Page 133 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

“You mean, the truth?”

“The truth is usually simple and very straightforward. There isn’t some big reveal or mystery to unlock. People behave in predictable ways.”

“This is exactly why you didn’t solve the Giuseppe robberies.”

“Ah, but I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He stares at me, trying to process what I’m telling him. “What could you possibly mean?”

I stare back. This is the only power I have. The secrets I know. It’s the only chip I have to play. “I’m not going to tell you. But you did miss something all those years ago, something crucial. And now it’s too late for you to do anything about it.”

Something flickers behind his eyes, and I know that I’ve done what I could.

I’ve created a doubt. Whether it’s reasonable or not is for another day.

But what about you?

Do you think I did it?171

When Inspector Tucci and I are finished with our staring contest, we return to the library.

It’s late now, my stomach is rumbling because despite the shock—and is that… sadness at Shek’s death? I think it is—my body needs to be fed at regular intervals.

Everyone is pretty much where we left them. The easel has no more clues written on it. Oliver’s pacing by the window, the inky sea reflecting the moon. Harper’s opened a book, but I can tell she’s not reading it. Isabella and Connor are ensconced on a settee, intertwined, but not engaging with each other directly. Isabella’s head is on his shoulder, and he’s staring at the easel like it might contain the meaning of life. Allison and Emily and Guy are standing by the fireplace talking in low voices about Lord knows what.

Inspector Tucci claps his hands to get everyone’s attention.

They turn to him, but Oliver makes eye contact with me, a question in his raised eyebrows. I shake my head in a warning, but how am I supposed to convey what’s happening?

I’m going to go to jail for a murder I didn’t commit.

If I survive that long.

Inspector Tucci clears his throat. “I am here to inform you that I will be seeking an arrest warrant for Mr. Botha’s murder.”

“Allison?” Connor says with grim certainty.

“No.” He pauses. “Ms. Eleanor Dash.”

Harper’s hand flies to her mouth, but it’s Oliver who speaks. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Be that as it may, it is where the evidence leads.”

“What evidence?”

“I do not need to disclose that to you. This is not some parlor game we are playing. A man is dead. I owe my duty to him.”

“Well, well, well,” Connor says, smirking at me. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Shut up, Connor,” Harper says. “Just shut up. For once in your life.”

“Good for you, Harper,” Allison says. “Though I doubt he’ll listen.”

“There must be some mistake,” Oliver says, searching out my face again. “Whatever you think the evidence shows… I know Eleanor isn’t behind this. I saw someone try to kill her with my own eyes.”

“Who?” Inspector Tucci asks.

---