Page 38 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

“His last two books tanked.”

“So how’d he get on this tour?”

“He still has some suction in certain quarters.”

“Right.” I sigh. This dinner’s going to be painful. “Anything else?”

“There’s always Connor.”

“The ‘victim.’”

“You don’t believe him?” Harper says.

“I believe that he got himself involved in something shady, for sure, but murder?”

We pass a group of men in their mid-twenties.

“Ils sont jolis,” one of them says in a Parisian accent. Tourists like us.

“Je baiserais la grande,” his uncouth friend replies, clearly referring to Harper since I’m two inches shorter than her. Not like us, then.

“J’ai compris,” I say to them, letting them know I understood their desire to debase my sister.

Harper’s face is aflame. “Leave it,” she says.

“Why? They’re assholes.”

“Ah, les Americaines,” the uncouth one says. He’s tall and gangly, like he hasn’t stopped growing yet.

“Shove it, jerk.”

One of his friends puts his hand on the skinny one’s shoulder, muttering something about being late for their reservation. He lets himself be pulled away, but not before he throws out a last “C’était un compliment!”

“Compliments are something people appreciate!” I shout back.

“El, please stop.”

“Shouldn’t have downed that second spritz, I guess.”

“You mean fourth?”

“You’re counting my drinks now?”

She puts her hands up. “Hey, I’m not the enemy.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“I guess it’s better if you get it out before dinner.” Harper tugs at my sleeve. “Why have you been so distracted all day?”

“Besides the obvious? I want to end the series.”

“You weren’t joking at the pool?”

“No. It’s time.”

Harper stops walking. “Wow, okay. How are you going to do it?”

“Not sure yet, but Connor’s going to die. Maybe the person who solves the murder will be the new protagonist.”

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