Page 33 of Murder in the Lighthouse

“Maybe later. Right now, I’m concerned about Dad’s safety. I can say with certainty that he’s genuinely afraid of you,” Lucien explained.

Florence looked surprised. “I...I didn’t mean to hurt him. I wasn’t going to do anything drastic like ram a knife through his innards. I just wanted to get his attention.”

Annoyed now at the woman who seemed perfectly sane, Lucien moved closer to Florence. “How was he supposed to know that? How was he supposed to differentiate a threat from a crazed fan who wanted to carve him up?”

“I was quite drunk when I wrote that,” Florence confessed.

“You were in a florist shop right after they opened at eight-thirty when you wrote the card,” Brogan pointed out.

“That’s true, but it’s the time difference, jet lag or something. And I wasn’t driving. This place provides transportationwherever you want to go. You name a spot, and they take you there. No questions asked. They treat me like the bloody Queen here. Nobody’s done that since my Jessie died.”

A wistful look crossed Florence’s face. “I’ve made such a mess of things since losing my Jessie. I just wanted to relive our younger days, our courtship when we first fell in love. To feel like that again. Jessie and I went to a bloody lot of concerts when we were in our twenties. But Indigo was always our favorite band. We made love to that music so many times I lost count.”

Florence’s reflective mood vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a solemn reality. “How much trouble am I in? Are you here to arrest me or something?”

“We’re here to make sure you lose Graeme’s email address for good and put a stop to the threats,” Lucien declared. “Don’t communicate at all unless there’s something you want to get off your chest to a qualified psychiatrist.”

“We’re here to make sure you stay out of trouble until your daughter arrives,” Brogan admitted.

Florence bit her lip. Her eyes widened. She seemed to sober up. “What if there was something I wanted Graeme to know?”

“Oh, God,” Lucien murmured. “Please don’t tell me that Indigo is really Graeme’s biological daughter because you slept with him after a concert.”

A throaty laugh escaped Florence’s lips. “Heaven’s no. I never got close enough to go backstage. But it wasn’t for lack of trying.”

Tired of standing, Brogan slid onto the barstool next to Florence. “Then what do you want Graeme to know?”

“That his music meant so much to Jessie during his illness. He would sit for hours during his chemo treatments and listen to Indigo’s songs. Those soulful tunes kept him going right up until the end. I actually believe the band’s music helped prolong his life. That’s what I wanted Graeme Sutter to know. But I didn’trealize he was such an asshole that he wouldn’t reply to a single email I sent him. Did you know that? Your father is an asshole. So what if I got mad at him because of it? So what if I wanted to confront him about it? I’m over it now. I won’t send him anything else. I swear.” Florence swiveled toward Brogan. “I bet if Rory were still alive, he would’ve sent a reply. He was much nicer to his fans than Graeme.”

“How do you know that?” Brogan asked with a grin. “He could be a diva at times.”

“Like I said, Jessie and I followed the band’s success. Let’s face facts. The band isn’t the same since they lost Rory.”

Brogan eyed Lucien. “My father could be reclusive and distant when he was working in his studio and not want to be bothered. But overall, I know he appreciated the fans. He understood their importance. After three decades, he valued their role in giving him the success and longevity the band experienced.”

Lucien nodded and pulled up another barstool to anchor Florence on both sides. “Sometimes my dad can be cold. He’s not the type to show emotion. And when he does, it’s often little more than a forced grunt. But, over time, I’ve learned to deal with his aloofness. I understand you tried to compliment him, but a threat doesn’t help the situation.”

“That sounds to me like you’re saying a compliment is wasted on your dad, whatever it is,” Florence reasoned. “That’s okay. I’m done with Graeme Sutter.”

“How about if we buy you dinner?” Brogan offered. “While we’re waiting for the food, you should call your daughter and explain how you’re not crazy. And you’re on the next plane back to New Zealand tomorrow, so she doesn’t need to make the trip. Think of it this way. It will save your daughter thousands of dollars on the airplane fare”

Florence grinned. “Deal. I’m glad I came all this way to California, though. So what if I blew a wad of money on the trip? How else could I find the perfect place that pampers me like a celebrity? If not now, when else will I indulge myself?”

Lucien leaned toward Florence. “If you promise never to send another email to my father, I’ll make certain he covers the cost of your entire trip, including your stay at the resort. And if he’s ever on stage again, I’ll make him promise to give a shoutout to his two greatest fans in New Zealand—Florence and Jessie Brown—that Indigo has ever had. How does that sound?”

“Oh, that’s even better. I like that. Let’s have another cocktail on Graeme to seal the deal. He’s probably waiting for me to leave before setting foot in here again.”

10

Keeping up with Florence Brown turned out to be a challenge. The woman could drink a sailor under the table. Their overnight stay lingered into the wee hours of the morning. When they did manage to crawl out of bed, they indulged in an expensive breakfast before dropping off Florence at the airport. After sticking around to make certain she boarded the plane, they realized Santa Barbara was a distraction they hadn’t needed.

But easing Graeme’s mind after seeing the “crazed fan” fly off to another continent meant scoring brownie points with his father. Graeme didn’t even complain about paying for the woman’s American adventure so long as she left him alone in the future.

They spent the trip back to Pelican Pointe strategizing their next move in the Heywood case.

Twenty-four hours had passed since Lucien had replied to Truthseeker22. Since waking up, he had refreshed his inbox on the hour, hoping to see a notification that their mysterious poster had left a comment.

Each hour that ticked by without a reply was the realization they wouldn’t get one.

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