11. Thursday, August 22, 900 P.M.
When Nantucket’s incoming chief of police, Zara Washington, and Sergeant Kevin Dixon do their preliminary questioning of the guests who were on the Richardsons’ yacht, they find something odd: Most people know the Richardsons only slightly and some not at all.
“I was getting a pedicure next to Leslee at the RJ Miller Salon,” a woman named Marla Sofia says. “We got to chatting, she seemed very nice, and the next thing I knew she was inviting me and my husband, Tony, on tonight’s sail. But I wouldn’t say I know them.”
Sergeant Dixon talks to a couple who met the Richardsons while they were all singing at the Club Car’s piano bar. They’re tourists, here for three days.
A guest named Celadon Morse had taken the mat next to Leslee at a Forme Barre class and scored an invite. “I was thrilled!” Celadon says. “I’ve been hearing about these parties from everyone I know all summer long, but when I got here, I didn’t recognize a soul.” She pauses. “Except for that woman over there. She belongs to the Field and Oar Club. She has a funny name.”
“Thank you,” Zara says, and she approaches the woman, who is masked and giving Margaret Thatcher vibes—she has a severe bob and blue eyes that are watering from the smoke. When Zara asks her name, she lowers her mask and says, “Busy Ambrose.”
“And you live here on Nantucket, ma’am?”
“I’ve summered on Nantucket since the sixties,” Busy says. “I live on Ash Lane and I’m the commodore of the Field and Oar Club.”
Zara is impressed that the yacht club here has a female commodore. “I’m Zara Washington, the new chief of police.”
“Yes,” Busy says. “I read about your hiring in the paper.”
“Do you know the Richardsons, ma’am?”
“I do indeed,” Busy says. “I befriended them earlier this summer.”
“Do you know the missing woman?”
“Her name is Coco,” Busy says. “She works for the Richardsons.”
“Do you remember seeing Ms. Coyle on the boat?” Zara asks.
“Yes, she was serving drinks and passing hors d’oeuvres.”
“What was she wearing?”
“Her uniform—a pink polo shirt and white shorts.”
“At what point did you last see Ms. Coyle?” Zara asks.
“After Bull and Leslee renewed their vows, Coco handed out flutes of champagne for a toast.”
“Wait a second,” Zara says. “The Richardsons renewed their vows on the sail?”
“They did,” Busy says. “It was a surprise.”
“So you saw Ms. Coyle handing out the champagne,” Zara says. “What time was that?”
“Maybe seven thirty?” Busy says. “The sun was just setting. We were out by Eel Point, getting ready to turn around, which was a good thing because a minute or two later, Bull got a call that their house was on fire.”
Zara needs to parse this. “So Coco was still on the boat when you all learned the house was on fire?”
“She was on the boat while we were doing the champagne toast,” Busy says. “After the toast, Lamont tacked and we were heading back, and right around that time, we learned about the fire. I can’t say for sure if Coco was still on the boat then. Everyone was agitated; people had their phones out. I don’t remember seeing Coco or not seeing her. I didn’t see anyone go overboard. None of us saw that, obviously, or we would have done something.”
“You said Bull Richardson got a call about the fire. Is that how you learned about it?”
“Yes,” Busy says. “Then an instant later, I got an alert on my phone from the Nantucket Current. The Current reported that a house in Pocomo was ablaze and the Nantucket Fire Department was on the scene.”
“Where was Mrs. Richardson during all of this?” Zara asks.
“I’m not sure,” Busy says. “Leslee wasn’t up front with the rest of us. Bull called out for her, then went looking for her.”
“Was she below deck?”
“Either below deck or somewhere else on the boat. There were a few minutes when I don’t remember seeing Bull or Leslee but then eventually we all saw Leslee crying. Bull told Lamont to lower the sails and motor back as fast as he could.”
“Thank you,” Zara says. “I’d like you to stay, if you don’t mind. You’re the only person who seems to know the Richardsons well.”
“Yes,” Busy says. “I’m the only one who’s stuck by them this summer.”
“Stuck by them?” Zara says. “Did something happen?”
Busy waves a hand. “Oh, you know how people gossip.”
Zara had gone through a divorce from a public figure on Martha’s Vineyard; she definitely knows how island people gossip. “Thank you. Please stand by in case we have further questions.”
Mrs. Richardson’s long white sundress is soaking wet and she’s wailing about the things she’s lost. “All those Urban Electric light fixtures!” she says. “The jukebox, my champagne coupes, the seashell fireplace! My Amalfi lemons!”
Amalfi lemons?Zara thinks.
“Leslee, stop,” Mr. Richardson says. Zara is surprised to hear he has an Australian accent. “Coco is missing. She might have drowned.”
“If she did drown, it would serve her right. She burned our house down!”
Oh, boy.Zara peers through a gap in the hedges at the remains of Triple Eight. She understands why they’re upset—they’ve been left without a toothbrush, without a bathrobe or a change of clothes. The house is a charcoal briquette.
One good thing is that their garage is untouched, and it looks like there’s a living space or a home office above. And they still have this garden, which is one of the most breathtaking outdoor spaces Zara has ever seen, with its lush hydrangeas and rosebushes along manicured cinder paths; the centerpiece of the garden is a mahogany hot tub. On the far side of the hot tub, Zara sees the Chief and his daughter talking to Lamont Oakley, the captain of the boat. She hopes the Chief hasn’t started questioning Lamont without her present. When she said they would partner on this one, she meant it.
Dixon’s talking to two men who met the Richardsons while having dinner at the Languedoc. “Sergeant Dixon?” Zara says, trying to convey a sense of urgency. She looks at the gentlemen. “Would you excuse us a moment?”
“Did they find her?” one of the gentlemen asks. He turns to the group assembled behind him: “I think they found her.”
Zara raises a hand. “Whoa, that’s how rumors get started. The harbormaster has launched the search, and when we know more, we’ll announce it.” She beckons Dixon away from the party guests and nods discreetly in the direction of Lamont, the Chief, and his daughter. “I’ll be questioning the principals alongside Chief Kapenash. Just so things are aboveboard.”
Dixon squares his shoulders. “Ed is always aboveboard.”
Zara is on slippery terrain here. Of course Dixon is loyal to Ed, as he should be, but not at the expense of the investigation.
“What I’d really like is for Chief Kapenash to step away from this investigation,” Zara says. “His last day is Monday. He shouldn’t be taking on the onus of this case, of these two cases, with only a few days left.” She sighs, then blurts out, “It’s like he wants some kind of swan song.”
Dixon says, “There’s no way Ed would walk away from this case. His daughter is friends with the missing woman, so Ed has skin in this game. He understands the connections between all these players better than anyone.” Dixon lowers his voice. “He used to hang out with the Richardsons.”
“He mentioned that,” Zara says.
“He came to their parties. They were… friends, or friendly. But then I think something happened.”
“What?” Zara says. “What happened?”
“Hell if I know. Ed doesn’t gossip.” Dixon pats Zara on the shoulder in the most patronizing way possible. “But you’re right about one thing: This is a hell of a swan song.”