“Sure,” Patty says. “One strange thing? Celeste came with a bag packed. I’m just not sure what to make of that. When I asked her about it, she started to cry, so I let it be.”
“Okay,” Nick says. That is strange, but there’s probably an explanation.
“My shift ends at three,” Patty says. “Call me if you want to get together tonight.”
The idea is tempting, but he knows he won’t relax until he cracks this case. Hopefully the bride has the answer.
“Will do,” he says.
He finds Celeste in a hospital gown, lying back on the examining table. When she sees him, she sits up. “Are you the police?”
“State police detective Nick Diamantopoulos,” he says. “I’m very sorry about your friend.”
Celeste nods. “You’re here to take my statement.”
“I am,” Nick says. “It’s a tragedy, what happened to Merritt.”
“She’s dead?” Celeste says. “Is she… I mean, she’s dead, right?”
Nick takes a seat in the chair at the foot of the examining table. The fries start to churn in his stomach. “I’m sorry, yes. She’s dead.”
Celeste bows her head and cries softly. “It’s all my fault.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s my fault. I knew something bad would happen. I thought it would be my mother but it wasn’t—it was Merritt. She’s dead!”
“I’m very sorry,” Nick says again. “I know you have a lot to deal with right now.”
“You don’t know,” Celeste says. “You have no idea.”
Nick takes out his notepad. “The best way to help Merritt is to help me figure out what happened to her. She was your best friend, your maid of honor. She confided in you, right?”
Celeste nods.
“And here’s the funny thing about weddings,” Nick says. “They bring together people who don’t know each other. I’ve interviewed two people already but neither of them really knew Merritt. So you are a key part of this investigation.”
Celeste takes a deep breath. “I’m not sure I want to break Merritt’s confidence. Other people are involved. Other people I care about.”
“I understand,” Nick says. His sympathy is genuine, but he is a sapper looking for land mines. “Why don’t you just tell me what you know and we’ll see if it’s relevant.”
Celeste stares at him.
“I have someone who witnessed you and Ms. Monaco in the Winburys’ rose garden after the party ended,” Nick says. “This person said Ms. Monaco was crying and you were comforting her. Do you want to tell me what that was about?”
Celeste blinks. “Someone saw us in the rose garden?” she says. “Who?”
“I can’t tell you that,” Nick says. “What you tell me here is confidential. That’s true for everyone.”
“I hear you saying that, but…”
“But what?” Nick says. She’s scared to tell him what she knows—but why? “My understanding is that Ms. Monaco was estranged from her parents and there’s a brother somewhere but no one knows where. So she doesn’t have any family here to advocate on her behalf. That leaves me—and you—to find out what happened. Do you understand the magnitude of that responsibility, Celeste?”
“She was… going through a tough breakup,” Celeste says. “With a married man. She was very upset about it.”
Nick nods. He waits.
“I told her to end it. Back when I found out, which was only a few weeks ago, I told her to end it and she said she would, but she didn’t. And then he ended it.”
“The married man?”
“Yes,” Celeste says. “And that was why she was crying.”
Nick writes on his notepad: Married man. Then he scans his other notes and he thinks about Merritt’s cell phone. She had just gone through a breakup but there were no calls or texts, either coming in or going out. Except for the one from Robbie wishing her a belated “Happy Day of American Independence” and hoping she was doing well.
“Is the married man named Robbie, by any chance?”
Celeste’s eyes widen. “How do you know about Robbie?”
“I’m a detective,” Nick says. “Is Robbie the married man?”
“No,” Celeste says. “Robbie is her… was… I don’t know, her friend. A guy friend. A past boyfriend, but not anymore.”
“Celeste, was the married man that Merritt was involved with at the party last night?”
The barest movement of the head forward. Almost involuntary, it seems.
“Is that a nod?”
“It’s Tag,” Celeste whispers. “Tag Winbury, my father-in-law.”
Boom, Nick thinks.
Once the name is out, the rest flows more easily, as though a plug has been pulled.
Merritt and Tag hooked up two months ago during Celeste’s bachelorette weekend. They saw each other in the city, Celeste isn’t sure when or where. As recently as the Fourth of July, Merritt said the relationship was over. It wasn’t a big deal, according to her.
“But I talked to her after the rehearsal dinner. She was upset. I encouraged her to come into town with us but she said she wouldn’t be any fun. She wanted to stay home and mope, she said. Get it out of her system so she would be good to go today.” Celeste pauses. “For the wedding.”
“Was the last time you saw Merritt alive in the rose garden?” Nick asks.
“No,” Celeste says. “I saw her when we got back from town.”
“You did?” Nick says. “Where was she?”
“She was at a table under the tent with Tag,” Celeste says. “And Thomas, Benji’s brother. Thomas came with us into town. We went to the back bar at Ventuno but when we got to the Boarding House, his wife, Abby, called and told him to come home. When we got back, he was sitting under the tent with Tag and Merritt… and a friend of the Winburys named Featherleigh Dale.”
Nick writes down the names: Merritt, Tag, Thomas, brother, and a person—woman?—named Featherleigh Dale.
“Do you know Featherleigh Dale?” Nick asks.
“Not really,” Celeste says. “I just met her last night. She’s from London.”
“And was she also staying at the Winbury house?”
“No.”
“But she was there last night?”
“Yes,” Celeste says.
“What time was it when you saw Merritt under the tent with Tag?”
“We left town when the bars closed, at one,” Celeste says. “So maybe one thirty?”
“And when you saw Merritt with Tag,” Nick says, “were you concerned?”
“I was preoccupied…” Celeste says.
“That stands to reason,” Nick says. “After all, you were supposed to get married today.”
“It’s no excuse.” Celeste bows her head. “I was preoccupied and I didn’t persuade Merritt to come to bed. If I had done that, she would be alive. This is my fault.”
Nick needs to keep his bride focused. “Celeste, what were Tag and Merritt and Thomas and… Featherleigh doing under the tent? Drinking? Smoking?”
“Drinking shots,” Celeste says. “Of some special rum Tag gets in Barbados. Tag had a cigar. They looked happy. Merritt looked happy, or happier, anyway. They tried to get me to join them but Benji and Shooter had gone to bed and I wanted to get some sleep…”
“Understandable,” Nick says. “You were getting married the next day.”
Again, Celeste shakes her head. It’s the mention of the wedding that seems to set her back, so Nick decides not to do it again.
“As I was saying good night to everyone, Abby called down from an upstairs window,” Celeste says. “She wanted Thomas to come to bed. And I did hesitate a bit then because I thought it would be bad for Tag and Merritt to be alone together. Honestly, I thought they might rekindle their…” She stops, pinkens. “I thought they might hook up.”
Nick nods. “Okay.”
“But Featherleigh was there and she showed no intention of leaving. She made a comment that it was morni
ng in London and she had just gotten her second wind.” Celeste swallows. “I kissed Merritt good night and I squeezed her hand and looked her in the eye and I said, Are you okay, my friend? And she said, Hey, your stutter is gone. Because I had a stutter for a few months, actually. Anyway, I figured she was sober enough to notice that, she would be fine. So I went up to bed.”
“Did you hear anything outside after that?” Nick asks. “Did you hear anyone in the water? There was a two-person kayak left out on the beach. There was blood in the sand and Merritt had a cut on her foot. Do you know anything about that?”
“Kayak?” Celeste says. She sits up, swings her feet to the floor, and starts to pace. “Did Tag take Merritt out in the kayak? Do you know if that happened?”
“I don’t,” he says. “I’m working with the Nantucket Police on this. The Chief will question Mr. Winbury about the kayak. The important thing is you didn’t hear anything?”
“No,” Celeste says. “But the house has central air and Benji’s bedroom—the room where I was staying—faces the driveway, not the water.”
“And this morning… you’re the one who found Ms. Monaco, is that correct?”
“Yes,” Celeste says.
“You were up early,” Nick says. “Why is that?”
Celeste bows her head and starts to shake.
Nick turns to see a yellow paisley duffel bag in the corner of the room. He remembers what Patty said. “And you had a bag packed? I guess I don’t understand why you were down at the beach at five thirty in the morning with your bag.” Although Nick does understand, or he thinks he does.
When Celeste looks up, tears are streaming down her face. “Is there any way we can be finished for now?”
Nick scans his notepad. This was not your typical wedding. The maid of honor was sleeping with the groom’s father. Nick will call the Chief and have him question the father; Nick would likely lose his cool with the guy. He’s beginning to have emotions about this case, which is never a good thing.
But then Nick thinks about Greer Garrison. Which of Greer’s answers had Nick found suspicious? All of them, really. She had seemed bloodless, soulless, unaffected, and… unsurprised. And she had intentionally not told Nick about going to the kitchen for a nightcap. Greer writes murder mysteries. If anyone would be able to plot a murder and get away with it, Nick thinks, it would be her.
Right?
If she knew about this affair, she would be a prime suspect.
But Nick can’t leave any stone unturned here. Featherleigh Dale was at the table after both Celeste and Thomas left. Featherleigh might be able to say for sure if Tag took Merritt out in the kayak.
Nick writes on his notepad: Find Featherleigh Dale!
The sound of Celeste crying brings Nick back to the present.
“We can be finished,” Nick says. “For now.” He gets to his feet. The poor kid. It’s pretty clear she’s going through more than just her best friend dying. “I’ll send Patty back in.”
Saturday, July 7, 2018, 2:00 p.m.
THE CHIEF
Shooter Uxley wants to lawyer up, which is his right, although any cop in America will tell you the same thing: It doesn’t look good. Why lawyer up if you have nothing to hide? The Chief tries to point this out to Shooter gently, without making his true motivation known, his true motivation being that they need answers, and fast.
Keira, the Chief’s assistant, informs the Chief that before he went off duty, Sergeant Dickson was able to locate and speak to Ms. Monaco’s brother, Douglas Monaco, of Garden City, New York, and that Mr. Monaco said he would contact his parents and would, when the time came, make the necessary arrangements for the body.
“How did he sound?” the Chief asks. “Did he have any questions?”
“He was shocked,” Keira says. “But he hadn’t talked to her since last Christmas and he said his parents hadn’t spoken to her in years. They had a falling-out.”
“Did he ask you what happened?” the Chief says.
“He didn’t,” Keira says. “He just thanked me for letting him know and gave me his contact information.”
“Good,” the Chief says. The last thing he needs now is aggressive, upset family members demanding more intensive police work. And yet the complete opposite of that feels sad, even though it makes his job easier. “You can release the name, age, and the hometown—use New York City—to the press and tell them the matter is under investigation. No further comment.”
“Also?” Keira says. “Sue Moran from the chamber of commerce called. She’s concerned.”
“About what?”
“Weddings on Nantucket generate over fifty million dollars, she said. A Murdered Maid of Honor is extremely bad for business, she said. She wants us to try to keep the wedding angle quiet.”
“Fine,” the Chief says. “We’ll try. But you might want to remind her that it’s a small island.”
Uxley chooses a local attorney, Valerie Gluckstern. The Chief knows Val well, and while she’s not his favorite lawyer on this island, neither is she his least favorite. She started out as a trust and estate attorney and switched to criminal defense six or seven years ago, once there were enough wealthy and connected lawbreakers to keep her in business. Val is willing to relax certain rules because they live thirty miles out to sea and big-city procedure doesn’t always apply.
For example, instead of wearing a suit and heels, Val shows up at the station wearing a beach cover-up, a straw hat, and flip-flops.
“I came right from the beach,” Val says, and in fact she has sand breading the backs of her legs. “My brother is here with his four kids and his pregnant wife. I wasn’t exactly unhappy to be called away.” She cocks an eyebrow at the Chief. “Do you ever have houseguests, Ed?”
“Not if I can help it,” he says.
“Wise man,” Val says. She looks around. “Where’s the Greek? I thought he was investigating this case.”
That explains Val’s prompt arrival more than the houseguests, the Chief thinks. Every woman on this island will jump through hoops of white fire for the Greek.
“He’s interviewing a witness at the hospital,” the Chief says.
Val nods. “Let me talk to my client.”
“He tried to run,” the Chief says. “It doesn’t look good, Val. You should let him know that.”
“Let me talk to my client,” Val says again.
While Val is in with Shooter, Ed checks his phone. He sees a text from Nick that says, We need to find a wedding guest named Featherleigh Dale, and the Chief curses under his breath. Here he’s liking Shooter Uxley for this and now there’s a new person of interest? The Chief calls the Winbury house to speak to Greer.
“We’re looking for someone named Featherleigh Dale,” he says.
“Yes,” Greer says. She sounds unsurprised.
“Do you have any idea where we might find her?” he asks.
“She’s staying at an inn,” Greer says. “Let me check which one. I have it written down.” A moment later she comes back to the phone. “The Sand Dollar Guest House, on Water Street.”
“Thank you.” The Chief hangs up and dispatches one of his patrolmen to the Sand Dollar to bring this Featherleigh Dale in for questioning.
Nick calls on his way from the hospital to the compound. “Talked to the bride,” he says. “She was a gold mine.”
“What did she give you?” the Chief asks.
“Our maid of honor wasn’t exactly honorable,” Nick says. “She was sleeping with the groom’s father, Tag Winbury.”
The Chief closes his eyes. He’s so hungry, he’s seeing stars—then he remembers that Andrea packed him a lunch: turkey BLT, two ripe, cold plums, a thermos of chilled cucumber-coconut soup. He loves his wife. As soon as he gets off with Nick, he’ll eat.
“I talked to Linda Ferretti, the ME,” the Chief says. “Victim was seven weeks pregnant.”
Nick sucks in his breath and the Chief feels a renewed sense of purpose. This woman’s death was no accide
nt. They have a real situation on their hands.
“She was pregnant with Winbury’s kid,” Nick says. “I wonder who knew. Celeste didn’t tell me that. I… I don’t think she knew. I wonder if Greer Garrison knew.
“I dispatched Luklo to go pick up Ms. Dale at her inn,” the Chief says. “How is she involved?”
“She was sitting under the tent late last night with Merritt, Tag, and Thomas, the groom’s brother. The brother, Thomas, went up to bed, leaving Merritt, Tag Winbury, and Featherleigh Dale. She should have something to tell us.”
“Yes, we need the Dale woman,” the Chief says. “Now that we know what we know. So why am I talking to Shooter Uxley? Why did he run? Where is he in all of this? Why did he, of all people, lawyer up?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Nick says. “Who’s his attorney?”
“Valerie Gluckstern.”
“I like Val,” Nick says. “And she likes me.”
“Let’s hope that works in our favor and we can get the kid to talk,” the Chief says. “After I’m finished with Uxley, I’ll talk to the father.”
“I’ll talk to this Dale woman,” Nick says. “Once we find her. And, hey, if you need help swaying Val Gluckstern, let me know.”
“Thanks, Prince Charming,” the Chief says.
Saturday, August 12–Monday, August 21, 2017
CELESTE
She takes a week’s vacation from the zoo in August, coordinating with Benji’s vacation, and the two of them go to Nantucket.
Merritt says, “You do know how lucky you are, right? Having a rich boyfriend with a huge waterfront home on Nantucket?”
“Right,” Celeste says uneasily. She doesn’t want anyone—even Merritt—to think she is after Benji for his money. The money makes things nicer and easier. They can go to dinner whenever and wherever they want, they go to concerts and sit in the front row, Benji always treats her to taxis and sends her bouquets of beautiful, exotic flowers, and occasionally she will come home to find he has delivered a box of Pierre Hermé macarons to her doorstep (she had never tasted a macaron before meeting Benji; now, they’re one more expensive habit that she’s developed). Celeste enjoys these aspects of their relationship—she would be a liar if she denied it—but her favorite things about Benji are that he’s kind, thoughtful, solid, steady, and even-keeled.
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