22
O ver the next week, she focused on meal planning and preparing the house for guests. While Lucien focused on cleaning out flowerbeds and trimming the shrubbery in the front yard, Brogan puttered around the garden. She snipped every flower growing in her backyard, using them to create bouquets of red and orange poppies and yellow and white daisies, which she set out all around the house.
But she found that wasn’t enough.
She called The Plant Habitat and ordered dozens of potted sunflowers, copper-colored chrysanthemums, and sweetheart dahlias, hoping the aroma of fresh flowers would help get her in a more festive mood.
At times, she found her mind drifting back to Thanksgivings spent in Connecticut, which were very sterile and formal occasions, where strange faces appeared around the table for a meal. Dressed in her best clothes, the adults would warn her to be on her best behavior. She remembered butlers in starched jackets popping in and out along with caterers serving at least twenty people in a ballroom. Had they been celebrities that no one bothered introducing?
Sometimes, she had to stare at photos of Rachel to remember what she looked like. Some days, she forced herself to stop thinking about the woman.
She spent her nights after dinner in front of a roaring fire, poring through cookbooks, looking for the best side dishes, selecting the tastiest, most popular ones rated five stars.
When Lucien noticed her anxiety building over which recipe to use for dressing, he offered a simple solution. “Just pick a basic dressing and serve fresh vegetables with it. You can’t go wrong with fresh vegetables.”
“People keep asking me what they should bring. I keep telling them the same thing: bring yourselves.”
“Maybe they want to contribute something to the meal,” he said, glancing around at the bank of colorful Thanksgiving bouquets that made the living room feel like he was part of a picturesque floral landscape or sitting in a funeral home. “Has anyone backed out yet?”
“Just Theo. You were right. As the new guy, he has to work a double shift. And Austin texted me that he’ll be home Sunday evening instead of Tuesday afternoon. Sunday will be busy because that’s the same time Delia is arriving. She doesn’t want us to pick her up. She’s arranged a car from the airport.”
“That doesn’t sound like Delia.”
“Eighty and still stubborn,” Brogan mused. “I offered to pick her up. She wasn’t having it.”
Lucien’s phone dinged with a text from Brent, who had an update about Trish. “She formally accepted his job offer but won’t be able to start until April 1st.”
“April? Why so long?”
“County rules and staffing issues. Four months’ notice minimum.”
“Something to look forward to for spring,” Brogan muttered while flipping through her cookbook. “Trish will need to find a house. Or maybe she’ll keep it simple and move in with Theo. Speaking of newcomers, I meant to put together a welcome basket for the person who bought Tazzie’s house, Savannah Quinn.”
“Maybe we could get rid of some of these potted plants. I bet she’d appreciate a nice big arrangement of daisies.”
She finally looked up from the recipes. “You don’t like my daisies? Why didn’t you say something before now?”
“I’m just saying that maybe we could spare one big bunch of mums for a new neighbor.”
Brogan faked a frown but chuckled to herself. “Mums or daisies? You’re awfully generous with my flowers. Besides, I happen to know that Tazzie left a front yard full of gladiolas, coneflowers, and snapdragons that are taller than the house by now. Not to mention the hydrangeas and sunflowers are still blooming. Jade was watering them before she opted not to buy the place.”
“So what’s in the welcome basket you’re thinking about taking this woman?”
“A homemade blueberry cobbler, a fruit and cheese platter, and a bottle of wine. Although maybe I’ll leave out the wine. I don’t want it to remind her of what happened to her brother at Noir Hills winery.”
“Yeah, that would be in bad taste.”
“Oh, look, I found the perfect cranberry sauce recipe,” Brogan announced, marking the page with a sticky note for later reference.
Lucien rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, silently wondering if he’d survive past Thursday. She’d been touchy since Amalie’s visit. She hadn’t gone near the folder the professor had left. He hoped she was waiting to share some of that information with Delia when she arrived. Instead, she kept obsessing about Rachel’s life before that plane crashed. It was like she was trying too hard to pull memories from that time period. She thought she was hiding it. But he was on the verge of suggesting that his wife seek therapy.
With each passing day, he wasn’t sure how she could manage a houseful of guests under this kind of stress, even though she had gone the extra mile to get everything ready.
The scratched old dining table from his workshop had been moved onto the patio thanks to extra muscle from Beckett and Birk. It sat draped in two heirloom lace tablecloths that Delia had shipped FedEx from Connecticut for the occasion.
The transformation wasn’t limited to just the dining table, though. Brogan had taken on the laborious task of cleaning and polishing a set of sterling silver flatware Rory’s mother had used in England back in the 1950s. Brogan had discovered the wooden boxed set among Rory’s possessions stowed in the hall closet. Each piece had sent her down another nostalgic road, reminding her that she should visit Rory’s relatives across the pond more often.
Lucien had spent Friday afternoon in his workshop, crafting a long wooden candleholder for the table’s centerpiece out of reclaimed barn wood that matched their fireplace mantel, adding a slice of rustic charm.
Every room in the house was decked out with fresh flowers, reflecting the care they were putting into the preparations.
Brogan had taken the time to arrange a welcome basket for Delia in the downstairs guest room, filled with her favorite tea and cookies. For Austin, she had put out his favorite snacks and drinks. For Jack and Maeve, she stocked the guest house with fresh linens and towels, an assortment of jams, and artisan bread she’d baked. She had even left a massive bouquet of lavender and rosemary in their bedroom.
As the festive preparations continued, she seemed determined to create a perfect holiday atmosphere, perhaps as a way to distract herself from the unresolved questions that haunted her.
The Saturday evening before Delia and Austin arrived, Lucien found Brogan in the kitchen, her hands covered in flour as she kneaded bread dough for tomorrow’s lunch. From behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “You’ve outdone yourself, Brogan. Everything looks amazing and smells like a bakery.”
She flashed a weary smile. “Thanks. My aim is a Martha Stewart-type holiday feast with the perfect turkey and dressing.”
Lucien sensed the underlying anxiety in her voice. “And it will be. But remember, it’s okay to take a break and breathe. You don’t have to do everything by yourself. I’m right here. Tell me what I can do to help.”
She sighed, relaxing her body against his. “There’s so much on my mind right now, I’ve needed all this as a distraction to keep me sane.”
“Has it worked?”
“Mostly.”
When the doorbell rang, the dogs began to bark. He frowned. “Are we expecting anyone for dinner?”
“Nope. If they're hungry, they’ll have to settle for leftovers from last night’s rib roast. That’s what we’re having as soon as I set this bread aside to rise overnight.”
He checked the Ring Cam app on his phone. “Uh-oh. That looks like the kid from San Diego.”
Brogan frowned. “What kid? You aren’t talking about Evan, are you?”
He held up his phone, turning the screen around so she could see the image for herself as the doorbell chimed again. “That’s exactly who it is.”
He didn’t exactly rush to answer the front door. But when he did, he saw a mirror image of himself at nineteen. “Hello, there.”
“Hey, I hate to show up on your doorstep like this, but my name’s Evan Sanders. If you’re Lucien Sutter, I heard your podcast last week about the big serial killer case you closed in Santa Cruz. I think I’m your half-brother. It turns out, Graeme Sutter is my father.”
“You took a DNA test about six months ago, didn’t you?”
“I did. And I have a big problem.”
Lucien stared at the young man in disbelief for a moment before stepping aside and allowing him to enter. He led Evan into the living room, where the smells from the kitchen mingled with bread dough and rib roast.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, trying to buy himself a moment to process this unexpected guest.
Evan shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m good.”
Brogan stepped into the room, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. “So, you’re Evan,” she said with a soft smile, curiosity twinkling in her eyes.
“You know about me?”
“Why don't you sit and tell us why you’re here?” Brogan said, avoiding the question.
A nervous Evan sat on the edge of the couch, his shoulders visibly tense. “I’m not here to make trouble. I never intended to get in touch with you at all. But I heard you on Jade Weingarten’s murder podcast. It turns out, I need a websleuth.”
Lucien stared at his half-sibling. “Why on earth would you need a websleuth? Shouldn’t you be hanging out in La Jolla and surfing your ass off?”
“I wish but no such luck. My mother went to Cabo San Lucas on vacation with a guy she’d only known for a few months.” Evan rolled his eyes. “They’d only been dating for a short time. I told her not to go. And I haven’t heard from her since she boarded the plane last Wednesday. I’m starting to get worried. It’s not like her not to send me a dozen pictures. But I haven’t received a single text message. The Mexican authorities won’t take me seriously. The guy she went there with isn’t answering his phone, either. The hotel said they never checked in as planned. I called a few other hotels in the area but had no luck locating them. I think something bad has happened to her. I need somebody to do something. That’s when I thought of you. Can you help me? Please say yes.”
Lucien traded looks with Brogan, smiled, and clapped a hand on Evan’s back. “Absolutely. That’s what we do. Let’s go into my office. Come on, Evan, let’s find out what happened to your mom.”