Page 3 of Murder in The Summer House

“What look?”

“The one that says if we don’t do this, who will?”

“While that statement is true, I don’t think it’s reason enough to jump into a twenty-something cold case. We’re good, but we’re not miracle workers.”

“Let me finish up here, and we’ll do the online research together, drill down into this ridiculous theory that a paperboy committed a double homicide and took off with a three-year-old kid. How would he even know this family? The Dolworths had only been in the neighborhood for a week. Right?”

“And where would Trey have gotten hold of a gun? That should be our first order of business. Talk to his parents. And maybe set out to clear Trey’s name.”

“Or, at the very least, figure out what exactly happened inside that summer house. Was it a random shooting, or did someone follow them on their trip up the coast? Where did you say the Dolworths came from?”

“The San Fernando Valley. Canoga Park, specifically in the area now known as West Hills. Mack Dolworth was a software engineer employed at Rocketdyne back then. It’s no longer there. Anna worked as a nurse, pulling the graveyard shift at Northridge Medical Center three nights a week. Which begs the question, why would someone wait until their vacation to kill this couple in a rental? Why not kill them back in West Hills and take the kid? That’d be a lot less trouble.”

Lucien bobbed his head in agreement. “Maybe not, since the killer got away with it. Who knew they were in the rental? Pollock probably knew.”

“You’re suggesting the guy who plans to hire us is stirring up a two-decade-old case to throw us off when he’s the trigger man?”

“I’m suggesting we keep our options open when it comes to suspects.”

“Don’t we always? I’ll let you finish up here. I’m taking the dogs back inside with me. You do realize they don’t like the ear-splitting rock, right?”

“What should I play? Mozart?”

“That could be arranged,” she muttered. “Look, I have a Zoom meeting in fifteen minutes with department heads. After that, my grandmother will need an update. Like Kate Ashcroft, Cordelia Brinell Gregson doesn’t take no for an answer. You can bet money that Delia will offer up some sort of critique about the way I’m running Brinell Steel.”

“Delia’s lucky to have you. If you want, I’ll remind her of that.”

“I’ll be sure to bring that up in the conversation.”

“As if my opinion mattered.”

She checked the time again and turned to leave, scooping up Poppy so that Stella would follow. “Gotta run. And you should know by now that your opinion has always mattered to me, even when you were twelve and told me my hair looked like a pile of fuzzy cotton candy.”

“I never said that.”

“You most certainly did, seconds before aPeoplemagazine photographer snapped our pictures for the photo spread in their rock ’n roll legend edition.”

“What can I say? I was a little shit back then trying to emulate my father.”

She sputtered with laughter. “The great Graham Sutter would never have insulted my hair. Nope. He waited several years later before letting you know I wasn’t good enough to marry his son.”

Lucien marched around the worktable and swung her in for a kiss. “But we showed him, didn’t we?”

Right before their lips met, Brogan cradled his face in her hands. “Babe, we showed them all.”

2

Lucien had designed their forever home in a modern architectural style that paid tribute to Frank Lloyd Wright’s devotion to nature. The house wasn’t quite up to Wright’s standards as organic architecture, but Lucien liked to think his style went a long way to harmonize with the surrounding coastal environment.

During construction, he’d used what he had on hand and made do at times with recycled wood for framing when that was all he could get his hands on. He had kept the exterior design simple, incorporating extended, broad eaves and a gently sloping roof style that ensured each room got plenty of light. Hence the high ceilings, the bold arched doorways, and the huge windows that let in so much natural light that even the staircase seemed to glow at midday. He threw in just enough Spanish influence—like adding three kiva fireplaces—so the house fit in with other California-style homes around town.

Those fireplaces went a long way to creating cozy, intimate spaces providing little nooks and crannies to the slew of built-in bookshelves and workspaces. He’d wanted a functional home, not something that resembled a museum. It was why every bedroom had spacious closets to hold whatever the future brought, and every bathroom had walk-in showers.

Downstairs, he’d used sturdy wooden crossbeams in the living areas to embrace Wright’s stylish practicality. He liked to think that his design captured a modern look and feel that blended with an old house atmosphere, giving it a lived-in vibe with just enough ancestral heritage to make people believe the house had stood for decades on this very spot.

Standing at the kitchen island, throwing together a salad, Brogan looked across the room to see Lucien snap his laptop shut. She caught the smug look on his face. “Why do you look so pleased with yourself? Is it because you’re prepared for Chad Pollock when he gets here?”

“Nope. If I say so myself, it's because I designed a terrific living space. I hate to brag, but it’s true.”

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