Page 175 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

It’s a funny, sweet moment that I’ve always loved, and imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

So: I do not die in this chapter.

You were looking a little worried, and I wanted you to know that I’m going to be okay.

I mean, you knew that already since you’re reading this.

But I wanted to remind you because I care about you and I didn’t want you to worry.

That doesn’t mean some bad things aren’t about to happen. There’s one more death in this book and it’s dramatic, if I do say so myself. And I know you’re looking at the amount of pages you have left to read or the percentage on your Kindle and I told you before that I’d solved the crime.

Only I was wrong.

But enough about me, for now.

Let’s return to the scene of the reveal, shall we?

Just to catch you up, I’ve overheard a conversation between Isabella and Allison that has led me to make the connection to the Giuseppe family and realize from my Google search that the capo, Anthony Giuseppe, had daughters named Isabella and Marta, and a wife whose real name is something else but who’s definitely Sylvie. I’m holding my phone in my hand with the web page up, and Sylvie has just come up behind me and cornered me on the top of a medieval turret in the Italian town of Ravello. That turret is surrounded by plexiglass walls that will make it impossible for anyone to hear me scream.

We are alone.

Dramatic much?

So back to me.

Because oh, no. Oh, shit.

Sylvie.

It’s Sylvie and Isabella.

This whole time.

They were here the whole time, right next to us, on the scene. They’re the people we never looked at because why would they have a motive to kill us? To kill me?

Isabella even joked about it in the library when she was holding the marker at the easel while we tried to puzzle out the subjects.

She agreed she should be a suspect.

She laughed about it, and I missed it.

I really am bad at this.

But right at this moment, I need to keep my wits about me. I need to maintain a poker face, only my poker face is terrible. Everyone always knows exactly what I’m thinking. But Sylvie and I are all alone up here, high up, with nowhere to go but the steep spiral staircase behind her.218

“Ms. Eleanor,” Sylvie says. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, I…” I flex the hand that was holding my phone but realize I’ve dropped it. “You startled me, is all. And I’m a bit out of breath from that climb up the stairs…”

“It is worth it, though, no?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, the view is fantastic. Just like you said.”

I bend down and pick up my phone, my heart hammering in my chest. The screen is still open, the results of my Google search visible, face up and pointing toward Sylvie. The name “Giuseppe” seems abnormally large and obvious to my very nervous eye.

I can’t let Sylvie see it. I click quickly on the button on the side to shut the screen off, then tuck my phone into my pocket.

Damn it. I shouldn’t have put it away. I need to call for help.

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