Golden Girl(108)

This thought comes out of nowhere. Did he make it up? No, he thinks. He remembers seeing Marissa and Peter Bridgeman sitting together in the dunes—this was when Leo sneaked away from the bonfire with half a bottle of vodka that he’d snatched from someone’s cooler. Peter had his arm around Marissa; she was crying. This was before she drove her Jeep into the Bathtub and hitchhiked home (a story Leo still doesn’t quite believe; she would never, ever hitch a ride home with “some rando”). Did Peter Bridgeman take her home, then? He’d taken that picture…

Leo can’t ask Marissa to clarify the details. He doesn’t want to know the details. All he wants is Marissa out of his car.

“I’ll take you home,” he says.





The Chief




The Chief checks in with Lisa Hitt on her first day back from vacation. She says there were no good prints on the shoes—though there was some mustard.

“I need the clothes, Ed,” she says. But her tone conveys what they both know is true: The clothes are gone. They’ve been tossed or destroyed.

The Chief calls the Greek and asks him to subpoena Peter Bridgeman’s phone records. They won’t be able to obtain the actual photograph, but they’ll at least be able to see if Peter sent the picture to anyone other than Cruz and Leo on Friday night.

And…the Chief can talk to Jasmine Kelly. He finds out from Rocky Moore that the lifeguards meet every morning at a quarter past seven on Nobadeer Beach for a mile-long beach run and calisthenics. They usually finish up around quarter past eight and don’t have to be in the chairs until nine.

“You asking for any special reason?” Rocky says.

“I need to speak to Jasmine Kelly,” the Chief says.

“I hope she’s not in any trouble,” Rocky says. “She’s my top guard. Top everything—she’s smart, she’s strong, she’s a great kid. One of the greatest kids I’ve seen in thirty years of doing this job.”

“I just need her help,” the Chief says. Bad, he thinks.



He’s standing at the entrance to Nobadeer Beach at quarter past eight the next morning, sand filling up his shoes. Nobadeer is wide and golden, a stretch of paradise, especially at this time of day. The sky is pink and there are a few high, gauzy clouds. The waves form neat rolls as the group of lifeguards—thirty of them, all in red shorts and white T-shirts—finish their jumping jacks and collect their things. They stroll off the beach in groups of three or four.

How long has it been since Ed enjoyed a day at the beach? Feels like forever. He used to take Sundays off when Kacy and Erik were small and then again when he and Andrea became legal guardians for Finn and Chloe. But it’s been six or seven years since the twins needed or wanted a parent at the beach. Every once in a while, Andrea will pack a picnic, and she and Ed will drive onto Fortieth Pole to watch the sunset. Mostly Ed works so that the rest of Nantucket can safely enjoy the beach.

The Chief sees Jasmine Kelly. She’s talking to two boys, and when the Chief hears her say, “Breakfast sandwiches at the Nickel,” his stomach grumbles. He wants a bacon, double egg, and sharp cheddar sandwich with tomato and avocado on a griddled English muffin from the Nickel more than just about anything at that moment. That’s another reason he has to solve this case. He needs to make things right for Joe’s sake.

All of the guards seem to notice the Chief at the same time. He sees their backs straighten, their shoulders and jaws tense. Their eyes land on him in full uniform—and then they look away. Ed knows he makes kids uncomfortable. Am I in trouble? Sometimes, Ed enjoys this—but not today.

He smiles at the kids, waves, says good morning. He wants to assure them he’s not here because of their unpaid parking tickets or a party at Gibbs Pond that they may or may not have attended.

When Jasmine is close enough to speak to, he says, “Miss Kelly? May I have a minute?”

Jasmine Kelly recoils. “Me?”

The two boys remain at her side, sentries. The Chief likes this; she has loyal friends.

“It’s nothing bad,” he says. “I just have a few questions.”

She regards him frankly. Why her out of all the guards? she must be wondering. Why her and no one else? “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he says, holding up his palms. “I could just use some help, and someone gave me your name.”

“Who was that?” she asks. She’s not being rude, but she’s certainly not eager to help. The Chief can tell, even from this brief exchange, that she’s a straight shooter and will give him the truth.

“Joe DeSantis,” he says.

“Big Joe!” one of the boys says, then clamps his mouth shut.

“It’ll take only a few minutes,” the Chief says. “I won’t keep you.”

Jasmine sighs. “Wait for me, you guys, please,” she says, and she trails the Chief over to his car.

Ed says, “I’m investigating Vivian Howe’s death.”

“Are you, though?” Jasmine asks.

Whoa, Ed thinks. She’s tough. Well, she’s Cruz’s girlfriend, so he probably deserves her suspicion.

“Do you remember the night before Vivian Howe died?” he asks. “There was a bonfire at Fortieth Pole?”

“Yes,” Jasmine says. “It was mostly seniors, my class, local kids.”