Previously…
– Loretta Ragan was found dead outside the Objection anniversary party.
– Brent found Finn standing over Loretta’s body and arrested him for her murder, but the blood at the scene was determined to have come from Loretta’s mouth. With no clear evidence of homicide, Brent was forced to release Finn.
– Rosie abruptly left King’s Bay to spend time with her brother and clear her head. Her unannounced departure caused Travis to spiral on the same night that Loretta died. Later that night, he received an apologetic text message from Rosie.

“At least we have something to be thankful for this year,” Natalie Bishop says as she holds a steaming mug of coffee between both of her hands. She has her legs pulled up under her on the deep, cushy sofa from Restoration Hardware that consumes much of the real estate in the family room of her home. Her college-aged daughter sits nearby, drinking her own coffee. On the TV, the Thanksgiving Day Parade being broadcast from New York plays at a low volume, though neither woman is paying much attention to it.

“Mom,” Bree Halston says in a warning tone. “She was still Peter’s grandma.”

Natalie lets out a sigh. “You sound like Spencer.”

“I mean… Loretta was his mom…”

“And she also terrorized all of us for a long, long time,” Natalie replies fervently. “I couldn’t even have you in my own house because she was here.”

Bree quietly contemplates this as she sips her heavily sweetened coffee. Then she asks, “Do they know anything else yet? About what happened?”

“Not a lot. They took that Finn guy into custody right after Loretta died, but they released him the same night. Spencer still hasn’t heard back about an official cause of death, even.”

“That’s weird.”

Natalie nods. “Or the police know something they don’t want to share.”

“Like what?”

“I have no idea,” Natalie says, staring off at the television.

“Most of the people who would be suspects were inside that party,” Bree says. “Molly, Brent, even you…”

“I’m not a suspect!” Natalie exclaims. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m just saying. Loretta was, like, all up in your business, and your house. And she was threatening to take Peter away. But you were inside the party the whole time–“

“Exactly,” Natalie snaps. “So I couldn’t have done anything.”

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, she reflexively sits up a little straighter. Bree seems to take the cue, as well, and turns to focus more on the TV as Spencer Ragan enters the kitchen, which is open to the family room.

“Hey, Bree,” he says. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Bree tells her stepfather. “How, um… how are you?”

“Getting by. Listen, Natalie, I’m going to take Peter over to Tim and Claire‘s in a little while. If you want to come, I’m sure…” He trails off, not even bothering to finish the invitation.

“It’s fine. I’m going to hang here with my girl,” Natalie says. “A low-key Thanksgiving sounds like the right call this year.”

“Yeah,” Spencer agrees. “I’ll go get him ready and make sure he says goodbye before we go.”

“Great. Thanks.” Natalie plasters a slightly-too-pleasant smile on her face and lets it linger there until Spencer goes back upstairs.

“How’s he really doing?” Bree asks quietly, running a hand softly through her blonde hair.

“He’s been all business-as-usual,” Natalie explains, “and that kind of freaks me out.”

“Why?”

Natalie gazes at the doorway that connects the kitchen to the hallway and front of the house, through which Spencer disappeared only seconds ago. “It’s like he’s lying in wait — and when there finally is some information about what happened, he’s going to completely lose it.”

—–

The sweet scent of cinnamon rolls baking fills the kitchen of Molly and Brent Taylor‘s home. Molly pulls a tray of sizzling bacon from the lower oven and sets it on the stovetop.

“Brunch should be ready in a few minutes,” she says to her mother, who stands beside the granite-topped kitchen island.

“It smells wonderful,” Paula Fisher says. “Will our little angel be up to join us?”

Molly casts a glance at the baby monitor propped on a stand on the counter. Its video display shows a grainy but clear-enough view of Gabrielle’s room, where the toddler lies in her small bed.

“She’s barely napped,” Molly says, “but yeah. She’ll be happy to see you.”

“And I’ll be so happy to see her.” Paula clasps her hands together beneath her chin. “Is her sleep still inconsistent?”

Molly removes the yellow oven mitt she was using and places it on the counter. “Inconsistent is a very polite word.”

“She’s been through a lot of adjustment this year.”

“I know. And we are making progress. Actually, Travis is going to stop by later. His visits seem like they’re helping.”

“It might be helping Gabrielle reconcile these two realities she’s known,” Paula says.

Molly smiles wryly. “You sound like the psychologist.”

“I’m just happy to hear that Travis has felt comfortable visiting, and that you and Brent have allowed him to stay a part of Gabrielle’s life. It gives me hope that this family can really heal.”

“I want that, too, Mom.”

“I know you do, dear,” Paula says, exhaling heavily. “Has Rosie visited her yet?”

“No. She can’t even work with Brent, so I don’t have much hope for that. I know we can’t force her… but I do think it would be good for her.”

“I do, too,” Paula agrees, as Brent Taylor enters the kitchen.

“Any more coffee?” he asks, holding his empty mug aloft.

“There’s still some in the pot, yeah,” Molly tells him. Brent crosses to the Cuisinart coffee maker and picks up the stainless steel carafe.

“Have you heard anything else, Brent?” Paula inquires. “About Loretta. Anything that you’re able to share, of course.”

“There still isn’t much. I’m waiting on the Medical Examiner.” He finishes filling his cup and places the carafe back in place. “We don’t even know if this is a murder case. But we’re losing precious time while we wait. Evidence disappears or gets harder to find the further out you get, and there are only so many warrants I can get without an actual homicide on my hands.”

“Do you think it could have been natural causes?” Paula asks.

“I don’t know what to think,” Brent admits. “My instincts tell me that this is Loretta Ragan we’re talking about, and natural causes would be way too simple. But until we have the M.E.’s report, it’s hard to do much of anything.”

—–

Juanita Jimenez‘s home does not feel particularly festive this Thanksgiving morning. Travis Fisher sits at the small table in the eat-in kitchen, picking at the toast, eggs, and bacon that he prepared a little while ago. His mother-in-law ate one portion before leaving to go do charity work at her church, and there is another plate resting on the counter, covered in foil. He keeps glancing at the plate, wondering if it will even be needed — or wanted — but he hopes that this small gesture of consideration might help to bridge the chasm between himself and his wife.

Finally, after what feels like hours of waiting, he hears the front door being opened. Travis stands and calls out, “Rosie?”

“Hey,” comes the familiar voice, though its tone is clipped and reserved. Moments later, Rosie appears in the kitchen, still wearing her midweight, olive-colored coat.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he says, unable to shake the feeling of awkwardness even as he moves forward to greet her with a hug.

Rosie reciprocates the embrace, although Travis is all too aware of the stiffness in both their bodies, as if they are robots learning to hug for the first time.

“I’m sorry I took off the way I did,” she says, tugging on the sleeves of her coat. “It was like I hit this breaking point and — I needed to change my surroundings. I don’t know.”

“I understand. This past year has sucked.”

“Yeah. It has.”

Feeling the tension dissipate a little, Travis reaches out and takes one of her hands. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving. Is my mom out?”

“She’s at the church serving the holiday meal for the needy,” he explains. “I, um, I saved you some breakfast.”

She takes note of the partially eaten meal on his plate. “That looks good. Thanks. I only had coffee this morning.”

Travis draws in a deep, cleansing breath through his nostrils. “We’re gonna figure this out, Rosie. Somehow.”

“I hope so. And Loretta’s dead. That has to be karma.”

“I think it is,” he says, feeling a twinge of discomfort. “Maybe now we can all start to move on.”

“Maybe.”

“Speaking of… I promised Gabrielle I’d go visit her today. Would you want to come?”

Her entire body stiffens, and she pulls back her hand. “I… I don’t think I’m ready for that. Not yet. And I don’t think I can face Brent.”

“I’m sure if you talked to him, he would let you come back to the force,” Travis says. “He never wanted you to quit in the first place.”

Rosie shakes her head. “I can’t work with him. Not after everything that happened.”

“Okay. I get that. We could start with having breakfast together. You can tell me about what you and Sebastian did while you were gone.”

“And you can tell me about everything I missed,” she says. “Starting with this Loretta thing.”

“I mean, I wasn’t there, so I don’t really know,” he hastens to say. “And the police haven’t said a ton yet.”

“But they arrested someone.”

“And then released him the same night. They’ve been pretty tight-lipped since then.”

“That is weird,” Rosie says. “It’s possible they’re keeping information out of the news because they already have a promising suspect.”

Travis grabs the foil-covered plate and hands it to her. “Let’s just try and enjoy breakfast for now, okay? It’s Thanksgiving, and I’m grateful you’re home.”

“Me, too,” she says as they take their seats at the table.

—–

After Spencer leaves with Peter to go visit Tim and Claire, Natalie and Bree continue watching the parade for some time. Finally, it is time for Bree to go back to her father’s house and get ready for dinner with Marcus and his parents; Natalie declines the invitation, since she doesn’t feel up to making small talk with the Grays today, and sees her daughter out. She goes upstairs to take a shower but finds herself pausing outside Loretta’s bedroom.

Consumed by curiosity, she reaches for the handle and opens the door. No one has been in here since the night of Loretta’s death, save for the KBPD officers who came to do a quick sweep.

“You’re actually gone,” Natalie says to the empty room, which looks strangely frozen in time, as if Loretta might swoop in wearing one of her caftans at any moment.

“You’re actually gone, and my secret is safe.” She exhales and feels her shoulders dropping. For years, she has been carrying the secret that she, not Loretta, was the one who paid Sonja Kahele to keep Spencer from remembering his fall down the stairs — only Loretta figured out the truth and used it to blackmail Natalie. Now that the wretched woman is dead, there is no one remaining who can expose Natalie’s scheme.

“I hope you rot in hell for everything you’ve done,” she spits before pulling the door closed again.

—–

Paula and Molly are seated at Molly’s kitchen table, enjoying the cinnamon rolls as they discuss dinner plans for later in the day, when Brent hurries back into the kitchen with his iPhone pressed to his ear.

“No, it’s no trouble,” he is saying to whomever is on the other end of the call. “I’d rather have this info now than wait until Monday.”

Something about his demeanor catches Molly’s attention, and she pauses her conversation with her mother. Brent makes eye contact with both of them, indicating that this is something important.

“What was that?” Molly asks the instant he hangs up.

“That was the Medical Examiner himself,” Brent tells them. “He’s putting together his report but thought I might want the information even though it’s a holiday.”

“Of course you’d want it,” Paula says. “What did he have to say?”

“The first finding is that Loretta’s hyoid bone wasn’t broken,” he reveals. Seeing Paula’s confused look, he quickly adds, “That means she wasn’t strangled. That was our only remaining theory as to how someone might’ve killed her at the scene.”

“So it wasn’t foul play? Loretta really did die of natural causes?” Molly asks.

Brent shakes his head vigorously. “That’s where it gets interesting. The toxicology report showed evidence of a fatal substance in Loretta’s bloodstream and tissue. That appears to have been the cause of death.”

“She was poisoned, then,” Molly says.

“Right,” Brent says. “Which means it likely happened before the party, because there was barely any time between when she arrived, when security escorted her out, and  when she was found dead.”

“Anyone could have poisoned her,” Paula states.

“Anyone who had access to her during that last day she was alive,” Brent clarifies. “Which means there are a lot more suspects than we thought at first.”

Paula brings a hand to cover her mouth and gasps.

“What is it, Mom?” Molly asks.

“Nothing,” Paula says, rather unconvincingly. “I’m… I’m worried that someone we love might have done something very foolish. Something that can’t be undone.”

END OF EPISODE 1242

Who could have poisoned Loretta? And how?
Will Travis and Rosie be able to mend their marriage?
Is Natalie’s secret really and truly safe?
Discuss all this and more in the comments below!