Page 30 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

“We should call the police.”

“For a purse snatching? There’s no point.”

I sigh. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“What about Aperol spritz o’clock?”

“We’ll have them by the pool.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

I search around me for the path out of here, and then I find it—a small sign that says EXIT. “Say, did you know Allison was going to be here?”

“Of course. It was all—”

“In the itinerary. I get it.”

“Someday you’ll learn.”

“But not today.”

Back at the hotel, Harper and I go to our adjoining rooms to get cleaned up, then meet on the pool deck. It’s on the roof, closer to the sun, but big off-white umbrellas guard comfortable canvas deck chairs, and there’s a personable man behind the bar.

As I settle into a lounger with my drink, I finally peruse the itinerary on my phone.

Day 1 (July 1)—

Flight from Los Angeles to Rome

Day 2 (July 2)—

Arrival in Rome; check-in at the hotel; visit the Vatican

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