Page 91 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

“It makes sense, though,” Connor says. “Harper hates me and stands to inherit a lot of money if you die. And if we both die, together, here in Italy on the tenth-anniversary tour, then…” He moves his hands in a dramatic way, tracing large circles in the air. “… Imagine the book sales.”

“Shut up, Connor. Will you? For once.” I take a deep breath. No one’s reacting to the news that my own sister might want me dead with surprise. Only Harper is standing there, shaking her head slowly, like she can’t believe what’s happening.

“Night’s over,” I say.

“What about the police?” Shek asks.

“No, forget it. No one saw anything, right?”

Once again, the silence is telling.

“That’s what I thought. So what’s the point?”

There’s none. I’ve dealt with the carabinieri before. They treated me with about as much respect as you’d expect, i.e., none. And that was when we had solid evidence of a crime. When Connor was known to them. Who knows what the local officers are like? I’m going to assume they’ve never heard of Connor or me, and aren’t going to take some drunk semi-famous tourist claiming that a member of her own entourage wants her dead very seriously.

I stand and sweep my arms in a mimic of Connor’s gesture from earlier. “Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.”

I turn as dramatically as I can and try to flounce out of the room because I’ve always wanted to do that, but instead of leaving in a trail of perfume and stunned faces, I stumble into a low table and smack my shin in the worst way possible. I stifle a scream.

“You okay, El?” Oliver asks.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” I say without looking back.

The morning.

What are we doing tomorrow? Oh, right. The boat to Capri. Won’t that be fun?108

I finally make it out of the library, then try to remember where my room is. I fish around in my purse for my key—which I’ve miraculously somehow not lost throughout this clown show of an evening—and pull it out. But once again, it’s not my room key; it’s that master key I found earlier. How did it make it into my bag? The only person who was in my room yesterday morning was Harper, but—

No. No. I’m not doing this. I’m not going to add up the evidence that Harper might want to kill me.

I’m going to my room and to my bed and I’m going to sleep, and tomorrow, when the day is fresh and the alcohol has cleared from my system, I’ll figure out what’s going on.

I press the button for the elevator and get inside when the doors open. I lean my back against the glass wall, avoiding my reflection because I don’t want to see what I look like right now.

“Hold the door!”

I don’t follow instructions, but Oliver makes it onto the elevator anyway. He squeezes through the opening and the doors clunk closed behind him.

“Shouldn’t the doors open when you pass through like that?” he says.

“Defective, I guess.”

“Dangerous.”

This whole trip is dangerous.

And me and him being in an elevator together, even for a minute?

That’s the most dangerous of all.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“About?”

“What I said on the veranda after you saved me. I… I was being a brat.”

He rubs at the stubble on his chin. “You almost died.”

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