The Perfect Couple(51)

Finn MacAvoy gets a text from his girlfriend, Lola Budd, saying I caught a murder suspect! Finn is at Cisco Beach giving surfing lessons to a group of overprivileged eight-year-olds who all want to be John John Florence. Finn casually flings out the content of Lola’s text. “My girlfriend caught a murder suspect,” he says.

The next thing Finn knows, he is surrounded by the young surfers’ mothers, and they’re all talking about someone called the Murdered Maid of Honor and they ask Finn if the police had caught the guy and who it was and Finn is sorry he ever opened his mouth.


Finn’s twin sister, Chloe MacAvoy, has taken to her bed despite the fact that it’s a hot, sunny summer Saturday and work that day has been canceled. Work has been canceled because Merritt Monaco, the maid of honor in the Otis-Winbury wedding, is dead. Roger Pelton found her floating just off the beach earlier that morning.

Siobhan had called to tell Chloe about the death herself instead of having Donna, the waitstaff manager, do it because Siobhan is that kind of owner. She takes responsibility for her employees.

“Chloe,” she said. “The wedding has been canceled. Merritt Monaco, the maid of honor, passed away overnight.”

“Passed away?”

“She died, Chloe,” Siobhan said. “She’s dead. She drowned out in front of the house last night.”

“But…” Chloe said.

“That’s all we know for now,” Siobhan said. “The police are working on it.”

The police? Chloe thought. She had seen Uncle Ed out on the deck on his phone a short while earlier, but Uncle Ed was always on the phone.

Chloe had hung up with Siobhan and closed her eyes. Chloe had been kept far away from death since she was seven years old, when Uncle Ed and Auntie came to tell her and Finn that their parents were dead. Both of them at once, killed in a sailing accident. Chloe hadn’t really gotten it then; she had been too young. What did she know of death at age seven? Not one thing. Her parents’ death has gotten much worse for Chloe as she’s grown older. Now she knows what she’s missing. She has no father to treat her like a princess; she has no mother to rebel against. She does have Uncle Ed and Auntie and they are strong, reliable, capable caregivers… but they aren’t her parents. Whenever Chloe thinks about her father playing “Please Come to Boston” on his guitar or her mother painting a rose on Chloe’s cheek, she feels unbearably sad.

She texted Blake, a girl who worked with her, Merritt, the maid of honor, is dead.

Blake texted back, I know. I heard there was a lot of blood.

Chloe ran to the bathroom to throw up. After the rehearsal dinner the night before, Chloe had a few beers with Blake and Geraldo. Geraldo is twenty-four years old, from El Salvador, and he always provides Chloe and Blake with postshift alcohol.

Uncle Ed had knocked on the door. “You okay in there?”

“Fine,” Chloe said. She wanted to ask Uncle Ed about Merritt but she couldn’t handle the conversation right that second. She cursed Geraldo.


Now, back in bed, Chloe revisits the events of the party. Most jobs go the same way. Chloe and her co-workers show up early in their immaculate black pants and crisp white shirts, showered, fresh-faced, ready to serve. Because she is only sixteen, Chloe can’t serve alcohol, although this rule gets bent all the time. Nearly the first thing that happened at this rehearsal dinner was that Greer Garrison, the mother of the groom, asked Chloe for a refill of champagne. Chloe told Ian, the bartender, that he needed to serve Ms. Garrison but Ian was three-deep and he told Chloe to find Geraldo. But Geraldo wasn’t around and Greer Garrison sang out for a refill again with a pointed look at Chloe, so Chloe grabbed the Veuve Clicquot from the cooler and discreetly filled Ms. Garrison’s glass.

Chloe didn’t notice much else about the actual festivities other than the guests growing drunker and drunker. There was a blackberry mojito punch and the guests were inhaling it. Chloe cleared a bunch of half-empty punch cups with mint leaves and whole fat blackberries trapped among the melting ice; she brought them to the kitchen, where she found Geraldo manning the kitchen trash. He picked up the cup with the most punch and drank it.

“Ew,” Chloe said. “Someone else’s mouth was on that. Also, if Siobhan sees you doing that, she’ll fire you.”

“Siobhan just left,” Geraldo said. “She has four other events tonight. She won’t be back.”

“Donna, then,” Chloe said, but they both knew Donna wasn’t strict at all. If she saw Geraldo drinking, she would do no more than roll her eyes.

“Try it,” Geraldo said.

“No,” Chloe said.

“Just try it,” Geraldo said.

Chloe had never been good at resisting peer pressure. Plus, the drink was a delicious-looking purple color. Chloe drank half a cup without letting her lips touch the rim. The drink was so fruity and minty that she could barely taste the alcohol, but almost instantly she felt lighter, more relaxed.

She fell into the habit of sneaking a few sips of punch whenever she cleared. She wasn’t getting drunk, she didn’t think; if anything, the punch was making her more perceptive. Chloe wanted to be a writer like Greer Garrison. But she didn’t want to write murder mysteries; she wanted to write a blog about fashion and lifestyle, what was new, what was hot. The great thing about this wedding in particular was how attractive and stylish everyone was. Chloe had mentally snapped pictures of at least four outfits, including the outstanding jumpsuit that Greer Garrison was wearing. She looked amazing and she was in her fifties!