Lucy says, “It’s unclear if Ms. Coyle had been drinking or what her mental state was during the party. Lamont told me the last time he saw her was as they were passing Eel Point heading east-northeast, so we’ll go with that unless you and your officers find out anything different. Lamont was sailing solo—the Valladares brothers were at their abuela’s birthday—so Lamont would have had his hands full with that boat and all those guests. He seems confident that Ms. Coyle can swim, which is good. The Coast Guard boarded the boat to do a search and they’re bringing everyone ashore for questioning, but they’ll keep them away from the house fire.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Ed asks.
“That she was disgruntled? Somehow arranged for the house to catch fire while they were out sailing, then ditched?”
Ed considers what he knows about Coco, which admittedly isn’t much, though he’s seen her a fair amount this summer, both at his own home and whenever the Chief and Andrea went to the Richardsons’. His first impression of Coco when she climbed into the back of his car was that she was a loner, a wayward soul. But she would have made Charles Darwin proud, the way she adapted to Nantucket life. She befriended Kacy; she seemed at home at Triple Eight Pocomo Road. She became as confident and as at ease as any other young woman ordering a mudslide at the Gazebo. Nantucket has a way of getting in your blood; Ed knows this firsthand. He and Andrea and all their friends arrived from elsewhere and now they’re as embedded on the island as the bollards of Old South Wharf.
What do they know for sure? The Richardsons’ house has burned to the ground, and on the same evening, an employee of theirs has gone missing. This feels like more than a coincidence, but if all these years of policing have taught Ed anything, it’s that one should never jump to conclusions.
“Let’s just worry about finding her for now,” Ed says. “You’ve launched a search?”
“I sent one boat from Nantucket Harbor and one from Madaket Harbor,” Lucy says. “I’m waiting on word from the Coast Guard in Woods Hole. If we don’t find her in the next thirty minutes, they’ll send a helicopter from the air station. We’ve authorized a track-line search from Dionis to Smith’s Point, winds are fifteen to seventeen, seas two to four feet, which is good for sailing, bad if you’re trying to swim—and the tide is going out, unfortunately. It would help if you could identify the last person who saw her.”
“I’m almost to the scene,” the Chief says. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
The instant they turn onto Pocomo Road, Ed smells smoke. Once they reach the Richardsons’ white-shell driveway, he can see a cloud hovering by the water and the smell changes from mildly pleasant campfire to bitter and acrid, then suddenly it’s like he’s driving through fog. Civilian cars line the right side of the Richardsons’ driveway—guests attending the Richardsons’ sail—but there’s enough room for emergency vehicles to get through. The NFD sent Engine 4, Engine 1, and Tanker 1, since there’s only one dry hydrant out here, at the start of Pocomo Road. There’s an ambulance and an NPD squad car as well, probably Dixon’s.
Ed parks and turns to Kacy. “How are you doing?”
She’s as still as a statue in the near dark, but Ed can make out the expression on her face: a stoicism that she must have cultivated during her years in the NICU. “This isn’t real,” she says. “Coco missing is not a thing. She would never have fallen off the boat—that’s ridiculous—and she didn’t set a fire and then run. That’s like something that happens in the movies.”
Ed hopes Kacy is right, that Coco isn’t missing—she was using the head in one of the suites or decided to take a swim in the harbor rather than go ashore, and by the time they find Dixon and the others, Coco will be among them, embarrassed to have caused such a fuss.
“Do you want to stay here or go with me?” he asks.
“Go,” Kacy says. “Obviously.”
Ed takes off his blazer and throws it in the back seat. One of the loveliest evenings in recent memory has been flipped on its head, but Ed can feel rotten about that later. Right now they have to find Coco.
A crowd of people are gathered in the Richardsons’ circular garden, which is protected from the worst of the smoke by tall, thick boxwood hedges, though the Chief sees everyone has been given a mask. He hears one woman’s cries above all the talking and catches a glimpse of Leslee Richardson in a long white dress that’s soaking wet. Dixon whistles and asks for quiet; he announces that, to start, he’ll need everyone’s name and contact information.
Is Lamont here? He must be, but before the Chief can look for him, Stu Vick, the Nantucket fire chief, finds him.
“Fire’s out,” Stu says. Beyond Stu is a charred, smoldering pile of debris. The Chief has been to this house enough times over the summer to know he’ll find the mangled, melted carcass of that exquisite jukebox and maybe a couple of intact pool balls among the ashes.
“Can you confirm no one was in the house?” the Chief says. It occurs to him only now that maybe everyone thought Coco was on the boat but she’d accidentally, or intentionally, missed the sail. He can’t quite bear to take this idea any further.
“No one was in the house,” Stu says.
The Chief exhales. He turns around and nearly bumps into Zara Washington, who on Monday will become Nantucket’s new chief of police. She’s in full uniform, and the Chief shakes his head. “Zara?”
“I was at the station when the call came in,” she says. “Jennifer Speed gave me the heads-up that you were out tonight, celebrating with friends, so I thought I’d better make an appearance. You can go on home; I’ll help Dixon with the questioning.”
The Chief isn’t sure how to respond. While shadowing him on the job for the past two weeks, Zara has proven to be intelligent, calm, steady, and thoughtful, and she has twelve years of experience as a chief over on the Vineyard, but that was one town, not an entire island. Fifty percent of the job—maybe more—is knowing the people you’re serving, and that can be learned only with time. Lots of time. The Chief also finds himself bristling at Zara Washington telling him that he can go home. Unless something has changed that he doesn’t know about, he’s the chief of police here until Monday.
“My daughter”—the Chief turns around to find Kacy standing among the party guests looking like a lost child—“is friends with the girl who’s missing. And I know the couple who own this house. They’re… acquaintances.”
“All the more reason for you to step away from this one,” Zara says. “It’s possible this investigation will take more than a few days, Ed. Just let me—”
“I’m going to lead this investigation, Zara,” Ed says, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I don’t care how long it takes.”
Zara studies him for a second, and Ed feels exposed. Does he feel like he can assert himself because he’s a man, a white man? Is he (predictably) refusing to hand over power because he fears becoming irrelevant? He’s been training and prepping Zara so that, in a situation like this, he can get in his car and go home, maybe check in tomorrow morning, put Zara in touch with the Massachusetts State Police if a body is found.
A body, he thinks. He has to stay on this for Kacy’s sake. There’s no way she’ll want him to go home and let someone brand-new to the job figure out what happened to Coco.
“I’m sorry, Zara,” he says. “I’m not looking for a power struggle here, but I am the chief until the end of the day on Monday.”
Ed waits for her to ask him if he’s had anything to drink tonight. But instead, she says, “I’ll partner with you on this one, how about that?”
“Thank you,” Ed says. “You and Kevin should ask the guests the last time they recall seeing Coco and anything they remember about how she was acting.” He pauses. “Please.”
The Chief has been to a number of parties at the Richardsons’ house this summer, but from the looks of things, the usual guest list has drastically changed. (What did Kacy say? Everyone has abandoned the Richardsons.) Ed doesn’t recognize a soul except Busy Ambrose, a bigwig at the Field and Oar Club. Ed weaves his way through the crowd. Kacy has found Lamont Oakley, and the two of them are sitting on the stone wall at the back of the garden. Lamont has his head in his hands and Kacy has her hand on his shoulder as she talks in his ear.
The Chief approaches. “Lamont?”
He jumps to his feet, shakes the Chief’s hand. “She was on the boat, but when we got back here, she was gone.”
Gone, the Chief thinks. There are three options: She fell off the boat. She jumped off. Or she was pushed off.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” he says.
9. Meet-Cute II
Nothing makes Kacy happier about being back on Nantucket than going for a run out to the ocean, then grabbing doughnuts from the Downyflake, still warm in the box. When Kacy gets home, she finds her parents sitting at the kitchen island.
“Is Coco awake yet?” Kacy asks.
“Haven’t heard her,” Andrea says. She waggles her fingers at the bakery box. “Bring those over here, please, darling.”
