Page 52 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

What was her deal?

Before Sophie could think any further about it, a whistle pierced the air. Abe, the same man who’d officiated her cultish ceremony a couple of nights ago, was at the podium.

“Right!” he barked. “Time to get this show on the road.”

The woman from the knitting circle with a baby strapped to her chest and dark circles under her eyes called out, “Can we skip the opening remarks and get to the part where we solve the break-ins? Some of us need to get home before our children stage a rebellion.”

“Order!” Abe commanded, banging a gavel with unnecessary force. “We’ll follow proper procedure, Isabel, or I’ll clear this room!”

“Wow, he’s taking this seriously,” Sophie whispered to Luke.

“Man thinks he’s still commanding a destroyer,” Luke muttered.

Margaret nodded. “Give my husband five minutes and he’ll start making us all salute the flag.”

“Right!” Abe called out. “Let’s get the smaller items out of the way first.”

He peered toward Mabel, who was standing to the side. She nodded and pointed at a woman in her fifties at the front.

“Ah, yes, Mrs. Turner,” Abe said, “your complaint about the rusty nail in dock post seventeen has been noted and will be addressed during regular maintenance next week.”

A woman in the third row stood up, eyes sparking with fury. “But it needs to be addressed now! That nail is a public safety hazard! What if a child—”

“She’s measured that nail three times this week,” Luke murmured to Sophie. “With a ruler.”

Sophie suppressed a giggle.

“Noted and logged,” said Mabel, cutting her off with military efficiency.

“Next,” Abe said. “Natalie’s request to relocate the town recycling bin six feet to the left has been approved by a vote of four to three.”

The woman with the bob who’d side-eyed Sophie smiled. “Thank you, Abe.”

“Democracy in action,” Luke said under his breath. “Nothing says ‘civic engagement’ like a heated debate over garbage placement.”

Sophie had to bite her lip to stop herself laughing out loud.

As the meeting progressed with more earth-shattering municipal decisions, Sophie found herself watching what could only be described as a masterclass in small-town theatre. All the time, Mabel helped Abe, conducting from the front like she was leading the London Symphony Orchestra rather than a room full of people who couldn’t agree on the proper way to fold a napkin.

“She’s got a whistle in her purse,” Luke added quietly. “Uses it when things get too rowdy. Learned it from her stint as a soccer mom.”

Grace was in charge of diplomatic coffee service, flitting between mediating disputes and preventing what looked like an imminent sugar packet shortage. Every few minutes, she’d catch her son Zach’s eye and deploy that universal mother telepathy that somehow conveyed “stand up straight and stop looking like attending this meeting violates the Geneva Convention.”

Caleb had appointed himself the evening’s fashion commentator, stage-whispering observations to Mikkel like he was providing commentary for the Met Gala. “Look at Jean’s ensemble. Beige on beige with a hint of taupe. Bold choice for someone about to unleash hell about splinters in the dock.”

The mention of said splinter incident caused a collective groan that suggested it had achieved legendary status in local folklore.

“Every goddamn meeting,” Luke muttered beside her. “Like clockwork.”

Sophie bit her lip again to keep from laughing. “What exactly happened with this splinter?”

“Three-hour emergency town meeting. Accusations of negligent maintenance. Jean Hodgson threatened to sue the entire municipal government over a piece of wood smaller than a matchstick.”

“Now onto the most important business of the evening,” Abe said, interrupting the hubbub. “The recent fire and museum break-in. Sheriff?”

The casual chatter died instantly, replaced by whispers and looks of concern. Isabel shifted her baby to her other hip, jaw tightening. Luke even stopped joking long enough to lean forward with interest.

Sophie noticed a sheriff standing near the back, a blond Viking type who was even taller than Luke. He strode to the front of the room.