“But why the mugging? They didn’t actually use that key, right?”
“Maybe they meant to, and Connor’s stupid plan to fake his own death got in the way.”
“Hmmm,” Oliver says.
“What?”
“They’re an odd mix of competence and incompetence, like more than one person was holding the reins.”
“There were three people holding them. All the Giuseppe women.”
“Not all of them. There’s one more sister—Rosa.”
I shiver. “Let’s not think about her, shall we?”
“Hard agree. You know, Sylvie never knew anything about any of the sites we went to,” Harper says. “It’s so obvious now.”
“The way she parroted Google.”
“And anyone can visit the catacombs at the Colosseum. I checked last night.”
“She must’ve studied. But not much.”
“And why did we just accept Isabella like that? She must’ve laughed at us so hard.”
“And she never said ‘sorry.’ Not like real Canadians do all the time.”
Pop!
“Oh my God,” I say. “Remember at the dinner, when she said her mother was a huge fan and she had a shrine to me?”
“And you took a selfie?”
“And she sent it to her!”
Harper breaks her croissant in two. “She must’ve been gloating. Look, Ma, I did it.”
“Do you think the part about the shrine is true?”
“Maybe it’s like, a set of voodoo dolls.”
“Or a stalker’s shrine,” Oliver says. “Like those creepy ones from the movies.”
I shudder again. It’s not funny being stalked, though I’m sure I’ll see the humor eventually. “They must’ve arranged for Cathy to come on the trip.”
“Why?”
“To torture me. Or to make her the scapegoat. The more suspects around, the better.”
“How did they know about her?”
I think about it. “The restraining order. That’s public. It must’ve come up in their research.”220
“Where is Cathy, anyway?” Oliver asks.
“The BookFace Ladies are under the watchful eye of two police officers at their hotel down the road,” Harper says. “They’ve been told they’re not allowed to post anything on social media, but you’ve already been tagged in a bunch of posts this morning.”
“What a shit show.” I sigh. “They were trying to frame Connor for my murder.”