“No, honey,” she told Candace. “I didn’t pay for anybody to be humiliated.”

A short distance away, Rowan was walking toward the church bus. He knew Bethany would come out in a dress soon. He had wanted to spare her the worst of what had happened. But the longer he delayed, the more he felt that sparing her had become another form of deciding for her.

He met Alma at the steps. She looked at his face, then past him to where Quentin sat.

“What did they do?” she asked.

“They cuffed Q.”

Alma’s hands went to the rail for balance. “My boy?”

“He’s all right. Physically. But Burnham wants everyone gone at five.”

“And where is Beth?”

“Getting into the dress.”

Alma went up the bus steps with the determined pace of someone who had reached the limit of being protected from bad news. Rowan followed. Whatever happened next, the bride would have the truth.

Chapter 19: The Woman in White

Inside the bus, Bethany stood before a narrow mirror held in place by two pieces of tape. The dress was ivory silk with simple sleeves and a line of small pearls sewn by Alma’s sister. Her hair was no longer in rollers; it fell in soft waves around her shoulders. She had not yet stepped into her formal shoes. Barefoot on the bus floor, she looked unexpectedly young to her mother, though the steadiness in her eyes belonged to the woman who had spent years making difficult decisions.

“Mama?” she asked as Alma entered. “You look like something happened.”

Alma opened her mouth and could not speak. Rowan came up behind her.

“It’s Quentin,” he said. “The police have him restrained. Candace called in a weapons complaint about the sabers.”

Bethany looked at them without moving. “What?”

“He told them what they were. He opened the case. They still cuffed him. Burnham says we have to leave by five.”

For a moment her face was unreadable. Then she bent, slipped on her shoes, and reached for her small bag.

“Beth,” Rowan said. “You promised yourself no badge.”

“I know what I promised.”

“I wasn’t reminding you of a promise to keep it. I was asking what you want me to do.”

She looked at him, and he saw the argument she was having with herself. If she used her position to end an ordinary dispute, Candace would claim favoritism. If she did not, her brother remained cuffed and her guests faced unlawful removal. The choices were not equal, but neither one felt clean.

“Come with me,” she said. “And don’t touch anybody.”

They walked down the bus steps together. The sun was lower now, casting hard light across the pavilion. Bethany could see Quentin before she could see the cuffs. He was sitting beside the table with one wrist awkwardly turned toward the frame. When he saw her in the dress, his face changed from controlled anger to shame.

“Beth,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I was supposed to keep this stuff out of your way.”

She crouched before him, dress spreading across the sand. “You didn’t call the police on yourself. Look at me. Are you hurt?”

“My pride mostly. Wrist’s a little sore.”

Bethany checked the distance between his hand and the table, then stood. She turned toward Burnham.

“Officer Burnham. My name is Bethany Tisdale. I’m the chief of this department. Release my brother. Then we need to address what’s happened here.”

The silence that followed was odd. A few guests smiled with relief. Candace made a startled little laugh. Burnham stared at the woman in white as though she had recited the wrong part in a play.

“Ma’am, you need to step back with the others,” he said.