“Ah, right,” Featherleigh says. “Well, I’m flying standby to JFK on JetBlue.” She checks her phone. “I really hope I get on.” She winks at Marty. “You don’t have any pull, do you?”
“With the airlines?” Marty says. “No.”
This admission sends Featherleigh right into the electronic abyss of her phone. She sips her large glass of chardonnay, then starts scrolling. Marty regards the second half of his Reuben, the cheese now cold and congealed, and his coleslaw, which has grown soupy. Before he loses Featherleigh entirely to the seductive allure of Instagram, he says, “So what was so bad about your stay?”
Featherleigh sets down her phone and Marty feels a childish triumph. “I couldn’t begin to explain.”
“Try me.”
“I came all the way from London for a wedding. Now, mind you, I had no interest in attending the wedding, but this man I’ve been seeing was going to be there so I said yes.”
Marty hears the phrase man I’ve been seeing and what’s left of his enthusiasm flags. Even someone not-gorgeous-but-okay-looking like Featherleigh has found someone. Where are all the half-decent-looking-but-not-attached women? Marty wonders. Tell me!
“And then, for reasons too awful to explain, the wedding was canceled—”
“Wait a minute,” Marty says. “Were you going to the wedding out in—” At that moment, Marty’s phone starts ringing and a discreet check of his screen shows that it’s the chief of police. Marty has to take the call. He holds a finger up to Featherleigh. “Excuse me one moment,” he says. He relishes the opportunity to show Featherleigh that he really is sort of important. “What can I do for you, Chief?” he says.
“We’re looking for someone else now,” the Chief says. “And we have good reason to believe she’s at the airport, trying to fly standby. Female, early forties, blondish hair, name is Featherleigh Dale.”
Marty’s mouth falls open and the phone nearly slips from his hand but he manages to compose himself and offer Featherleigh a smile.
“I’m on it, Chief,” he says.
TAG
He shakes hands with the chief of police and tries to strike the appropriate tone: mournful yet strong, concerned yet guilt-free. When Greer woke up Tag, jostling his shoulder and saying, “Celeste’s friend Merritt, the friend, the maid of honor, Tag, she’s dead. She drowned out front. She’s dead. The paramedics are here and the police. Celeste found her floating. She’s dead. Jesus, Tag, wake up. Do something,” he’d thought he was ensnared in a bad dream. It had taken several long seconds for Tag to realize that Greer was real and that what she was saying was true.
Merritt had drowned. She was dead.
Not possible, he thought. He had dropped her off on the beach after the kayak ride. She had stormed off—upset, yes, but still very much alive.
On solid ground. He’d thought she’d gone to bed.
Tag isn’t sure what the police know.
Do they know about the affair?
Do they know about the pregnancy?
They’ll find out Merritt was pregnant as soon as they hear from the medical examiner, but will they learn about the affair? Whom did Merritt tell? Did she tell Celeste? Did Celeste tell the police? Tag’s first instinct upon hearing the hideous news was to find Celeste and remind her that the future of the Winbury family rested with her discretion. But Celeste had been taken to the emergency room to be treated for anxiety and she hasn’t returned to the house—which is, Tag suspects, a bad sign.
Tag leads the Chief to his study. Benji walked out after Tag admitted that it had been Merritt he’d taken on the kayak, and Thomas vamoosed as well. But both of his sons know better than to say a word to the police, Tag is confident of this. Their well-being is contingent on his well-being.
Tag says to the Chief, “Can I offer you a drink?”
The Chief lifts a hand. “No, thanks.”
Tag settles in the chair behind his desk and offers the Chief one of the two chairs facing the desk. This makes Tag feel in control of the situation, as if it were Tag who invited the Chief in for a chat and not the other way around. Perception is reality, Tag thinks. Why not put the Chief in the hot seat?
“What have you got?” Tag asks.
“Excuse me?” the Chief says.
“A young woman is dead,” Tag says. “And it happened on my property, or very nearly. Now, maybe it was an accident. Maybe Merritt had too much to drink and drowned. But if you have any evidence that something else is going on, then I deserve to know about it.” Tag hardens his gaze. “Don’t I?”
“No,” the Chief says. “You don’t.”
Tag opens his mouth to say—to say what? It doesn’t matter because the Chief leans forward in his chair and says, “When did you last see Ms. Monaco?”
Tag blinks. His instinct is to lie—of course his instinct is to lie!—because the truth is too incriminating.
“I saw her last night,” Tag says.
The Chief nods. “At what time?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“All right,” the Chief says. “Where were you when you last saw her?”
“I was… out back.”
“Can you be more specific, please?” the Chief says. “What were the circumstances surrounding the last time you saw Ms. Monaco?”
Tag takes a moment. He has had all day to consider various answers to this question, but now he’s floundering.
If he lies, they’ll catch him, he thinks. And he is innocent. Where Merritt’s death is concerned, he is innocent.
“We were out back under the tent, drinking,” he says. “A group of us. Myself, my son Thomas, a friend of the family named Featherleigh Dale, and Ms. Monaco.”
