Page 180 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

So I’m back in the room I was in when Inspector Tucci questioned me. Was that only this morning?

The room feels different. I didn’t notice the wallpaper before—a faded print of multicolored peacocks. And the windows full of sunshine. Were there always windows? The light hurts my eyes, and my lawyer closes the blinds when I put my hand up to shade them.

What was I saying? Oh, right. The room. I was trying to describe it, but I can’t latch onto the details.

The truth is—I feel drunk. Maybe I still am.

Only I don’t think so.

But it feels that way. Like everything is sped up and slowed down and I’m being very careful with my words, though I haven’t said anything yet.

Maybe if I catalog everything slowly, I’ll be able to come to some kind of solution in my mind. A solution for myself.

So:

—My hands are folded on the table.

—It’s still daylight outside.

—The air is a bit cold in here.

—Someone offers me coffee, but I don’t take it.

—My lawyer is seated to my left, and we’re both facing an empty chair, waiting.

I memorize these details like I’ll have to write them down later.

Eventually, the door opens and Inspector Tucci walks in with the other officer he was with this morning. Don’t ask me to remember his name.

I barely remember my own.

He sits across from me and puts a recording device down on the table. My lawyer nods. I’ve forgotten his name, too. Inspector Tucci starts the recording and notes the date and time. He says who’s present and then we begin.

“Before I take your statement, Ms. Dash, are there any questions that you have for me?”

“I… Yes.”

“Please go ahead.”

“Is… Is Sylvie really dead?”

I know she is, they don’t put live people in body bags, but I have to ask anyway. Because that’s the kind of day it is. One where even something I witnessed with my own eyes feels made up.

“Yes, her neck snapped on the stairs.”

So that was the sound. I feel like throwing up, but I choke it down.

“And Isabella?”

“She’s in custody. We apprehended her at the train station in Napoli.”

“She was running away?”

“She is not speaking. But yes, that is what we believe.”

“And she’s Sylvie’s daughter?”

“Yes. She had been going by the last name Joseph.”

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