But then a voice came from out of the darkness. “Here, let me help.”
Chloe looked up from the wreckage. It was Merritt, the maid of honor, in her cool black dress.
“You don’t have to,” Chloe said. “It’s my fault.”
“Could have happened to anyone,” Merritt said. “Would have happened to me, I assure you, if I’d been brave enough to do this job at your age.”
Chloe stared at Merritt for a second. She was intrigued and embarrassed now that they were face-to-face. Chloe knew Merritt’s secret but Merritt didn’t know that Chloe knew. If Merritt had realized Chloe knew that she was pregnant with the groom’s father’s baby, she would have been… what? Angry that Chloe eavesdropped? Mortified by the example she was setting? Chloe kept her face down so as not to give anything away in her expression. She picked the bigger shards out of the grass. They clinked on the tray.
“What’s your name?” Merritt asked.
“Chloe MacAvoy.”
“Where do you live, Chloe?”
“Here,” Chloe said. “On Nantucket. Year-round.”
Merritt sighed. “Well, then, you’re the luckiest girl in the world.”
“Where do you live?” Chloe asked.
“I live in New York City,” Merritt said. “I work in PR there and I do some influencing stuff on Instagram.”
“Oh.” Chloe swallowed. “Really? What’s your name? I’ll follow you.”
“At Merritt—two r’s, two t’s—Monaco, like the country. Can you remember that? I’d be honored if you followed me, Chloe. I’ll keep an eye out and follow you back.”
“You will?” Chloe said. She felt insanely flattered—Merritt was an influencer!—even as she knew she should not put Merritt on any kind of pedestal. If she ever got into the position Merritt was in, Auntie and Uncle Ed would be extremely disappointed. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a bit of starstruck awe. “I love your dress. Do you mind telling me who it’s by?”
Merritt looked down as if to remind herself what she was wearing. “Young, Fabulous, and Broke,” she said. “Which describes me.” Her smile faded. “Well, two out of three, anyway.”
Once the glass was all picked up and Merritt had hurried off to find Celeste, Chloe wanted to finish cleaning up and leave. She presented the tray of broken glass to Donna, who frowned but then said, “Happens to the best of us, kid.”
Geraldo said, “Let’s get out of here, chica.”
Chloe had to go to the bathroom. Badly. Siobhan didn’t like them to use the restrooms unless it was an absolute emergency, and this definitely qualified. There was a powder room designated for guests, and now that most of the guests had left, it was unoccupied.
When Chloe emerged a few minutes later, she turned left down the hall toward what she thought was the front door and freedom. But the hall led her into a living room.
“Hey,” a voice said.
Chloe peered into the room but saw no one. Then, from a chair that looked like a scoop of vanilla ice cream, a woman sat up. It was the woman who had been so rude about the cheddar biscuits and had sent Chloe in search of more. And see that they’re warm!
“Hello?” Chloe said.
“Can you bring me a bottle of something, doll face?” the woman said. “Whiskey? Vodka? Some of that champagne Greer was drinking?”
“Uh…” Chloe said. “The party is over, actually.”
“The official party is over,” the woman said. She had a bad dye job, blond turning a rust color at the part. “Now is the after-party and as I’ve run dry, I need your help.”
“I’m only sixteen,” Chloe said. “I can’t serve alcohol. It’s against the law.”
The woman laughed. “Ha! What if I give you a hundred pounds? Or, wait, a hundred… what do you Yanks call them? Bucks!”
A hundred bucks? It was tempting. Chloe knew how easy it would be to pluck a bottle from the boxes waiting to go back out to the catering truck. But she thought of Merritt. One wayward decision might lead to another, she feared.
“I’m sorry,” Chloe said. “I have to get home.”
“Sweetie, please,” the woman said. “I’m desperate. I would have bet my last shilling that Tag Winbury kept scotch in every room, but I can’t find a drop. And you are the catering help, aren’t you? So it’s your job to bring me what I want.”
“I’m sorry,” Chloe said. “I’m off the clock. I’m leaving now.” She gave the woman what she hoped was a professional smile and turned around. She headed back the way she’d come and zipped out the side door of the house. Because, really, how much could she be expected to deal with in one night?
Saturday, July 7, 2018, 12:30 p.m.
THE CHIEF
He has to drive from Monomoy to the station, where they’re holding Shooter Uxley. He has two state policemen back at the scene to make sure nothing is tampered with and no one else flees. He could use two more guys, quite honestly. Nantucket just isn’t equipped for a murder during a busy holiday weekend. That is the stark truth.
The Chief inhales through his nose and exhales through his mouth, his takeaway from the stress management course he’s required to attend every three years. He’ll question Shooter himself and that will likely shed some light on things. He’ll hear from the ME about an exact cause of death. If he still hasn’t figured out what happened, he has the father, the brother, and the groom himself.
But frankly, the Chief likes the best man for this. Why else would he run? Then again, after he’d disappeared last night, why would he come back? What is going on here?
The Chief talked to Nick briefly before he left the compound. Nick said the mother of the groom, Greer Garrison, the mystery writer, had misled him about her timetable. Intentionally, he thinks.
I didn’t like the way our interview went, Nick said. It had a funny smell.
