Celeste sighs. She has a long-running joke with her boss, Zed, about fund-raising to build a cocktail lounge next to the cafeteria for parents like Jules. It would make all of their jobs a lot easier.
The Swedes must think the talk is over because they follow Jules out.
“Can we see a boa now?” the stoner asks.
Celeste brings out Bernie the boa and she wraps up her talk with a stroll past the poisonous snakes—the puff adder, the rattler, the pit viper, and, a perennial favorite, Carmen the cobra. Celeste taps on the glass, and Carmen rises up like a plume of smoke and unfurls her hood—and everyone takes a step back.
“That concludes our snake talk,” Celeste says. “Enjoy the rest of your Saturday.”
The stoners tap on the glass of Carmen’s tank, trying to get her to strike, while Celeste heads to the utility sink to wash her hands. She finds Benji and Miranda lingering before Molly’s tank, and in an attempt to make amends for provoking Jules, Celeste joins them.
“Molly just shed her skin this week,” she says. “That’s it right there.” She points to the gray tube of skin, as delicate as filigree, still mostly intact.
Benji smiles. “Thank you for all this information. I’m sorry Jules stormed out. She’s upset about something else.”
“No worries,” Celeste says. “I’m just filling in for the usual snake expert. My job is mostly administrative these days. It’s fun to be hands-on, although I hardly expect real-world problems to vanish when one walks into the World of Reptiles.”
“Do you have a card?” Benji asks. “I have a friend who sets up excursions for businessmen traveling to New York from overseas. I want to suggest he bring people here to the zoo.”
“Like a field trip for adults?”
“Mostly they like casinos and strip clubs,” Benji says. “I think this would be something new and different. Something educational.”
“I have cards,” Celeste says. “But they’re in my office. You can call the zoo’s main number and ask for me. My name is Celeste Otis. Or, if you’d like, you can put my direct line into your phone right now?”
“I’d love that,” Benji says. He pulls out his phone. “Go ahead, I’m ready.”
Saturday, July 7, 2018, 7:00 a.m.
Initial questioning, Abigail Freeman Winbury, Saturday, July 7 (continued)
While Abby is in the bathroom, Nick listens for voices from the rest of the house. He hears nothing and sees no one out the glass doors. This room is perfect for questioning; it’s almost hermetically sealed off from the rest of the house. Sitting here with the sun streaming in and the hydrangeas visible out the window, you wouldn’t know anything was wrong.
Abby comes back in, arms crossed over her chest in what Nick perceives as a defensive attitude. She knows or suspects something about Merritt’s romantic life; Nick just needs to get her to spill the beans.
“Where were we?” he asks.
“I’m not sure?” Abby says.
“Why don’t you tell me about last night,” Nick says.
“Well, the first thing that happened,” Abby says, “was that the rehearsal was canceled.”
“Canceled?”
“I guess Reverend Derby—that’s the Winburys’ minister from New York—called to say his flight had been delayed and he wouldn’t get to Nantucket until very late. I figured we would go to the church anyway and run through the ceremony with Roger, the wedding planner. But Celeste and Benji decided to cancel it altogether. It was almost as if…”
“As if what?” Nick says.
“As if they knew… they wouldn’t be getting married,” Abby says.
“What do you mean by that?”
Abby takes a sip of her water and trains her gaze on the front of the Nantucket coffee-table book. The cover is a photograph of the Rainbow Fleet rounding Brant Point Lighthouse during the Opera House Cup. “Nothing,” she says.
“Was there any indication that this wedding might not happen?”
“No,” Abby says.
“So, no rehearsal, then,” Nick says. “But there was still a rehearsal dinner, right?”
“It was a beach picnic here,” Abby says. “A clambake. There were raw clams and oysters, which I didn’t eat because I’m pregnant and raw shellfish can carry listeria. It’s in lunch meat also.” Abby takes another sip of water and Nick struggles against his instinct to categorize Abby as painfully self-absorbed and utterly useless to this investigation. “There was chowder, boiled lobster, sausages, potatoes, corn bread. Different kinds of pie for dessert. Oh, and there were cheddar biscuits. I ate about twelve.”
“Sounds delicious,” Nick says with a tight smile. “The clambake was catered?”
“Catered, yes. By the same people who were supposed to do the wedding reception tonight. Island Fare.”
“Was there alcohol served?”
Abby laughs. “This is the Winbury house. These people brush their teeth with vintage Dom Pérignon.”
“Were people drinking heavily?”
“The picnic had a signature cocktail,” Abby says. “It was a blackberry mojito with big fat ripe blackberries and fresh mint from Bartlett’s Farm and lots of rum. People were talking about how delicious they were. They were a gorgeous purple color and it was so hot last night that I’m sure they were hard to resist. And let’s see… Greer was drinking champagne; she always drinks champagne at parties. But everyone else was into those mojitos. Oh, and there was a keg of Cisco beer too, so after a while the guys were drinking that.”
“Did you notice Merritt drinking?” Nick asks.
