CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 8
Is It Dangerous to Break Bread with Someone Who Wants to Kill You?
As Emma’s scream echoes through the day, Harper starts to reach for her smoking phone.
I grab her hand. “Wait, no, you’ll get electrocuted.”
Emma lets out another bone-chilling scream as Harper’s charred phone floats to the surface in a final shower of sparks.
Harper pulls her hand back quickly as two attendants in white uniforms rush toward us.
“Don’t touch the water,” I say to one of the attendants, a young guy who looks about twenty-five with wiry dark hair. “I think it’s electrified somehow.”
His eyes go wide while the other attendant bends down and opens a panel on the side of the tub. “I’m going to turn it off,” he says.
He flips a switch, and Harper’s phone stops buzzing.
We stand in shocked silence, the air, well, charged , all of us breathing raggedly.
Holy shit. Did that just happen?
That could’ve been me, or Harper, or Emma in there.
Or Simone.
She shouldn’t be an afterthought, but she is. I know that makes me a bad person, but that’s not the relevant point right now.
Someone is trying to kill someone at this wedding.
Not good.
When I get my bearings, I bend down next to the attendant, looking into the panel. But I don’t know what I’m looking at. I feel like a guy standing over the open hood of a car—I have to pretend I know what I’m doing even though I don’t.
“Crossed wire?” I say.
“Maybe. Or a short.”
“Has this ever happened before?”
“Not that I know of. José would know.”
“José?”
“The electrician.”
“Who has access to this panel besides him?”
“It’s usually locked,”
“Was it?”
“No...Why?” He looks at me. “You think this was on purpose?”
“What?” Emma says. “What do you mean?” Her face is locked in horror.
“I want to make sure this wasn’t deliberate.”
“Why would it be deliberate?” Simone asks, the calmest of all of us.
“That’s a good question.”
“You think someone is trying to kill one of the wedding guests?”
I stand slowly. “I didn’t say that.”
She narrows her eyes at me. She’s always been smart—I’ll give her that. “And who do you think the victim was supposed to be? You?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Whoever came to the pool next. It could’ve been you .”
“Or Emma.”
“Her, too.”
Simone scoffs. “Why would anyone want to kill either of us? Or are you saying there’s a psycho on the loose?”
“I’m not saying anything, I’m just...investigating.”
“You’re not a private detective, Eleanor. You’re a novelist .”
She doesn’t have to say, Not a very good one.
It’s implied.
“If someone is trying to disrupt the wedding, isn’t that something you’d want to know?”
“What’s it to me?”
“The movie?”
She laughs. “Is that what this is, Emma? A publicity stunt? The whole wedding?”
“No!”
“That was not your most convincing performance. Should we go again?”
“Is this helpful, Simone?” Harper says. “We’re all in shock.”
“Terrible pun,” I say.
Harper shoots me a look that tells me to shove it. “Whether this was done on purpose or not, it’s a problem. Look at my phone. That could’ve been any one of us. Even you, Simone, whether you were the intended victim or not.”
Simone stares back at her, then nods slowly. “Yes, of course. You’re right. I’m glad no one was harmed.” She looks at Emma. “Are you okay, Emma?”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Good.” She turns to the attendant who was on the ground with me. “What’s the protocol now?”
“Ma’am?”
“Who are you going to tell about this?”
“My supervisor.”
“All right. That good enough, Eleanor?”
“It’d be good to have the electrician take a look and see how it happened. I think his name is José.”
“Excellent suggestion. I’ll talk to the front desk when I go back up.” She tugs on the ends of her towel again. “If that’s all taken care of, I think I’ll get lunch.”
I check my watch. It’s noon.
“That’s a good idea. We’ll meet you there.”
Simone locks eyes with me, and for a moment I think she’s not going to take the hint and leave, but then she does. I wait until she’s gone back around the bend she came from, then turn to Emma, holding her close to me.
“I could have died .”
“Yes,” I say, stroking her head. “But it could just be a short.” I hug her tight. “So let’s not freak out, okay? Let’s get changed and go to lunch?”
She shudders in my arms but relaxes. “Yes, okay.”
“Do you want me to come to your villa with you?”
“No, I’ll be all right.” She pulls away. “Good thing Harper’s phone fell in the water.”
I smile at her. “Good thing she broke the rules, you mean.”
“Ha. Yes.”
“I’ll figure out what’s going on, I promise.”
“I feel like I’m going crazy.”
“Harper’s right. Terrible pun or not, you’ve had a shock. Go get changed and we’ll see you at lunch. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I hug her again; then we separate and she walks down the path Harper and I came up.
Harper stands next to me. “Why does it feel like we’re back in Italy?”
A chill runs down my spine. “We’re not in Italy. We’re in When in Rome .” 38
I fill Oliver in on what happened as we get changed for lunch, and we have a few serious moments trying to decide what to do. Because it’s becoming clearer by the minute that there’s a killer on the island with us. Or, at the very least, someone who wants to scare Emma out of going through with the wedding and doesn’t care if someone gets killed in the process.
Which is pretty much the same thing.
And all of which points to Tyler.
But he doesn’t strike me as the type who’d do something like murder.
Not himself, anyway.
He’d get his assistant to do it.
But for now, there’s nothing we can do about it other than stick close to Emma and keep our eyes peeled, so the three of us make our way to the Descanso Beach Club.
The club is nestled at the bottom of the hill in a private white-sand bay. Large and white with a gray-tiled roof, it pops against the bright green trees and shrubs surrounding it. Palm trees dot the shore, with sail-covered teak daybeds nestled in between them. There’s a beachside restaurant and bar, but the lunch is set up inside, in the same room where the wedding reception will take place tomorrow.
It’s a cavernous space with a bank of Pacific-facing windows, papered in paisley wallpaper with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The view out the windows is unparalleled—the sea is azure, and the moored boats tip up and down in the sunlight.
For the wedding, Emma told me, it will be filled with flowers and flowing fabric, making it romantic and intimate. It’s low-key today, though, with a buffet set up across one end of the room and a dozen eight-tops with white tablecloths and centerpieces made up of local wildflowers and Catalina poppies.
We check the menu, which is posted on a placard near the entrance. The signature drink is something called Buffalo Milk, 39 and the menu is heavy on local fish and salads because Hollywood. I doubt there’ll be any bread in sight all weekend.
A waiter in black pants and a white shirt with the club’s logo on it—two leaping dolphins in a Grecian blue—leads us to our table. I wave to Shawna, who’s sitting with Ken, Fred’s stand-in.
He’s a nice, affable guy who’s worked with Fred for much of his career, being patient while shots are being set up so Fred can stay in his trailer and play video games or whatever else he does in there. His physical resemblance to Fred is uncanny—from the back, they’re indistinguishable—but there are important differences in their faces; Ken is like the missing link between Fred and Connor.
Shawna gives me a harassed smile. She’s wearing headphones similar to the ones she wears on set, and she’s got a clipboard with a long checklist next to her.
“Shawna seems stressed,” Harper says.
“What else is new?”
“It’s not her fault Simone is such a beast, and now with this wedding planner thing...”
“What wedding planner thing?”
“The wedding planner refused to come to the island because of the storm. So now Shawna has to do it.”
“It is supposed to be part of production...”
Harper gives me a soft belt in the shoulder, then goes to Shawna and talks to her in a low voice so I can’t hear what she has to say. It must help, though, because Shawna smiles at Harper and they share a brief hug.
“Hi, Shawna,” I say. “Hi, Ken.”
“I was just telling Shawna,” Ken says in his high-pitched voice that’s completely unlike Fred or Connor, “that she should quit.”
“I’ll be fine,” Shawna says. “Two more days won’t kill me.”
I give her a bright smile while a shadow passes over my grave, as it always does when I hear that phrase, and then we go to our table.
Unsurprisingly, we’re seated with Connor, Allison, David, Tyler, and Simone.
If there is murder on the menu, the person behind it knows what they’re doing because there are many potentially murderous airings at this table.
It seems hard to believe it, though, in this idyllic setting.
Which is probably the point.
That and the fact that we’re essentially alone on this island. Not And Then There Were None alone, but not in the middle of a bustling metropolis either.
Not that you need to be in a remote location to pull off a murder. Italy was teeming with people. But still. If we’re in the middle of a plan, the location is factored into it.
But whose plan is it?
I search the room, looking for something or someone out of place.
Emma and Fred are sitting at a table with his parents. They’re both smiling, and being an actor must be a good asset at a time like this because Fred’s mother is a notorious handful, an old-school diva who likes to complain about everyone and everything in a loud, ringing voice.
She was a noted beauty in her youth, with dark hair and startling blue eyes, but now her hair is too obviously dyed black and it floats around her head like an aura. Imagine Marge Simpson as a faded movie star and you’ll get the drift.
Her husband is a diminished man who started out acting, too, but once he landed Fred’s mother, he faded into the background, becoming her manager and chief apologist. He’s still handsome, though, with silver hair and a trim figure. The resemblance between him and Fred is strong, but he doesn’t have Fred’s charisma.
Right now, the Winters seem to be in some minor fight over a cat—there are a few of them wandering the property that seem feral. 40 This one appears tamer than the others, and its tabby fur is clean and fluffy. Maybe it’s been adopted by the club. Either way, it’s hungry like us and is hunting the room for scraps. I see Mr. Winter reach down to feed something to it, only to be met with a withering glance from Mrs. Winter.
That cat is probably going hungry now.
But enough about them.
Let’s spin the camera back to my table, shall we?
Everyone’s dressed like they stepped out of a J.Crew catalog—chinos and striped sweaters from the nautical collection—except for Allison, who’s in one of her classic jumpsuits in a creamy fabric.
I’m wearing something similar, but I’m already regretting the choice because (1) I don’t look as good as Allison does in it, and (2) I kind of have to pee, and that means I’m going to have to get naked in the bathroom to do it.
Anyways! We spend a few minutes in idle chat before serving ourselves at the buffet.
Mr. and Mrs. Winter are ahead of me in line, as is Simone. She’s making friendly conversation with Mr. Winter, who seems like a nice man, but Mrs. Winter gives her a withering gaze over her shoulder, which shuts Simone up, something I didn’t think was possible.
What’s that about?
No point in asking. Simone’s not going to tell me.
I fill my plate and return to the table. Allison and David are across from me, and Oliver and Harper are to my left. Tyler and Simone are next to Allison, which leaves...
“What’s this I hear about someone getting electrocuted?” Connor asks me after he conspicuously sits down in between me and Harper with a full plate of food. 41
“What?” Allison asks. “Are you serious?”
“No one got electrocuted,” I say, trying to hide my annoyance at Connor but failing, as I almost always do.
“Only my phone,” Harper adds.
“Sounds melodramatic,” David says with a laugh in his voice. “Like something from a bad movie.”
I bite back saying something about how he should know, and instead tell them what happened, with Simone adding in a detail or two, like the sound that Harper’s phone made when it hit the water, or the scream Emma gave that brought the staff running.
She gets the laughs she’s looking for, and I’m grateful to her, grudgingly, for doing so.
Because listening to her, it sounds scary, but silly, too.
Then again, I left out the threatening notes, the Twitter feed, and the murder that’s going to be served at midnight. But I watch Tyler for a reaction while we’re catching everyone up. He’s listening but seems unconcerned as he methodically cuts through his steak.
Like a surgeon, I can’t help thinking.
Like he doesn’t care that it used to be a living thing.
“Sounds as if you had a close escape,” David says. “Glad I skipped a soak this morning.”
“Seriously,” Allison says. “We talked about it! I didn’t think there’d be time before lunch.”
“How did you know it was there?” I ask. “It wasn’t on the schedule.”
“I researched the property before we came—why?”
“You think someone did it on purpose?” Connor asks.
“Interesting question,” David says.
“I don’t see how it could be targeted at anyone specific,” Simone says. “It wasn’t like they’d know who was going to be there or when.”
“That’s true,” I say. “The decision Emma and I made to go there was spontaneous. Certainly not enough time to set anything like that up.”
“But if they wanted to disrupt the wedding,” Connor says, “...a dead person in a hot tub might be a good way. It wouldn’t matter who.”
“Why would anyone want to disrupt the wedding?” Allison asks.
Tyler frowns but says nothing. He just reaches for his red wine and takes a large gulp.
“Perhaps someone doesn’t want them to get married,” I say.
“And they’re willing to kill someone to keep it from happening?” Tyler says, looking up and meeting me in the eye.
“I admit it’s a bit of an extreme solution.”
“It was probably an accident,” David says officiously. “As I’m sure we’ll learn. We’re lucky no one got hurt.”
Connor leans closer. “If it had been Fred who was in danger...”
“Are you saying your client is capable of murder?” I say under my breath.
“He’s pretty pissed off.”
“That’s not the same as trying to murder an innocent person.”
“Is Fred innocent?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I feel Oliver stir and lean away from Connor. I reach for Oliver’s hand under the table and squeeze it, then turn my body away from Connor for emphasis.
“Only two days,” I say to Oliver, my eyes trying to convey that this is as much a torture for me as it is for him.
“Yes.”
“It could have been a coincidence.”
“There are no coincidences,” David says, and I realize I was speaking louder than I should’ve been. “That’s the first rule of screenwriting.” 42
“But this isn’t a script,” Allison says gently, touching his arm. “Life doesn’t follow a beat sheet.” 43
“Of course, darling.”
They kiss, and it’s one of those aww moments you usually see at weddings between the bride and groom.
Everyone is smiling at them, though it feels like Connor flinches next to me.
But that can’t be right. He doesn’t still have feelings for Allison. They’ve been divorced for almost ten years. And he’s moved on—numerous times, including, much to my chagrin, with Harper. It must be man-jealousy—he doesn’t want her, but he doesn’t want anyone else to have her either.
“If I was writing this,” David says when they pull apart, “then something else would happen to tip the scales toward it being deliberate.”
“Like what?”
“Something deadly. One of those moments that ends an act.”
“Some kind of twist that takes the story in a new direction,” I say.
“Yes, exactly. Like a body dropping or a more serious attempt on someone’s life.” David checks his watch. “It should happen right about now...”
Everyone freezes.
A clock ticks down in my brain like it’s hanging over the scene.
Three, two, one...
Then the moment passes, and we all start to laugh.
“I guess we’re not caught in one of your screenplays,” Harper says.
Thank goodness.
And amen to that.
I reach for my wine, but before it gets to my lips—
“Mother, please calm down.” Fred’s voice breaches the din of the party.
“Do not tell me to calm down. There is something in my food.”
“Don’t be so theatrical.”
“You know I hate it when you say that!” She takes her plate and puts it down on the floor. “Here, I’ll show you.”
The cat that was looking for scraps takes its cue and races across the room toward her plate. It dips its head and starts to eat, purring deeply.
Everyone is watching now, like it’s a car crash, and nothing happens for a minute, but then the cat goes rigid, and starts to shudder, then falls to the ground stiff as a board.
Dead. 44
38 This is a clue .
39 Made of crème de banane, crème de cacao, Kahlúa, vodka, and half-and-half. Sorry, Catalina, but that sounds disgusting !
40 Interesting fact: Catalina Island has a famous feral cat population!
41 To be accurate, everything Connor does is conspicuous.
42 It isn’t, actually, but WHATEVER.
43 A beat sheet is a document that outlines the beats in a screenplay. There are different theories about how many beats there should be. I’m not sure which theory David subscribes to. Probably none because a beat sheet is supposed to keep your screenplay from being bad .
44 Don’t worry. No actual cats were harmed in the making of this scene.