him a reason to smile. That morning he had stood in a church beside six officers who were trying to keep their emotions composed for the family of retired Sergeant Arthur Bell. Bell had trained half the department’s veterans before the department changed its training program, and Radford had served under him when he was young enough to mistake volume for leadership.
At the funeral, the family had asked the honor detail to remain for coffee. Radford had apologized. He had another commitment and did not wish to leave a bride waiting. The widow had squeezed his hand and said, “Arthur would have told you to keep your word. Go.”
The team would finish the graveside salute and follow in a second vehicle. Radford had brought the case of ceremonial sabers ahead because the van needed every seat for the rifle detail. He did not want an equipment delay. He also did not want the blades carried loose into the pavilion with children and older guests moving about.
Quentin met him beside the parking area.
“You’re early,” Quentin said.
“For once. The rest of the team is still at Linden. They’ll come after the burial.”
Radford reached into the van and drew out a long black case, reinforced at the corners with metal. He set it on the tailgate and opened the latches just enough for Quentin to see the polished ceremonial handles resting in padded compartments.
“Six sabers. They stay in this case until I take them out. Nobody handles them for photographs. Nobody decides to test whether they’re sharp. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Lieutenant.”
“You have somewhere secure?”
“The little boathouse. Parks gave us the closet key for storage.”
“Good. Keep the case locked. If someone asks you to open it, call me.”
Quentin grinned. “You have met my sister, right? She’s asked me not to touch the arch all week.”
“She asked us not to come.”
“And yet here you are.”
“Eleven officers volunteered. Six can manage a funeral and a wedding in one day. She deserves both our respect and our bad judgment.”
Quentin laughed. He took the case by its sturdy center handle and tested the weight.
“That’s heavier than it looks.”
“Steel usually is.”
“Five o’clock?”
“On the minute. Phones are off at the funeral, so don’t waste time calling. If something changes, the department can reach our detail through dispatch. Otherwise we’ll be here.”
“You’ve got my word.”
“Keep it.”
Quentin watched the van leave and then carried the case toward the boathouse. He had already spent an hour handling cables that wanted to tangle themselves around his ankles. The case felt reassuringly straightforward: one task, one place, one promise.
