Page 28 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

“Wait, what?” Allison and Oliver say together.

“That’s what I said.”

“You promised not to tell.”

“No,” Harper says. “Eleanor did.”

“Just tell us what happened,” I say. “So we can figure out what’s going on.”

“We were walking back there,” Harper says, pointing over our shoulders. “And then, out of nowhere, this woman ran past us and knocked Connor over. Then she stole my purse.”

“And the screaming?”

“I’m getting there,” Harper says. There’s a small trickle of blood running down her forehead. “I ran after her. I came around the corner and I saw a woman holding my purse. I yelled at her to stop, and then I…”

“You tackled me,” Allison says matter-of-factly. “I thought I was being mugged. That’s why I screamed.”

Harper’s embarrassed. “You had my purse.”

“This?” she says, holding up a Birkin-style bag.

Or maybe it’s a real Birkin. I’ve never cared about handbags.

“It looks just like mine. I’m sorry.”

Allison pats her on the shoulder. “Sounds like an honest mistake.”

“Are you okay, Harper?” I ask.

She touches the blood with her finger. It’s already drying in the heat. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

I search in my purse for something to wipe it away, but Oliver gets there first with a handkerchief, like some guy from a ’50s movie. She uses it to wipe the blood off, then returns it to him. He tucks it into his pocket, folding the stain away.

“Are you okay, Alli?” Connor asks.

“I’m fine.”

“Did anyone get a look at the thief?”

“Italian?” Connor says.

“I don’t think she was Italian,” Harper says. “She had an American accent. North American, anyway.”

“What did she say?”

“I’d rather not say.”

She must’ve used the C-word. It’s the only one that makes Harper this uncomfortable.

“Was that it? Just a curse word?”

Harper and Connor nod.

“That’s kind of unusual, an American thief in Rome,” Oliver says.

“It’s not that unusual,” I say.

“Regardless, we should call the police, and file a report.”

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