The boathouse was an old public building with a broad sliding door facing the water and a smaller locked storage room inside. Quentin set the case on a shelf, confirmed the latch was closed, and checked the door lock twice. Then he turned to find Candace standing near the path with her phone raised.
“What’s in there?” she asked.
“Wedding equipment.”
“What kind?”
“Ceremonial sabers for the arch.”
“Sabers? As in swords?”
“Dress sabers. An honor detail is coming at five.”
Candace glanced at the black case through the partly open door before Quentin pulled it closed. Her gaze sharpened in a way he did not like.
“A weapons case,” she said.
“A ceremonial case,” Quentin corrected. “The lieutenant brought it himself.”
“A lieutenant from where?”
“Harrow Lake Police.”
“The police? For this?”
“For my sister’s wedding.”
Candace tilted her head. “You expect me to believe the police are sending men with swords to a picnic party?”
“You can believe whatever you want, ma’am. I’ll keep them secured until they arrive.”
He turned the key in the boathouse lock. When he looked back, Candace was staring at the phone in her hand.
She had not been given a reason to worry. She had been given a detail she could make other people worry about.
Chapter 14: The Case Becomes a Story
For several minutes after Quentin went back to the pavilion, Candace remained beside the boathouse rehearsing the words she might use.
Her first video had collected more attention than anything else she had posted that week. A neighborhood group had shared it. Messages were arriving from people who said the town had forgotten who made Harrow Lake special. Yet one stubborn fact refused to disappear: the Parks Department had a booking, and Marcus Doyle had confirmed it. A complaint about a picnic reservation might produce sympathy online, but it was unlikely to bring officers down to clear the pavilion.
A black case arriving by van was different. It had weight, mystery, a plausible connection to danger. It gave Candace a new way to describe the people below without having to explain why their reservation was valid.
“Lorna,” she said. “Come look at this.”
Lorna walked toward the boathouse with her phone in her hand.
“What now?”
“A man carried a weapon case into that building. He locked it up.”
“He said it was for the wedding.”
“He said a lot of things.”
“I heard him say a lieutenant delivered it.”
“You didn’t see the lieutenant.”
“I saw the van.”
“Exactly. An unidentified van. A case nobody has inspected. And the children’s swimming dock is right here.”
Lorna looked at the empty dock. There were no children nearby. The wedding guests had kept their younger family members near the pavilion and the shaded lawn. Two fishermen were visible farther down the bank, and a duck stood on one leg beneath the pier.
“There aren’t any children at the dock,” Lorna said.
“There could be. This is a public park.”
Candace opened another livestream. She positioned herself so the boathouse filled the screen.
“Neighbors, I need you to see something. We’ve got a man nobody here seems to know. He arrived carrying a long black case, the kind you’d use for weapons. He took it into the boathouse by the swimming area and locked it away. I’m not saying what was inside. I’m saying I asked, and the answer was not reassuring.”
A viewer asked whether she had notified authorities. Another sent a warning emoji. Candace looked pleased.
“I may have to,” she said. “We don’t wait for someone to get hurt, do we?”
Quentin came back toward the path carrying a folded extension cord. Candace pointed the phone directly at him.
