The Lake's Secret Feast

The café parking lot was a battlefield of vehicles when Marlon and Timmy arrived. Cars packed every available space, forcing Marlon to circle like a vanguard scouting enemy lines.

"Get out here," Marlon muttered, eyes scanning for gaps between bumpers. "I'll find a spot."

He braked abruptly, blocking half the lane as Timmy wrestled with the door. The officer's belly pressed against the dashboard like dough against a rolling pin.

"You good?" Marlon asked without looking.

"Fine—fine—" Timmy sucked in his gut with a wheeze, finally squeezing through. His awkward shuffle between parked cars drew smirks from passing tourists.

Across the patio, Thomas raised a hand in greeting.

"Is that the bumbling officer?" Bella sneered, stirring her coffee with unnecessary force.

Thomas frowned. "Who calls him—"

"THOMAS!" Timmy's shout cut through the café chatter. He sidestepped a waiter with the grace of a walrus on land, his police belt jingling with each waddle.

Bella's cup clattered onto its saucer. "You brought him?"

Timmy arrived puffing, his hat clutched to his chest. "G-Good morning, Bella."

She turned her face away sharply. "Hmph."

Thomas's eyes darted between them. "What's the—"

"Don't expect anything from backwater cops!" Bella snapped. Her knuckles whitened around her folded arms. "Three days! My friend's probably dead because Officer Clumsy here didn't believe me!"

Timmy stiffened. "We searched everywhere! That's why I—OW!"

Thomas's boot crushed Timmy's toes under the table. The officer yelped, catching Thomas's warning glare.

Bella missed the exchange, too busy scowling at the lake.

A ripple of whispers suddenly swept through the patio. Women's heads turned like sunflowers tracking daylight as Marlon strode through the chaos. His black tee stretched across shoulders honed by years of monster hunting, the knee-rips in his jeans offering glimpses of scarred skin. Sunglasses dangled from one hand like a celebrity avoiding paparazzi.

Even Bella's anger faltered. "You didn't mention your partner was this handsome," she breathed.

"Partner?" Marlon froze mid-sit.

Thomas's heel found his brother's toe with brutal precision.

"Gah! I mean—yes. Work partners. Obviously." Marlon rubbed his foot, shooting Thomas a murderous look.

"Relax, Bella," Thomas interjected smoothly. "All three of us will guard you tonight."

Bella checked her watch and gasped. "Damn! My shift starts soon." She snatched Thomas's phone, stabbing in her number with manicured nails. "Call me tonight or I report you for negligence!"

Her departure left a wake of floral perfume and unresolved tension.

Marlon massaged his abused foot. "We just got here, and you're already—"

"Later," Thomas hissed, eyes darting toward Timmy.

"Right!" Timmy clapped his hands. "First, the best lunch in Coniston! Then... the real discussion."

The winding lakeside road unfolded like a ribbon dropped carelessly across the hills. Coniston Lake glittered below—a shattered mirror of blues and greens where sunlight struck deep.

"Whoa!" Thomas pressed his face to the window like a child at a candy store. "When's the last time we had a view like this?"

Marlon's grip tightened on the wheel. "Focus. We're not here for vacation."

Timmy beamed from the passenger seat. "Just wait for the main event!"

The restaurant emerged like a pearl against the shore—a whitewashed relic with docks extending over the water. The scent of garlic and herb-crusted fish made Thomas's stomach growl.

"Mr. Timothy!" A waiter bowed. "Your usual table is ready."

They were led past crowded indoor tables to a private dock where lapping waves echoed beneath the floorboards.

"Why's no one else out here?" Thomas asked.

Timmy puffed his chest. "Special guests only!"

Marlon's eyes narrowed. "Too special for a random Tuesday lunch?"

Their skepticism vanished when a towering Black man in chef's whites approached. His salt-and-pepper beard framed a smile that didn't reach his watchful eyes.

"Timmy," the man rumbled. "These must be the hunters from London."

Timmy gulped. "Y-yes, Chef Harper."

The chef removed his hat with a flourish. "Forgive my forwardness, gentlemen. I insisted Timothy arrange this meeting." His gaze lingered on Marlon's scarred knuckles. "We have... mutual interests regarding Coniston's recent disappearances."