Ah yes, if it isn’t my favorite genre: rich people behaving questionably at their seaside estate over a long weekend.

What’s in store for our scrappy and relatable outsider this time? She’s a little unkempt, save for her perfect hair (honestly, what is that style so I can tell my hairdresser? What products does she use? How can I look like that? No way she just rolled out of bed with those curtain bangs and layers and it just…looks like that, unless, of course, there’s something in that wealthy water that we plebs just don’t have access to. That must be it.).

She is the lone tattooed brunette in a sea of Lilly Pulitzer-wearing blondes, so you know that she’s different. A little tougher, probably also poor. You love her! You want to be her! You want to help her! You’re rooting for her! After all, she’s a normie in this world of eccentricity and extreme wealth. What are these strange richies up to? We must find out!

Memorial Day Weekend: the beginning of Iseult Keane’s busy season as the proprietress of the renowned Sea Shanty Estate on the Isle of Eventide off the coast of Maine. While the island did boast a small economy of its own with the type of quaint seaside shops one might imagine: artisan soaps, candles and the like, its real star was the compound atop the hill overlooking the full expanse of the isle, with its enormous mansion, guest house, and cottages. The Keane property felt more like a lavish hotel tucked into a wildlife preserve than a family home.

Maddy was all nerves as she rode the ferry to her boyfriend’s summer estate. That Barnabas’s family had a summer home was completely foreign to her, and yet here she was, holding his hand, staring at the rocky island as they sailed toward it, wind blowing her hair knotty. He assured her it would be more than fine. That his mother and father, while wealthy, were normal people, that it was just a fun Memorial Day Weekend barbecue, lasting three days, comprised of a pig roast, seafood boil, Wagyu steaks, spritzes, a croquet match, and of course, a private fireworks spectacular both Saturday AND Sunday nights, with a Monday morning send-off brunch. You know, normal Memorial Day stuff. When she tried to explain to him that a normal barbecue was more like one hot, sweaty Saturday afternoon cramped in someone’s backyard grilling hot dogs and hamburgers, throwing back Miller High Lifes and High Noons and maybe sneaking some weed when certain adults weren’t looking, he just shrugged and said, “same, same.”

So she was nervous. Not only was it the first time she was meeting his parents, their friends and extended family, she felt like their definitions of summer barbecues just did not align, and that made her question their compatibility. She knew that the sundresses she hastily purchased at TJ Maxx that previous Thursday would not be up to snuff, but hoped that Iseult would be gracious enough to see past her choice of attire. After all, she was on a teacher’s salary; Iseult would have to understand, right?

They stepped off the ferry and Barnabas guided her to a large Expedition that was idling in a no standing zone. His parents sent their personal driver José to pick them up. She immediately felt comfortable with José. He made small talk as he wound the car up the hill, through the private gate, past rows of meticulously kept willows lining the drive, and finally up to the main house. It looked like it never ended; she couldn’t believe this was someone’s house, and not even a house that had been occupied year-round. She’d never seen anything so enormous, except maybe the White House, but that felt like a silly comparison. José helped her out of the car, squeezed her elbow and gave her a wink before guiding the young lovebirds to the entryway of the house where Iseult was waiting for them, holding a bouquet of pink and purple lilacs she clipped from the gardens.

Iseult was stunning, intimidating in her beauty. Maddy could see where Barnabas got his delicate features in the curvature of her nose and high cheekbones. Her hair, so blonde it was nearly white, looked more like finely spun silk than human hair. She stood there, wearing a gorgeous cream Jenni Kayne cove dress and Eric Javits Loulou hat, smiling, but when she saw Maddy for the first time in her travel cut off shorts, Bikini Kill t-shirt And Vans, that smile tightened. It was going to be a long weekend.

She embraced her son in a way that made Maddy feel just a tiny bit uncomfortable, but then again, the Cunninghams weren’t a particularly affectionate family, so she tried to brush off the dread creeping up her spine. Then Iseult looked her up and down, offering a hand, and graciously said she was thrilled to meet Barney’s beautiful beau, asked if they’d like a chance to freshen up before heading to the back lawn for light refreshments overlooking the sea. She led them up to (separate) bedrooms on the second floor, where Maddy could change into one of her dresses, hopefully not too wrinkled from their journey. There, she could see that a Tuckernuck Americana stripe sierra dress, white puffed headband, and brand new espadrilles had been lain out on the bed “just in case” she wanted to change into “something more appropriate.” Barnabas shrugged, indicating it wasn’t a big deal, she should just change, make a good impression on his very critical mother, so she did. The dress was very comfortable, but not really her style. It was fine. She wanted the Keanes to like her. She loved their son. What was one weekend wearing an aggressively Americana wardrobe?

She headed out to the lawn, gratefully taking a glass of champagne from a knowing waiter, and took in the impressive vista that was the Keane’s yard. The lawn was lush, dotted here and there with tasteful statues. Everywhere she looked, she could see ocean. It was a view she felt like she could get used to if she was to summer with this family for the rest of her life. The rest of her life in Tuckernuck for this? Sure. How bad could it be?

An older version of Barnabas walked toward her. His father, for sure. Finley Keane was an old money billionaire, ever diversifying his portfolio with wise investments in emerging tech, though the family certainly had enough money that he didn’t need to. Barnabas said his father always said a man needed to work, but really, did this man? No. Not that Maddy was complaining. He was just so unlike her own father, who absolutely had to work, that she didn’t quite know how to respond when this man inevitably spoke of the necessity of employment.

She and Finley talked a bit about the Sox, Stephen King novels, classic movies. He handed her a beer in a frosty mug and she could see that while Iseult was definitely the fancier Keane, Finley was the more personable one. She liked him. She was surprised when she noticed that they had been talking for so long that the sun had set and the small paper lanterns strewn about the lawn had been lit, giving off an ethereal and cozy glow. She was even more surprised when she checked the time on her phone—which she had tucked into her strapless bra—to see that it was nearly ten o’clock. He moved closer, a little too close for comfort. After all, he was her boyfriend’s father. And speaking of Barnabas, where was he?

Finley moved closer still, emboldened by the beer and then the scotch and then the weed, seeing Maddy more as a conquest than his son’s live-in girlfriend. He placed a hand on her knee, leaned in. She leaned back, smiled, excused herself, and walked toward the tree line, shaken. She turned, looked up, saw Iseult and Barnabas on the second floor balcony well within sight of where she had just been sitting with Finley. Had they seen? How could she convince them that nothing happened? But then, were they even watching? They held each other tightly, more like lovers than mother and son. What was this place?

Independence Day Weekend: it was the morning of the rehearsal dinner and the Keanes had very graciously put Maddy and her parents up in their guest house: a 3,500 square foot four bedroom, three bathroom colonial sequestered far from the main house. Mrs. Keane insisted that the Cunningham family from western Pennsylvania would be more comfortable there rather than the main house with its fourteen bedrooms, library with rolling ladders, solarium, and cavernous spa. That they’d like some privacy to go about their pre-wedding business, though Mrs. Keane had taken the entirety of wedding planning upon herself lest Maddy choose something embarrassing and garish like pink carnations. Could you imagine? What is this, an eighth grade dance?

Her fiancé, Barnabas—there really is no appropriate way to shorten the name without bringing to mind a certain purple dinosaur and that simply would not do for the likes of the Keanes—was to stay in the main house with his family until the wedding night per his mother’s oft-repeated stance on tradition. In reality, Maddy and Barnabas had been living together back in Boston for nearly three years, a fact his mother conveniently neglected to mention whenever she raved about her son marrying a “down home” elementary school teacher employed by the Teach for America program. What he sees in her, his mother can hardly tell. Maddy, though perfectly polite, lacks the proper breeding and etiquette to be a Keane, but her son just wouldn’t listen. He says it’s love. He’s just young, he’ll see someday. In the meantime, what does it cost to throw a little (first) wedding on the grounds? He can chalk this one up to the frivolity of youth when it’s time to settle down with the right girl from the right family.

Say what you want about Iseult Keane, but she really can throw a party. And what’s a (first) wedding if not a raucous yet tasteful party?

The Keane family, old money billionaires, practically run the small island of Eventide off the coast of Maine. Accessible by ferry twice a day, the quaint town features picturesque Cape Cods, Victorians, and cottages with a little bed and breakfast, pub, the freshest seafood restaurant, and a handful of artisan shops for soaps, olive oils, beautifully knitted blankets and hand-poured candles. One might spend an entirely enjoyable Saturday riding his or her bicycle around the perimeter of the island and will always have The Sea Shanty—the Keane’s palatial estate—somewhere in sight.

So when it came time to plan Barnabas and Maddy’s wedding, it was a no brainer to host it on the Isle. The town was done up especially for their guests, the ferry refitted with lavish furnishings, the townsfolk, largely staff of the Keanes, opened their homes to spillover guests that didn’t fit in the main house, the guest house, the five (or was it six?) small guest cottages on the family grounds.

The compound was bustling. Iseult had flown in lavender and cases of champagne from France. Oysters and lobsters caught that morning were driven up the winding hill to the estate, elegantly draped cocktail tables were strewn about the expansive lawn, dining tables with floating candle centerpieces placed thoughtfully around a dance floor that would remain by rose-lined pergola for the weekend. A string quartet set up nearby, tuning their instruments for the day’s festivities. A large cake, not to be mistaken with the following day’s gargantuan wedding cake, was carefully carried into the kitchen’s enormous walk-in. Photographers from Vogue and Vanity Fair were crawling the grounds, documenting Iseult’s meticulous and stunning fête. It was perfect. Everything was perfect.

But Maddy was unaware of all of this, tucked away in the comfort of the guest house with her parents. When she awoke that morning, the summer sun shining through the crack in the curtains, she felt a sense of ease, happy for the first time in a long time. Like all of the etiquette training she quietly took after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays was finally winning over Iseult. Like she would finally be welcomed into the Keane family and treated as an equal. She rolled over in the luxurious bed and noticed that a stunning embroidered floral tulle Ellie Saab midi dress had been placed on the dress form by the closet, indicating that’s what she was to wear for the day’s festivities. Fine by her, she’d never even touched a dress so spectacular in her life, though she’d always dreamed of donning something so extravagant for her (Iseult’s) dream rehearsal dinner leading up to her (Iseult’s) dream wedding to her dream man. The dress seemed to signify that everything was falling into place. That her fears of the Cunninghams not being accepted into this elite society could finally be put to bed.

After all, Iseult wouldn’t dress her in something so fine if she meant to embarrass her. She’d seen the way Iseult dressed Barnabas’s brothers’ wives in ill fitting dresses in colors that made them look sickly. There was no way this Ellie Saab dress would make her look anything but drop dead gorgeous. And that had to mean something in Iseult’s world. She wondered what had been lain out for her mother. She had spent days and days explaining to Lilian Cunningham that it was not to be taken as an insult that Iseult wanted to dress her; rather, a compliment. That her personal style would still shine through, but just be a bit more elevated and appropriate for the occasion.

She stretched, relishing the final sweet moments of solitude on the soft, cloud-like bed, grabbed her robe, and padded down to the kitchen to have one last breakfast as a family of three with her parents.

But suddenly a blood curdling scream pierced the serene seaside morning. The kitchen staff froze. The grounds staff froze. The housekeeping staff froze. Each convincing themselves they didn’t hear what they definitely heard. Then came another scream, this time gut-wrenching, petering out to an eerie nothingness. There’d been a murder.

Labor Day Weekend: The Keane’s Annual Lantern Festival. Maddy and Barnabas took the morning ferry from mainland Maine to Eventide Isle, home to The Sea Shanty—a grand estate atop a hill, overlooking the charming town below, complete with lovely clapboard houses, a B&B, a cheesemonger, and artisan shops selling hand-poured candles, delicate soaps, decadent olive oils. The road from the ferry terminal to The Sea Shanty was lined with a mile of white paper lanterns, winding all the way to the enormous sea-weathered mansion with blue shudders, blue rose bushes, bluebells, blue hydrangeas.

Maddy had never gotten used to the grandeur of the home, though she’d visited a number of times. She even spent the entirety of the previous summer there, trying her best to be a woman of society, making egregious and confusing mistakes daily. Barnabas assured her repeatedly that his mother and father, Iseult and Finley Keane of the world-renowned and esteemed Keane family, found her charming, sweet, kind, just the sort of girl they’d like their son to be with, but she knew otherwise. Barnabas was weirdly close to his mother, a fact that Maddy chose to overlook because she loved him unfailingly, and so what if he was a mommy’s boy? Did she not love her mother too? She rested her hand on her growing belly, feeling like she was beginning to understand a mother’s love. How miraculous that her husband accepts it so wholly.

Still, she never felt like a Keane, though she carried the family name, and now the family’s heir in her belly. Like any other long weekend on the estate, she was going to put her feelings aside in the name of pleasing her husband and his family, trying to fit in, find her place, be among them. She knew she’d eventually get it, and felt that this was her last chance to assimilate before the baby came. She didn’t want her boy to feel like the outsider that she was, but did she want him to be like them?

José, the Keane family personal driver, helped her out of the car and, as always, she had to take a moment to take in her surroundings and mentally prepare herself for whatever Iseult had in store. Though she and Barnabas had been together for years, they had never attended a Labor Day Lantern Festival, a celebration her husband chose to stay vague about, though she couldn’t understand why. What could be so weird about a lantern festival on a beach?

Iseult met them in the entryway, holding a glass of champagne for her son and a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade for her daughter-in-law. She was, as usual, dressed beautifully in a Zimmermann coco tuni midi. She did, as usual, look Maddy up and down, appraising her, before giving her a hug. This time, Maddy was sure she got it right, dressed simply in a Seraphine blow sleeve maternity dress, but she could tell by Iseult’s expression that she again missed the mark. Iseult led the couple to Barnabas’s quarters, having kept his rooms practically preserved for him, with the notable addition of baby items Iseult was collecting for her first grandson. A Loro Piana Callie dress, just loose enough to accentuate the bump without screaming maternity, was laid out on the bed. Maddy felt comfortable in the blush linen dress, though the way it draped screamed culty just a little bit to her. Not that she was complaining.

Once she finished freshening up, she headed outside. Her husband was already there, mingling with his father’s retired friends. She briefly stood on the patio soaking in the breathtaking twilight, noticing but not really noticing the fact that there weren’t any women in sight.

Blood red dahlias the size of her head lined a path from the pool into the woods. Curious, she followed.

The flowers were under lit by small crimson lanterns, casting an eerie glow in the ever darkening dusk. Waves crashed on the cliffs in the distance, breaking the silence in the otherwise deafeningly quiet woods. Just as she began to grow uncertain, just as she began to hear a small voice in the back of her head telling her to turn back, she heard Iseult’s resonant singing just ahead. Then, a clearing. Then, Iseult in a silk crimson gown, its skirt tattered and stained from dragging along the terrain. Unlike her to have any sort of imperfection in her clothing, but she looked more exquisite than Maddy had ever seen her. Iseult was standing in front of a bonfire holding a long, sharp knife. The gathering’s women stood in a semi-circle around her.

“Finally,” said Iseult, curling a finger toward Maddy, “our guest of honor has arrived.”