Page 188 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

After he swore up and down to Inspector Tucci that I had nothing to do with the robberies and cut a deal to avoid jail time himself,228 it felt wrong to do it.

I wouldn’t say we’re friends now, but being the joint object of assassination attempts does bond you.

Besides, I got my publisher to agree to let me start a new series. I’ll be doing two books a year, which sounds insane, but I asked for it, so I shouldn’t complain.229

There’s this saying in Hollywood: Do one for them and then one for you. And that’s the approach I’m taking.

They haven’t found Marta. There’s an international warrant for her arrest—one of those Interpol things you see in the movies—so I assume they’ll find her eventually. I try not to think about it too much because you can’t live like that, looking over your shoulder all the time, waiting for someone to strike.230

Isabella is awaiting trial. We’ll all have to go back to Italy to testify when it happens, which I’m kind of looking forward to. I mean, it’s not like I wanted to be a witness to a real murder, but now that it’s happened, I can get something out of the experience. Everything, as they say, is book fodder.231 Write what you know.

When we got back to the States, Harper and I helped organize Shek’s funeral. Even though he was kind of in on the plot to kill me, I don’t hold it against him. I don’t believe that he wanted me dead, and let’s be honest: I 100 percent understand the desire to torture Connor a bit for his crimes.

Yep. Harper’s still working for me. The difference is, she doesn’t resent me anymore. We’re back to how we used to be, and she’s given up writing. Maybe she’ll go back to it someday, she says. But for now, she’s happy helping me out.

Shek’s funeral took place in the small town he lived in a couple of hours outside of New York. It was a heavy July day, pregnant with rain, and we stood around the graveside dressed in black and cloaked in silence under black umbrellas. In the end, it was Shek who had the real flair for the dramatic.

It was the first time we were all together again—me, Harper, Oliver, Connor, Allison, Emily, and Guy.

And the BookFace Ladies, of course—let’s not forget about them.

They wore black T-shirts with Shek’s book covers on them, which I thought was a touching gesture. Apparently, it was Cathy’s idea. She reached out, contrite, and confirmed that Marta had invited her to come on the tour. Having been the unwitting accomplice of a murderer seems to have knocked the crazy out of her. I’m not saying we’re going to be BFFs, but I asked my lawyer to lift the restraining order. If she comes to my next book launch, I’m not going to be mad about it.

The funeral was nice and appropriately sad, and at the reception, the executive editor of our publisher announced that three of Shek’s books are back on the list. I feel almost certain that he’d be happy to know this, though his life was too big a price to pay even for the top three spots on the New York Times bestseller list.

Emily was shy and full of some secret. It was written all over her face, though I never got a chance to ask her what it was. Probably that she’s signed a three-book deal. I’ll find out eventually. I caught her making a TikTok as we walked away from the graveside. Change doesn’t always come easy.

Taking a cue from Connor, Allison brought a date to the funeral, a man who looked at her with the reverence I doubt she ever got from Connor. Where did she meet him? That’s a story for another day. No One Was Supposed to Die at this Wedding, more specifically. Yep—there’s a sequel! And a third book in the works, too.232

Which brings me to Connor.233 I was surprised he showed up, to be honest, because it was his fault that Shek was dead. But there he was, a beautiful woman on his arm, and…

Okay, okay. He didn’t actually bring a date to the funeral. But it was believable that he’d do it, right? You were totally picturing him looking tragic with some dishy blonde on his arm!

Anyway, sometimes people surprise you. Maybe he has changed.

Or maybe not.

I’ve solved enough mysteries for one day. You figure it out.

“What are we doing here, again?” Oliver asks a couple of months later. It’s October and he’s wearing a tux, bow tie and all. He looks like he could be cast as the next James Bond.234

Oh, yeah. He’s still around.

We’re making a go of it.

I’m not saying it’s been easy, but me almost dying a bunch of times clarified Oliver’s feelings for me.

He can’t live without me, apparently, and obviously the feeling’s mutual.

He’s in a tux because we’re at a black-tie wedding on Catalina Island. My best friend, Emma, got married today. She’s taken over the Descanso Beach Club for the weekend—a large white-sided Cape Cod–style building with a series of balconies that stare at the ocean and a coved beach/marina where you can park your private boat.

It’s that kind of wedding.

“I told you a million times. I made this match.”

He wraps his arm around my waist. I’m wearing an eggplant bridesmaid dress, and because Emma has excellent taste, I don’t hate it. I snuggle into Oliver. His aftershave is fresh, and his eyelashes tickle the skin on my neck. The band is playing Mazzy Star’s “Fade into You” and any moment now, Oliver’s going to ask me to dance.

“Oh, so you’re a matchmaker now?” he says with a grin I can feel against my skin.

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