Page 2 of Murder in the Lighthouse

Brogan wasn’t ready yet to confess that Lucien had a half-brother named Evan Sanders living in San Diego. Nor was she ready to admit that there was an excellent chance the woman she’d thought was her mother, the heiress Rachel Wingate Brinell, wasn’t her birth mother. Instead of bringing it up, she voiced a question of her own. “How often do DNA results come back from the lab a mistake?”

Eastlyn pondered that as she swept a strand of blonde hair back into her ponytail and tightened the band. “I suppose it does happen. But not that often.” She eyed Brogan, curiosity building. The cop in her wanted to know, “Did you take one of those DNA tests for genealogy purposes? Did you upload it into a database online and get results you weren’t expecting?”

Brogan nodded. “The results were—how do I put this—surprising.”

“That happens a lot these days. People are told one story their entire lives that turns out to be fabricated nonsense. They take a DNA test and get the shock of their life. Suddenly, their results turn their world upside down. What was the big revelation about yours?” Sensing Brogan’s reluctance, she held up a hand. “When you’re ready to talk about it, you know the drill.”

“Thanks. I’m still absorbing everything. The sad thing is that my dad isn’t around for me to ask questions. And my grandmother will likely be unwilling to share anything that puts the family name in a bad light.”

“Ah. Would it necessarily put things in a bad light, though? You’re pushing thirty. All that stuff happened a long time ago. My guess is it’s something about your parentage, correct?”

“The DNA revealed I have no blood ties to the Brinell side of the family. None at all. Rachel Brinell wasn’t the one who gave birth to me.”

“Oh. Wow. That is a shock. Was your mother adopted? Or maybe you were.”

Brogan swiped through her iPad to the DNA test she’d scanned earlier that morning into a digital format. “No idea about Rachel’s DNA or Delia’s. But my DNA came back as forty-eight percent English, forty-eight percent Scandinavian—heavy on the Swedish genes—and four percent Norwegian.”

“I take it your mother Rachel was not Swedish,” Eastlyn surmised.

“You got it. The Brinell claim to fame is thoroughly French. There’s no Scandinavian ancestry ever mentioned anywhere in the family tree.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“For now, stay busy with the Heywood case. Get ready for Thanksgiving at the end of the month. We’re looking forward to having Austin come home from college.”

“Your would-be veterinarian?”

“Fingers crossed. Cord’s protégé. If all goes as planned this summer, Austin should be doing his residency at Cord’s animal shelter or the Fanning Rescue Center. He’s excited either way.”

“In the meantime, you’re freaking out about this DNA result.”

“Maybe in my spare time, I’ll keep digging for answers online until I run out of things to search. At some point, I’ll need to fly to Connecticut to ask my grandmother about my origins face to face. I’m not looking forward to that.”

“Don’t drag it out too long, or it will drive you batty,” Eastlyn suggested. “The sooner you learn the truth, the better you’ll feel. Here’s an idea. Couldn’t you ask your dad’s other band members about what was happening back then, around the time you were conceived? Maybe you could get some answers from those who knew your dad best.”

“Like Graeme Sutter,” Brogan muttered. “Great idea. I’ll do that. Since I’m dad’s offspring, it’s my maternal side in question. Do you think the band knows stuff like that?”

“A rock band on tour with a bunch of groupies, coming and going, following them around wherever they go? Absolutely.”

“Of course they would,” Brogan reasoned. But something else was on her mind. “I hope Theo Woodsong accepts that Lucien and I are working on behalf of Sam Heywood’s friend. I hope Theo won’t be a problem. Beckett is the one who pulled us into this, or rather his ex-girlfriend did. Does Theo think like Brent? Is he a stickler about outsiders helping him with his cases?”

“I don’t know him well enough. But if you have legitimate information, I don’t see why he’d object. But if he’s as territorial as Brent is, he might. At this point, though, he needs all the help he can get. Let me know when you find out more about your parentage.”

“Sure. But don’t spread it around, okay? I don’t want anyone picking up on the story and splashing it all over the tabloids.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Eastlyn promised. “I’m not the type to join the rumor mill.”

Brogan smiled at that, remembering how the woman had just admitted she wanted to drop by the Halloween party to catch up on the latest gossip. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Where are you off to now?”

“I thought I’d drop by the lighthouse, take a look around, and see if I could figure out why Sam left his car there.”

“Call me if you need more info,” Eastlyn offered. “After all, your generosity is why we have the hotshot new detective in town anyway. It’s the reason we can afford his salary. Your generous donation keeps us viable and helps the town.”

Brogan looked disappointed. “You know about that? How? Brent was supposed to keep that quiet. Does Theo know, too? Does Colt?”

“Like I said, Theo won’t hear it from me. But he might hear it from the mayor or someone else privy to the town’s financial disclosures. Brent didn’t tell me. I do the monthly budget reports, though. I saw the influx of cash to the city budget and figured it out. Others might do the same. That’s all I’m saying.”

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