Page 67 of Murder in the Lighthouse

“That’s a very bad idea to bring that up. That would ruin Thanksgiving for everyone.”

“I know. I won’t. I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that. I know you’re upset about Britta’s death and how her parents didn’t want to have contact. I get that part. You have a right to be mad. But you don’t have the right to take it out on Nigel.”

“Okay. I understand. You’re right. I won’t.”

In those first few hours of enlightenment, Brogan gradually began accepting the unusual circumstances of her childhood. But in her mind, those first eight years spent with Rachel lacked clarity. She had fuzzy memories that needed explaining. Some blanks that needed filling before she could completely move on.

She made a promise not to ruin the holidays for anyone. She’d throw herself into the preparations for Thanksgiving and give guests the best day they’d ever had.

But after the holidays, when all the guests had gone, she would learn more about Rachel’s life, even if she had to go to New York to do it.

22

Over 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 ameal. 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 withmyflowers. 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.”

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