Page 94 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

Waiting for the fear to dissipate.

Because that’s what I feel this morning. Behind the hangover and the exhaustion—I’m terrified.

Someone’s trying to kill me. Someone on this tour, someone I know. But who? Who’s been sitting across from me at the dinner table for the last two nights wishing I’d disappear?

Have I made Harper’s life so miserable?

Is it Allison—pretending to be my friend, but looking for an opening to get rid of me once and for all?

Shek, because I got his marketing budget?

Emily, because I’m the competition in her way, the one who might reveal where she’s getting her killer plots?

Guy, for some reason of his own, buried inside and chewing at him for years?

Is it Oliver?

I might’ve understood it of him if it had happened three years ago. I’ll never forget the look on his face when I told him I’d been unfaithful with Connor. It was like I was tearing his heart out with my bare hands, and all he kept saying was “Why did you tell me?”111

He’d wanted me to lie. He didn’t want me to put my burden on him. He wanted to live in a fantasy where I was a good person and he didn’t make a mistake loving me.

People have killed for less.

Harper, Allison, Shek, Emily, Guy, Oliver. Their faces circle through my brain and chew at my gut, like a roulette wheel where I’m waiting for the ball to drop and land on the lucky winner.

Or maybe all of them are in on it, like in Murder on the Orient Express and all its pale imitations, and I’ve missed the whispered conversations, the clues hidden in what I thought were meaningless words.

How do I get it to stop?

How do I reverse course?

Because I know one thing: My life isn’t perfect, but I don’t want to die.

“Hello, hello, my writing friends!” Sylvie chirps from the dock in Sorrento.

After a nearly silent breakfast, we walked down the steps that almost killed me last night separately, a single file with Harper as our camp leader bringing us to the edge of the glistening sea.

Most of us have backpacks on, packed with boat shoes and towels, and a change of clothes for after we dip in the sea, and the only people with smiles on their faces are Connor and Isabella.

Because nothing brings Connor down, apparently.

Not even the thought of my murder.

Though maybe that’s the source of his happiness? Were the attempts on his life a smokescreen for the attempts on mine?

What does it say about my life that the possibility of Connor wanting me dead is the last thing to occur to me? If I were writing this, he’d be the prime suspect.

Sylvie waves her hand toward the water behind us. She’s wearing a bright red linen tunic, and her hair is tossing in the breeze. “Today we are going to Capri, one of the most beautiful islands in the Mediterranean. Also, the one with the most famous people visiting every year. Recently, these visitors have included my girls Beyoncé, RiRi, and J.Lo—they all love themselves some Capri.”

“Did she just say, ‘my girl Beyoncé’?” I ask Harper.

Harper’s arms are crossed over a light blue T-shirt with a sailboat decal on it. “Nothing surprises me anymore with this woman.”

“We’re not paying her enough.”

“I thought you wanted to get her fired?”

“Nah, she’s growing on me.”

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