Page 64 of Murder in the Lighthouse

Lucien reached across the table to take her hand. “Do me a favor. Don’t get your hopes wound up about the results. You read all the time about people getting disappointed after they reach out to a birth mother or father. It doesn’t always go the way you think. Sometimes, taking this step leaves you feeling hollow inside because they don’t always want to be found.”

Hadn’t Scott mentioned that same thing on Halloween night when she’d summoned him to the patio? She squeezed his hand and let out a sigh. “Thanks for reminding me that it might not go like I want.”

“I don’t want to dampen your enthusiasm. But life isn’t always a Hallmark movie. Just saying.”

“No one knows that better than us. You’re right. I need to calm down and temper my expectations. But do you think Amalie will be able to answer the one burning question I have? How did Rachel end up with me? That’s really the driving force behind this whole genealogy thing. Why did Rory turn me over to a total stranger?”

Lucien’s thoughtful gaze met hers. “Those are realistic issues. We can always hope for the best. Just remember, no matter what, you have people who care about you. Through the years, we’ve made our own extended family.”

“I know. For a moment there, I let my imagination take over.”

They finished their breakfast and tidied up the kitchen. She tried to stay occupied, addressing work-related problems back east and negotiating solutions from three thousand miles away. But her thoughts kept wandering back to the possibility of finally having a mother. She found herself imagining different scenarios, each one rosier than the last, and tried to brace herself for the reality that awaited her.

Sensing her restlessness, Lucien suggested they take the dogs for a walk. They headed down to the beach, the sound of the waves providing a soothing backdrop. The crisp air invigorated her spirits. They walked without talking, keeping an eye on the dogs, each lost in their own thoughts. Occasionally, Brogan stopped to pick up a seashell or inspect a piece of sea glass. The simple act of being together brought her a sense of peace. As they wandered along the shoreline, Brogan felt a gradual loosening of the tension that had gripped her since Amalie’s email.

After a while, Lucien broke the silence. “You know, whatever we find out today, it won’t change much.”

Brogan’s lips curved, appreciating his trying to cheer her up. “It’s just... I can’t help but wonder how different things might have been if my mother had been part of my life. Even Rachel. I’ve often thought of how life would’ve turned out if she hadn’t died when she did. If I hadn’t come to live with Rory, we might not even be together now. And you need to know, that’s more important to me. Whatever we learn won’t change my life or yours.”

Lucien nodded. “It’s natural to wonder. But remember, the past isn’t what defines you. A lot of choices were taken out of our hands a long time ago.”

They continued their walk, talking about lighter subjects to ease the stress, laughing about the dogs’ antics as the two pups chased each other, playing a game of rough tag with nips that turned to nuzzles.

When a colony of seagulls descended on the sand all at once, disrupting the playful game, Brogan tried to shoo them away from the dogs but only managed to attract more birds.

“Maybe it’s time to go back,” Lucien shouted over the flock’s noise.

“I think so,” she bellowed, running after Poppy and scooping the little Bichon into her arms while Stella raced Lucien back to the house.

After returning home, Brogan felt more centered, ready to face whatever Amalie had discovered. She occupied herself with small tasks, trying to keep her mind from spiraling into a frenzy of “what ifs.”

She started in the garden, pulling weeds. But that only lasted until she’d dealt with the patch of crabgrass from around her camellias. She rearranged the patio furniture, then ended up in the living room, fluffing the cushions on the sofa four times, straightening the pictures on the wall, and watering more plants she didn’t get to the day before. Each little activity helped her stay grounded, but the expectation of what would come never entirely went away.

As morning turned into afternoon, she made skillet BLTs for lunch. By two, she began setting out refreshments. Way too early, she made raspberry lemonade in a futile attempt to distract from the nerves fluttering in her stomach.

Just before four-thirty, Lucien left his office and touched her shoulder reassuringly. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.”

At four-forty, ten minutes late, the doorbell rang. Brogan’s heart skipped a beat as she took a deep breath and headed for the entryway.

Amalie Lockney, in person, was a stunningly beautiful woman in her late fifties. Her Nordic roots were evident as she stood five-nine with golden blonde hair turning white in places and the most gorgeous blue eyes Brogan had ever seen. She wore frameless glasses, making her look more radiant than studious. She spoke with a slight accent when she apologized for running late.

Taken aback by this goddess of Scandinavian culture, Brogan waved away her apology. “Don’t worry about it.” Hoping to pull off a calm demeanor, she nervously shook hands with the professor and steered her inside. “How are you? Did you have any trouble finding us?”

“Your directions were perfect. Thank you.”

They settled in the living room as Amalie set her briefcase on the floor and shed her houndstooth outer jacket, revealing a stylish suit underneath. She noticed all the refreshments spread out on the coffee table. “Are we waiting for other people to join us?”

Embarrassed that she’d made three different varieties of finger sandwiches and an assortment of cookies for a simple discussion, Brogan sent her a smile. “No, it’s just the three of us.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. But the sandwiches look delicious. How about we eat after we talk?”

“That sounds like a plan,” Brogan managed.

Lucien settled beside Brogan on the sofa as Amalie opened her briefcase.

“Most of what I found came from ArkivDigital and Riksarkivet websites, designed to help people worldwide find their Swedish ancestry. I also scoured through the usual births, marriages, and death records. The documents are from various sources that are too numerous to mention. Suffice it to say that what I’m about to tell you is as accurate as possible. Britta’s last name wasJonasson, a very common name. Your Britta was bornin 1973 to Maja and Fredrik Jonasson. Maja was a nurse, while Fredrik was an entertainment lawyer. He used his influence and contacts to get Britta a modeling contract when she was sixteen. She was a very popular model locally inGothenburg. But what started as a simple local television commercial blew up overnight. She began modeling for several fashion houses and appearing on the cover of magazines.”

She handed Brogan several photographs of the beautiful Britta walking the Paris runway at a fashion show. “Britta was seventeen when that picture was taken.”

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