Connor and Isabella follow us back to the library after Guy’s announcement. It feels like the quieter place to be with all the commotion in the lobby, and Connor uses his charm on one of the waitresses to get her to bring in a more substantial breakfast. Over eggs and toast, Oliver catches Connor and Isabella up on what’s happened this morning, while the rest of us listen like we’re children in grade school who’ve been told that if one of us steps out of line, then we’re all going to be punished.
Connor takes it in, then turns his gaze to Harper, who’s sitting next to me with her hands in her lap.
“It’s you?”
“No.”
I rub her back, encouraging her.
“I didn’t try to kill Eleanor and I didn’t try to kill you.”
“What evidence do you have for that?”
“I wouldn’t have any idea of how to mess with your car, for one.”
Connor nods slowly. “But you did have a key to my house.”
“I gave that back!”
“You could’ve easily had a copy made.”
My stomach twists. Harper had a key to his house? This was way more serious than I imagined. How long were they involved? And why, why, why didn’t she tell me?
But I know the answer to that question. She was ashamed. She thought I’d judge her. Maybe she was even doing it to get back at me subconsciously.
And let’s be honest, if she’d told me she was dating Connor, I would’ve used every trick in my toolbox to break them up.
Harper knows me. So she didn’t tell me because she didn’t want me to interfere.
She wanted to make that mistake on her own.
“Harper’s not a liar. Or a murderer,” I say.
Harper leans forward. “I can prove that I didn’t do it.”
“How?”
“I wasn’t at the Vatican when you were pushed. I was with Eleanor the whole day.”
“Oh,” I say. “That’s right. We were together. She couldn’t have pushed you.”
“And the witness who died the next day? Davide. I was with Eleanor that whole day, too.”
Connor sips at his tea slowly. “You could be each other’s alibi.”
“So now we’re in on it together?” I say. “Come on.”
He gives me a cold stare. “She does everything else for you. Packs your bags, organizes your life, unsubscribes you from newsletters.”
Oh my God, the ego on this man.
“Neither of us tried to murder you, Connor. And what are you saying? Either Harper tried to kill me or we were working together to kill you. You can’t have it both ways.”
“Right,” Oliver says. “And what about Shek? How does he fit into all of this?”
“And what’s the motive?” I say. “Is it your financial shenanigans, or is it because you’re just a disgusting jerk who treats other people’s hearts like toys?” I point to Isabella. “You should get out while you can, Isabella. Honestly, I can’t believe you’re still here.”
She doesn’t answer me, just gives a shrug with her shoulders while a small smile plays at her mouth.
It occurs to me that she might be enjoying herself. Like she’s in a murder mystery come to life. A choose-your-own-adventure where you’re a bystander.
But bystanders can catch stray bullets.
“The problem,” Allison says, “is there are too many suspects. Everyone on this trip has a motive to kill Connor.”
“And Eleanor,” he says petulantly, but I don’t think anyone agrees with him.
At least, I hope not.
“It’s a good point,” Oliver says. “Something we haven’t thought of before.”
“What’s that?”
“Who put this tour together? The publisher, I know, but it had to be more specific than that. Who gave them the idea to put all of us on this tour? How did this many people with a reason to kill Connor end up together?”
“That’s probably easier than you think.”
“Hey!”
“Fine, fine.”
“Harper, do you know?” Allison says.
“It wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re asking. Someone in publicity approached me about it. Her name is Marta. She’s pretty new. She pitched it to me about six months ago, and mentioned Connor and Allison and Guy, of course, because of the—”
“Vacation Mysteries Extended Universe,” I complete.
“Okay, those were obvious choices. But how did Oliver get here? Or Shek? And Emily…”
We all look at one another.
“What?” Emily says. “I don’t have that kind of pull. I just go where they tell me.”
“Who knew about you and Connor?” I ask.
“There were some TikToks,” Harper says.
“Excuse me?”
“One of those fan pages … You know the one who’s always making these relationship-theory videos?”
“What are you talking about?”
Harper rolls her eyes. “I’ve shown them to you … Anyway, there are a couple dozen BookTokers who’re obsessed with Connor, and Emily is big on there, too. One of them got some photos of them together and made this whole thing. Here, I’ll show you.” She reaches into her pocket, then stops. “Oh, I don’t have my phone.”
“The police still have them,” Guy says. “It’s rather annoying.”
“Hopefully we’ll get them back today,” I say. “But did you know about this, Emily?”
“There’s a lot of stuff on TikTok about me and my book. I can’t keep up with all of it.”
“What about you, Oliver? How did you end up on the tour?”
“Marta asked me to do it.”
“Hmmm … Who’s Marta again?”
“She’s been in the publicity department for about a year, I think?” Harper says. “You met her. When we were in New York last year?”
I think back. New York was a blur of events and signings and TV appearances around the release of my last novel. There was a new woman in publicity who shepherded us through all of it, but I can’t put a face on her.
“You should email her and ask,” I say to Harper.
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with her for the last couple of days, actually…”
“Why don’t you call Vicki when you get your phone back and find out why Marta hasn’t been returning your messages?”
“You don’t think she’s involved in it, do you?”
“I have no idea … Connor, do you know her? Did you sleep with her?”
His chin rises. “I met her just like you did last year, and no, I don’t sleep with every woman I meet.”
“You sure about that?” My eyes flit to Isabella, but she’s unconcerned.
Must be nice to have that kind of confidence.
“It’s your tour, Eleanor, not mine.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The only certainty was that you’d be on it. So maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong place. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with me, and I’m the smokescreen to get to you.”
“You know,” Allison says, “Shek’s the only one who’s dead. Maybe he was the intended victim.”
We all turn and stare at her.
“You mean we’re the smokescreen?” I say. “But what about the shots at me this morning? That wasn’t an accident.”
“Hmmm,” Allison says, something occurring to her. “Maybe—”
“Maybe you should have listened to me,” Inspector Tucci says, striding into the room, “and left all this to the professionals.”
Inspector Tucci is, how do you say, not pleased.190
Not pleased at all.
He’d warned us and what happened? Exactly what he said would happen.
I’m lucky to be alive.
Oliver points out that he was coming here to arrest me, and Inspector Tucci gets a sour look on his face and divides us up into individual interviews with the flotilla of police officers who’ve arrived with him.
Mine takes place in the same room as yesterday, with the lawyer Oliver arranged for me. I was allowed to get dressed before the questioning, under police escort with my lawyer in the room. Lorenzo Scaperelli is in his mid-thirties and is wearing a light linen suit. He has a firm handshake, dark hair and eyes, and an assured manner about him.
I can talk to the police or not, as is my wish, he says, but there isn’t going to be any arrest warrant issued. Scaperelli has already spoken to the magistrate, an “old friend,” and explained the issues to him. Inspector Tucci is on thin ice—he should’ve recused himself, just like Connor suggested—and no one is going to take just his word for it that a world-famous author is gadding about Italy killing people.
I tell Inspector Tucci about last night, that I was with Oliver when the shots rang out. I describe my room to him when I made it there: Harper on the floor in the doorway to her adjoining room, the bullet holes in the bed, the handkerchief wrapped around the gun.
“Did you notice anything else out of place?” Inspector Tucci asks, scratching notes in his notebook. He’s dressed like he was yesterday, in a rumpled suit that’s seen better days, his hair needing one more turn with the brush.
“No, I … I was upset, obviously.”
He puts his pencil down and scans my face. “Had you planned to go to Mr. Forrest’s room?”
“It was a spontaneous decision.”
“Did you tell your sister beforehand?”
“No, like I said. It was the middle of the night. I couldn’t sleep because…”
“Yes?”
I can feel myself blushing. “I could hear Connor above me with Isabella … They were…”
“Having relations?”
“Yes.”
“What time was this?”
“Around midnight? It, um, went on for a while.”
“So you went to Mr. Forrest’s room at midnight?”
I glance at Lorenzo, who’s sitting next to me. He told me I had two choices: I could refuse to talk at all, or answer everything that was asked of me truthfully. There was no in-between. Since I didn’t try to shoot myself, it was probably easiest to speak to Tucci and get it over with, as a refusal could raise suspicions. He’d be minimal in his interference, he told me, and only interject to clarify questions that were unclear or invasive for no reason.
This question is kosher. He nods to me to answer.
“Something like that,” I say. “Maybe a bit later. I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to the time.”
“And then you were with Mr. Forrest the whole time?”
I look at my hands as flashes of last night come back to me. “Yes, um, yes.”
“Neither of you left the room at any point?”
“No, I … I fell asleep for a bit, and then we, uh, were intimate again.”
“Could Mr. Forrest have left while you were sleeping?”
“I don’t think so. I’m a light sleeper.”
He purses his lips and makes a note. “Did you hear anything before the shots? Anyone walking around?”
“No.”
“But you were awake when the shots happened?”
Postcoital but awake. Oliver had woken me with a trail of kisses up my abdomen and we’d had a second go-around. It was quiet and intense and … Ahem. That’s enough of that.
“Yes. We heard two shots.”
“What time was it?”
“Before six. It was starting to get light out.”
“And then what?”
“I wanted to go and check what was going on, but Oliver thought it was too dangerous.”
“He held you back?”
“Yes.”
Inspector Tucci nods his head slowly, and I hate that the look in his eye puts thoughts in my head.
Thoughts like: Was Oliver really worried about something happening, or was he holding me back for some other reason?
But no, that’s ridiculous. Oliver wasn’t behind any of this, even though Allison was right.
There are too many suspects.
“How long did you wait to go out of the room?”
“A couple of minutes? When Harper started screaming … Maybe five minutes?”
“And did you hear anything while you were waiting?”
“Yes, there were footsteps on the stairs and above … People moving around who’d heard the shots, I assumed.”
“Anything more distinct than that?”
“No, I…”
“Yes?”
“I might’ve heard a door opening and closing?”
“From which direction?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Your room?”
“It’s possible. The person would’ve had to have gotten out that way.”
“If they left.”
If they … Oh, no, he means Harper. Harper didn’t leave.
“Harper didn’t do it.”
“We shall see. Anything else?” He flips a page in his notebook so that it’s blank. “This is the second floor. Your room was at the end of the hall here. And then Harper was next to you, then Mr. Forrest, and then Ms. Smith, yes?”
He writes our name and room numbers on the paper.
201—Eleanor / 202—Harper / 203—Oliver / 204—Allison
“Your party was the only one in this section of the hotel.”
“So any noise I heard was from one of us?”
“Most likely. Though it is possible that someone could have taken the elevator down from the third floor.” He taps the paper. “This is where the elevator is. Did you hear the elevator doors open or close?”
“No, I…” I think back. Those doors make a distinct sound opening, and there’s a bell that dings. “No. I would have heard if they did.”
“All right. And here, next to your room, there is a set of fire stairs.”
“An emergency exit, you mean?”
“Yes, that is right.”
He marks the spots on the page.
Fire Exit / 201—Eleanor / 202—Harper / 203—Oliver / 204—Allison / Elevator
“Where does the fire exit go?” I ask.
“Up to the next floor, and also down to the lobby.”
“So it could’ve been someone on the third floor who came down that way?”
“Yes.”
“Connor’s up there with Guy and Emily.”
“Correct.”
“But it could’ve been someone on my floor, too, or someone else entirely. Someone who came up from the lobby.”
“Yes.”
“What about … Have you spoken to the BookFace Ladies?”
“Who are you referring to?”
“The other women on the tour. The fans. There is one, her name is Cathy, and she’s a bit obsessed with me … I got a court order against her in the States.”
“Why is this the first time I am hearing about this?”
“Because she seemed too remote … They have mostly kept to themselves. They were on a different boat yesterday, for instance, and they’re not staying at this hotel.”
“But we have just established that someone could have come in from the outside.”
“Yes, but how would she know about Guy’s gun? And she must’ve been with the other women when the mugging happened. And she wasn’t on the boat.”
“If the poison was administered on the boat.”
“Do you know when it was administered?”
“The toxicologist has not made that assessment yet. But the poison is not one that acts immediately. There can be a delay depending on various factors.”
“Such as?”
“That is not something I can share at this moment.”
“Oh, right, but…” I let my thought trail away. Why am I trying to convince Inspector Tucci that it can’t have been Crazy Cathy?
I mean, it probably isn’t her, but it can’t hurt to let her get investigated. Let her see how it feels to have your life under someone else’s microscope.
“Harper can tell you where they’re staying.”
“Excellent. Now, did you hear someone walk by your door?”
“Mr. Forrest’s door,” Lorenzo says.
“Yes, that is what I meant.”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “I was frightened, and Oliver was trying to soothe me.”
Or distract me?
No. Stop it, brain.
Stop it immediately.
“Or the fire door opening and closing?”
I search my memory. There was a click. I thought it was a room door, but it could’ve been the emergency exit.
“Maybe. But what if I’d come out of the room immediately?”
“But you were supposed to be dead.”
“I see what you mean. But what if Harper had come through the adjoining door? Or if Oliver or Allison had come out of their rooms?”
“They took a risk.”
I think it through. “Maybe it wasn’t so risky…”
“How so?”
“Harper had been taking sleeping pills because of her jet lag. Connor also took a pill, he said. And Guy thinks he was drugged…”
“What’s this?”
I explain about Guy saying that someone had spiked his drink last night.
“Hmmm, what about the others?”
“I don’t know, you’ll have to ask them.”
“Perhaps you should take samples from everyone?” Lorenzo suggests. “For testing?”
“Yes, yes.” Inspector Tucci taps the notepad. “It would’ve been the work of a moment … The shots, leaving the room and going through the door. If you moved swiftly, no one was going to see.”
“And maybe they wore a disguise,” I say. “Something to make it harder to recognize them.”
“Yes, that is possible. We will search the rooms again.”
I look at the layout, imagining the people above. “It could’ve been anyone.”
“Not anyone,” he says. “Not you or Mr. Forrest, as you have said.”
“No,” I say. “Not us.”
“And we will speak to the BookFace Ladies, but it is likely not someone from the outside. The gun, the handkerchief—this was, how you say, an inside job.”
I shiver. “Yes.”
“Your sister?”
“No, it can’t be her.”
“Why are you so certain?”
“Besides the fact that I’d know if she wanted to kill me?”
His mouth presses together. “No, Ms. Dash. It is precisely this kind of arrogance that leads to people losing their lives. You do not know what someone else might harbor in their heart. The resentments that build up over time. The injuries from the past that can come back to haunt you.”
Why does it sound like he’s describing me and Oliver?
No, no, no. This is just another form of self-sabotage.
Yes, he knows about cars, and yes, he hates Connor. And okay, yes, he was standing close enough to me on the veranda to save me, which means he could’ve pushed me, and he knows about poisons because he does the research, but he didn’t come on this tour to kill me.
He came for me.
He came for us.
“Ms. Dash?”
“You were saying about Harper … But we live together. I see her all the time. I would know if she wanted to harm me. She’s not an actress. She can’t hide her emotions like that. And she was there with me outside the Vatican. We’re each other’s alibis for that attempt. And when that man was killed. Harper and I were together all day that day until after dinner.”
“Hmmm.”
But I have no idea where Oliver was on the day we went to the Vatican, or during the time between the Forum and dinner. I’ve never even asked him.
I shake my suspicions away. “You don’t believe me?”
“I think there’s something at work here that neither of us are seeing at the moment.”
He lets that sit there, maybe trying to provoke a reaction, but I won’t let him see the doubts in my mind.
I can’t.
“One thing is clear, though, Inspector Tucci,” Lorenzo says. “You will not be arresting my client.”
“Yes, yes, you have made that point very clear.”
“Are we finished, then?” I ask.
“For the moment. But you must stay in Sorrento.”
“What about the rest of the tour?”
“When are you supposed to depart?”
That damn itinerary. I’ve never been able to keep the details fixed in my mind.
“What’s the date?”
“July sixth.”
“I’m not sure. I think we’re here today.”
“All right. Let us return to the library.”
“Can I get my phone back?”
“Officer Garza has them there.”
I’m taken to the bathroom to provide a urine sample, and then I follow Inspector Tucci through the lobby to the library, where everyone is reassembled and clothed, clutching their just-returned phones like missing limbs.
My eyes go to Oliver. He gives me a smile, one I know well. He’s happy to see me, but worried, too.
This is not the smile of a murderer.
It can’t be.
Officer Garza hands me my phone, and I hold it to my chest, glad to have it back. I tuck it in my pocket. I’ll check my messages later. It’s not like there are any emergencies in publishing.191
Inspector Tucci claps his hands to get our attention. “Good morning, everyone. Here we are again. As you can see, I have not issued an arrest warrant. Yet. But that does not mean that this is not a very serious situation. The most serious, in fact. You did not listen to me, and Ms. Dash almost lost her life last night.”
No one says anything.
“It is very important if anyone knows anything of value that they tell me immediately. Do not hold back anything.” He looks at each of us slowly. “If any of you saw something in the hall that night, for example…”
I follow his gaze as he looks at Harper, Oliver, then Allison in turn.
Is it just my imagination, or do they all look discomfited?
But no. That’s just my overactive brain. I may not have a poker face, but that doesn’t mean everyone wears their heart on their sleeve.
Besides, if one of them saw anything, they’d say so, wouldn’t they?192
He looks at Officer Garza. “Has everyone provided a sample?”
“Sì. They are being taken to the lab immediately.”
Inspector Tucci nods as Allison puts up her hand.
“Yes, Ms. Smith?”
“Couldn’t that have been planned all along? Eleanor’s almost-death.”
“What are you saying?”
“It’s not necessarily our fault that this happened … If the plan was always to kill Eleanor, it’s not because we were investigating that it happened.”
“Be that as it may, I have told you before that investigating a murder is dangerous, and you did not listen to me.”
“What are we supposed to do, then?” Guy says. “Just sit around and wait like sitting ducks?”
“I do not understand this expression. Regardless, we will be opening an investigation into how you got a gun into the country.”
“I have all the necessary permits, I assure you.”193
“We shall see. In the meantime, it was your recklessness in hiding the weapon in the first place that gave the killer the opportunity to use it.”
“My personal safety comes first.”
“That is so selfish, Guy,” Emily says.
“Keep your opinions to yourself.”
“Guy has a point, though,” Allison says. “Not about the gun, but what are we supposed to do now?”
Sylvie enters the room in swirl of fabric. “Ah, here you all are.”
“Oh,” Harper says. “The tour.”
“What tour?” I ask.
“We’re supposed to go to Ravello today. The BookFace Ladies will be there, too.”
“Oh good Lord,” Connor says. “Surely not.”
“Why not?” Allison says. “It would give us something to do rather than sit around theorizing all day wondering which one of us is going next.”
“What do you think, Inspector?” I ask. “Are we allowed to leave the hotel?”
He taps his chin, considering. “You would be all together, under supervision…”
“So, that’s a yes?”
“Perhaps … You are only going to Ravello?”
“Sì,” Sylvie says. “We have a wine tasting at Wine and Drugs—”
“Wine and what?”
“It is a wine and drug store…” Sylvie says.
“The wonders of Italy,” Emily says.
“And then lunch in the square.”
“When will you be back at the hotel?” Inspector Tucci asks.
“Five o’clock?”
“All right, yes, you may go.”
“I’m out,” Connor says.
“No,” Inspector Tucci says. “You must all go together. I will send Officer Garza with you. I cannot spare more than one.”
“All for one and one for all,” Isabella says.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing,” I say. “We will all go, Inspector.”
“We shall have some more answers when you return. The toxicology results, for one.”
“Perfect. All of us on a bus, hanging out in a cliffside town in a wine and drug store … What could go wrong?”194