Page 110 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

“The man who famously brought his cat to the Anthonys139 because it would be too lonely if he left it alone.”

“I forgot about that.”

“He’s a complicated guy.”

“I guess we all are.”

He nods slowly. “We should be sure it’s him before we say anything.”

“How can we be sure?”

“We need more evidence.”

“We can’t just wait till he succeeds in killing someone.”

“No, I know, I… Let’s just keep our eyes peeled. We can reconvene tonight.”

That word—“tonight”—hangs there like a promise as the bus pulls to a stop and the other passengers start to shuffle out. Oliver and I are locked in, though. Maybe both of us want to say something and can’t quite manage it.

Or maybe we both know that once we leave this bus, nothing good lies ahead.140

Back on the boat, Allison has recovered and enjoyed her day reading a beat-up old paperback of one of Shek’s books—natch—she found below deck and sleeping in the sun.

Apparently, Captain Marco caught some fish and cooked it right there in butter, garlic, and wine, and it was “divine.”

And against the odds, everyone seems happy, busy chatting and filling us in on how they spent the afternoon.

Isabella gushes about the views from Anacapri and shows off a cute scarf she bought in one of the shops while Connor beams at her indulgently.

Emily and Harper tell us about the hot men they’d met at a bar, where it’s clear they consumed several double somethings by the way they’re giggling.

Shek and Guy spar good-naturedly over something that happened today back in the States,141, 142 and Sylvie tells us that Marco’s going to take a slow ride back to Capri so that he times it right with the sunset. Apparently, the sunset in Sorrento is “So romantic, yes? In the meantime, I have a surprise for you!”

She bends down, and then stands, brandishing a bottle of Champagne. “Thanks to Eleanor and her team, we will be sipping on Champagne143 as we watch the sun set.”

This news is received generally well—this isn’t a teetotaling crowd, and any grumbling is probably because she seems to have only one bottle with her, which isn’t enough for the numbers who’ll want to imbibe.

Oblivious, Sylvie pulls out some plastic Champagne flutes and a tray and asks Isabella to help her. They busy themselves pouring out the glasses, making the pours even144 while we chatter about the reckless drivers on mopeds that our buses almost hit on more than one occasion.

Isabella starts to pass the glasses around—Emily, Harper, then Allison, me, and Oliver. When she gets to Connor, he waves a hand at it, and before she can ask why, Shek picks up his glass and holds it aloft. “We should toast.”

“To what?” Guy asks.

“Life.”

“Live long and prosper?” I say.

“No Star Trek, you nerd,” Harper teases me, and I stick out my tongue in response.

“To life,” Oliver says holding his glass up and looking at me.

“To life,” everyone repeats as they raise their glasses and drink.

“You don’t want to toast, Connor?” Isabella says in a teasing voice.

“Connor doesn’t like Champagne,” Allison drawls. “Everyone knows that.”

And it’s true—everyone does know that, but not the killer, obviously, because oh, shit!

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