Abby lets go of her breasts to shake his hand. “Just so you know, I’m pregnant. Fifteen weeks along. I had an amnio a few days ago, and the baby’s fine. It’s a boy.”
“Oh,” Nick says. That, at least, explains why she was holding her breasts. Right? Nick doesn’t have children, and he has never been married, but his sister, Helena, has three kids and what Nick remembers from Helena’s pregnancies is that a certain amount of personal dignity goes out the window. Helena, who had always been rather private and discreet about her body and its functions, had complained about her aching (and then leaking) breasts as well as the frequency with which she had to pee. “Well, congratulations.”
Abby gives Nick a tired but victorious smile. “Thank you,” she says. “It’ll be the first Winbury heir. That’s important, I guess, to British people.”
Nick says, “I have some water here, if you’d like any. I’m sure you must be pretty shaken up.”
Abby takes a seat on the sofa and Nick sits in a chair opposite her so he can face her. “My stomach has been funny for weeks,” she says. “And this news is so terrible. I can’t believe it’s real. This feels like a movie, you know? Or a dream. Merritt is dead. She’s dead.” She pours herself a glass of water but doesn’t drink. “So do we know… is the wedding canceled?”
Nick says, “Yes, I believe so.” That’s what he overheard Greer saying on the phone, he’s pretty sure. That they’re canceling the wedding.
“Okay,” Abby says, but she sounds a little deflated. “I figured. I mean, Merritt is Celeste’s best friend, her only friend, really, and she’s dead.” Abby shakes her head as if to clear it. “Obviously the wedding is canceled. I don’t know why I even asked. You must think I’m some kind of monster.”
“Not at all,” Nick says. “I’m sure it’s come as a shock.”
“Shock,” Abby says. “The wedding is a big deal—very expensive, you know, for Tag and Greer—and Celeste’s mother isn’t well and I just wasn’t sure if… if maybe they would just go through with it anyway. But of course not. Of course not. Please don’t tell anyone I asked.”
“I won’t,” Nick says.
“So… what happened?” Abby asks. “You’re a detective? Do you think someone killed Merritt? Like a murder?”
“By law, with unattended deaths, we have to rule out foul play,” Nick says. “So I’m going to ask you some questions. Easy questions. Just answer as honestly as you can.”
“Of course, of course. I just… I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this is happening. I mean, intellectually my mind knows it’s happening, but my heart is resisting. She’s dead.”
Nick says, “Tell me what you know about Merritt.”
“I’m not really the best person to ask,” Abby says. “I only just met her in May. We had a little bachelorette weekend here and it was the three of us—me, Celeste, and Merritt.”
“That’s all?” Nick says. “Nobody else?”
“Well, Tag and Greer were here. Greer kind of arranged it, just like she arranged the rest of the wedding. So my in-laws were here, but, like… no other women. It’s kind of weird? Celeste doesn’t have a lot of close female friends. When I got married, I had eleven bridesmaids. Some from St. Stephen’s, some from UT. I was president of the Tri Delts, that was my sorority. I could have had thirty bridesmaids. But Celeste had only Merritt, who was a friend she met in New York. Merritt does PR for the zoo where Celeste works.”
“Merritt worked in public relations,” Nick says. “And Celeste, the bride, works at a zoo, you say?”
“Celeste is the assistant director of the Bronx Zoo,” Abby says. “She knows a ton about animals, like genus and species and mating rituals and migration patterns.”
“Impressive.”
“And she’s only twenty-eight, which I guess is unusual in that world. Merritt discovered her, in a sense. She chose Celeste as the face of the entire Wildlife Conservation Society. Celeste’s picture is in the zoo brochure, and Merritt’s big dream was to get Celeste’s face on a billboard, but Celeste said no to that. Celeste is pretty conservative. They’re a funny match, actually—Celeste and Merritt—like the Odd Couple. Were a funny match. Sorry.” Abby mists up and waves a hand in front of her face. “I can’t let myself get worked up about this because of the baby. I’ve had four miscarriages…”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nick says.
“But poor Celeste. She must be devastated.”
Nick leans forward to make eye contact with Abby. “The best way we can help Celeste now is to figure out what happened to her friend. When you say that Celeste and Merritt were like the Odd Couple, what do you mean?”
“Oh, just that they were opposites. Like, complete opposites.”
“How so?”
“Well, start with their looks. Celeste is blond and fair, and Merritt had dark hair and olive skin. Celeste goes to bed early and Merritt likes to stay up late. Merritt has a second job—had, sorry—a second job as an influencer.”
“Influencer?” Nick says.
“On social media?” Abby says. “She has something like eighty thousand Instagram followers who are all just like her—beautiful urban Millennials—and so Merritt gets perks for building brand awareness with her posts. She gets free clothes, free bags, free makeup; she eats at all of these hot new restaurants, goes to velvet-rope clubs, and works out at La Palestra for free, all because she features them on her Instagram account.”
“Nice work if you can get it,” Nick says.
“I know, right?” Abby says. “Merritt is… was a social media goddess. But Celeste doesn’t even have a Facebook account. When I heard that, I couldn’t believe it. I thought everyone had a Facebook account. I thought people were, like, given one at birth.”
“I’m with Celeste,” Nick says. He once dated a woman who tried to get him to set up a Facebook profile but the idea of reporting his whereabouts, his activities, and, worst of all, the company he was keeping didn’t appeal to him. Nick is a confirmed bachelor; he plays the field. Facebook would be a liability. Speaking of which… “What about boyfriends? Did Merritt have a boyfriend that you know of?”
Abby gives him an uneasy look. One of the reasons Nick is so successful with women is that he has learned to listen not only to what they are saying but also to what they’re not saying. It’s a talent taught to him by his mother, his ya-ya, and his sister. Abby sustains eye contact long enough that he thinks she’s trying to tell him something, but then she shakes her head. “I couldn’t say for sure. You’d have to ask Celeste.”
“Abby?” Nick says. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
Abby takes a sip of water, then looks around the room as though she’s never been there before. It’s not a room that appears to get much use. The walls and trim are impeccably white, as are the half-moon sofa and modern egg-shaped chairs. There are three paintings on the wall, bright rainbow stripes—one diamond, one circle, one hexagon—and there are sculptures that look like Tinkertoys made out of steel and wooden spheres. There’s a black grand piano; the top is covered with framed photographs. On a low glass table sits a coffee-table book about Nantucket, which seems redundant to Nick. If you want to see Nantucket, go outside. You’re here.
“She came to the wedding alone,” Abby says. “Which tells me that either she didn’t want to be tied down or she had set her sights on someone who would already be at the wedding.”
Ahhh, Nick thinks. Now they’re getting somewhere. “Someone like who?”
“That’s another way they’re opposite!” Abby says. “Benji is Celeste’s first real boyfriend. And Merritt… well, she’s been with a bunch of people, I’m pretty sure.”
“But no one seriously?” Nick asks. He senses Abby trying to change the subject. “If you ladies went out on the town for a bachelorette party, you must have shared some confidences, right?”
“And also?” Abby says. “Their parents. Celeste is super-close to her parents. Like, abnormally close. Well, that might be unfair to say because her mother has cancer. Let me restate: Celeste is very close to her parents, whereas Merritt hasn’t talked to her parents in six or seven years, I think she said.”
