Page 131 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

Shut up, El.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry. It was nothing.” I try to regulate my breathing. “But wait. I knew Connor didn’t drink Champagne. I would never have tried to poison him that way.”

“That is not a defense.”

“Am I on trial?”

“You might be, Ms. Dash.”

I swallow down my fear. “I didn’t try to kill Connor.”

“Then how do you explain this?” He holds up a small needle attached to a plastic disk with a loop on it, like one of those candy engagement rings I used to love when I was little.

“What is that?”

“Mr. Botha wasn’t poisoned with the Champagne.”

“What?”

“He was poisoned with this. Injected into the back, like so.” He positions the device between his fingers, then makes a stabbing motion. “You see, it is quick, over in the blink of an eye. No one would notice.”

My mind is a tilt-a-whirl. “I… Shek was the intended victim?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I was hoping you could illuminate me on that.”

“I don’t know why anyone would want to kill Shek.”

“Perhaps he saw you do something in the last few days. I see from your notebook that he was near the Vatican when the attempt was made on Mr. Smith’s life.”

“But I wasn’t there. I mean, I was, but I didn’t push Connor into traffic.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“No, speak to Harper. She was with me that whole day.”

“Harper, your sister?”

“Yes.”

“She would naturally provide you with an alibi.”

I shake my head. “No, she’s not a liar.”

That’s me. I’m the liar. “Why would I be trying to solve the case if I knew who did it all along?”

“Cover.”

“Cover for what?”

“For this,” he says, holding up the ring again.

“I’ve never seen that in my life.”

---