Page 39 of Murder in the Lighthouse

“Life is a mess, isn’t it?” Brogan relayed as she sat down to dinner.

“Life is often messy,” he agreed as he served up pasta on her plate.

“This tangled web of secrets surrounding my birth is causing me to question everything.”

The air between them crackled with a touch of worry, but underneath it all was a shared purpose to uncover the truth, no matter where it might lead them.

Over dinner, they discussed their plans for the meeting, going over every detail to ensure they were prepared for whatever Truthseeker22 had in store for them.

12

Their party arrived at one-fifteen, a good forty-five minutes early, at The Muse on 5th Street, a tiny, vintage coffee shop in the oldest part of Santa Cruz, two doors down from the performing arts theater. The lighting was almost non-existent as if the owner expected his clientele to seek out a discreet place to hide from the world in the middle of the day for privacy’s sake.

Small round tables were placed in clusters around the modest-sized room, with only two cane chairs at each table. The stingy seating might be why most people ordered their coffee to go or sat outside in the limited but more appealing courtyard. No afternoon rush hustled in and out. It wasn’t bustling with customers.

Considering the jazz tunes playing in the background, there was no hipster vibe here. It lent itself to a relaxed timelessnessfound only on the streets of Paris or the quaint coffeehouses in Tuscany.

The menu offerings were wide and varied. From scones, cheesecake bites, French toast, or cinnamon rolls, there were treats that paired well with most hot and cold drinks. Whether you went with a flat white or a chai latte, you could add a freshly baked cookie or a mini cake to your order.

Lucien scanned the area, trying to pick the best place to sit, while Birk tried to assess the best vantage point.

Brogan elbowed Jade in the ribs. “I don’t know how the meeting will go, but I’m definitely splurging on one of those delectable mini cheesecakes while I’m here.”

“I’m trying that French toast,” Jade said before handing off a photo of Trish Vosberg she’d pulled off the internet. “Take a look at the person we’re here to meet.”

Brogan studied the picture of a thirty-something cop in full uniform. Her hat was pulled down near her eyes to indicate a serious pose. “She looks like her sister Jill, only older.”

“Definitely a family resemblance.”

Birk tugged Jade toward a darker part of the room, an out-of-the-way corner by the restrooms. “We need to set up before she gets here.”

Brogan pointed discreetly toward the entrance and whispered, “Better hurry. Sergeant Vosberg is doing a little early reconnaissance of her own. She just walked in.”

Lucien saw an attractive woman dressed in civvies with chestnut brown hair scanning the room, her gaze settling on him as Brogan picked a table. With a purposeful stride, Trish made her way over to them, her expression unreadable.

“Lucien Sutter, the rock star’s son turned private investigator, I presume?” Trish said, her voice calm and professional.

Lucien reached out to shake her hand. Just as cagey, he stated, “Truthseeker22, I presume? We prefer websleuths to the private investigator tag. This is Brogan Cole. My wife.”

Sergeant Vosberg angled toward Brogan. “And the daughter of a murdered rock legend, Rory Rossum Cole. Interesting pairing, to say the least.”

“A case which Lucien and I helped solve,” Brogan pointed out.

“So I’ve heard.” Trish’s eyes flickered briefly towards Birk and Jade before returning to Lucien. “Who are your friends over in the corner?”

“They’re here for support,” Brogan said, watching Trish carefully for any signs of deceitfulness.

Trish nodded, seemingly unfazed by their presence. “Shall we get down to business then? You claimed to have information about my sister’s killer. Now’s the time to put up or shut up.”

“Keith Shepherd, the same guy who murdered Connie Upland and Cynthia Zepp. He’s our prime suspect.”

That one sentence had Trish pulling up a chair from another table and joining them. “What makes you think he’s the guy?”

“Because when Connie Upland was murdered, she was having an affair with a cop,” Brogan provided. “Her sister believes that cop was Shepherd. Is it a coincidence that your sister trained under Shepherd and ended up two months later murdered the same way as Connie? We don’t think so. We have yet to establish his connection to Cynthia Zepp. But we’re working on it. After all, Shepherd could have easily crossed paths with Cynthia at the convenience store where she worked anytime during his shift.”

“Keith Shepherd was a womanizing sleazebag,” Trish supplied. “I might’ve been Connie’s little sister, but even then, I knew Jill had trouble with one of her superior officers. It was Shepherd. He refused to leave her alone. He’d show up ather apartment at all hours and force himself inside. I’m sure you know by now that Shepherd’s younger brother worked on Connie’s case with another detective, Pete Davito. That’s a major conflict of interest.”

Trish eyed the couple with wary eyes. “It looked bad for the department. If you don’t mind me asking, what got you two involved in this sordid mess?”

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