CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 23
If You Gather All the Suspects in a Library, Will Someone Confess?
“How long is she going to make us wait in here?” Mrs. Winter asks an hour later, her voice rising to a level that could reach the farthest row in a dinner theater.
“I’m sure she’ll be here soon, Mother. Just try to relax. Did you take your pills?” Fred looks to his father, who I don’t think has said two words since Officer Anderson asked us to wait in here half an hour ago.
I told Officer Anderson what I found, but that’s obvious since the dead body is kind of hard to miss. I explained about meaning to go to the bathroom as I slipped my shoes back on and said something about my feet killing me, which I don’t think Officer Anderson bought and Connor definitely didn’t.
A problem for later. Regardless, I left out the time I spent alone with the body or the fact that I thought Ken was Connor or Fred. The second isn’t relevant, and the first could get me thrown in jail.
Officer Anderson phoned the body into her headquarters on the mainland, and then there was a debate about what to do about the party.
Could it continue while someone lay dead in a broom closet?
It could, apparently.
We wouldn’t want to cause a panic.
But the central guests—I mean suspects—were told to come to this room, the—wait for it— library down the hall from the reception.
Me, Oliver, Harper, Shawna, Simone, Fred, Emma, Inspector Tucci, Connor, Allison, David, and Mr. and Mrs. Winter.
We’re in here waiting for Officer Anderson among the old hardcovers and the new paperbacks and the dark oak furniture that might’ve been burnished with cigar smoke. We can hear the thumping of the music through the walls, and the rain slapping the windows. The lights have been flickering for the last ten minutes, dimming down but not quite out, as the windows are lit up by flashes of lightning out over the ocean.
Because of course they are.
We’re sitting in a circle like we’re at an AA meeting. 76 Only we’re way too dressed up and there’s no one reciting the Serenity Prayer. We’ve all been looking at one another with the same thought ringing through our heads.
Who killed Ken ?
I assume that’s what you’re wondering, too.
Let’s eliminate me right off the bat. I know I’ve said I’m out of it before, and you might be thinking that’s a misdirection. I promise you it’s not. This is not that kind of book. 77 I have no reason to kill Fred or Emma or José or Ken. Emma’s my best friend. She doesn’t owe me money. I’m not secretly in love with Fred. I’ve been paid already for this movie, and I’m not invested in its financial success, other than tangentially. 78 I’m not a sociopath. So it’s not me.
Ditto for Harper and Oliver. They have even less of a motive than I do.
And Tyler must be out of it as well. If he hadn’t been arrested, then I might be thinking this was an And Then There Were None 79 scenario and he’s hiding somewhere on the island, but nope, he’s in the Avalon jail. Unless he’s working with someone else, which is always a possibility, but doesn’t seem to fit the facts for reasons I can’t quite put my finger on.
I know one thing, though. Fred is worth more to Tyler alive. And I doubt he’s stupid enough to threaten to kill Fred in full public view if that was his plan all along.
“Where’s a whiteboard when you need it?” Connor says, his tone light, almost jovial.
“Oh God, not that again,” Allison says. “Once was enough.”
“What do you mean?” David asks.
“We used one in Italy,” I explain. “To try to solve the murder there.”
“Ah, like outlining.”
“Sure. If you outline.”
He blinks at me slowly, and I can’t help but wonder: Is David feeling desperate right now? Trying to figure out how to finish the task he screwed up?
Because killing Ken had to have been a screwup.
His only crime is looking too much like Fred.
“We are already here,” Inspector Tucci says. “I do not see what the harm would be in trying to help Officer Anderson, given our expertise.”
There’s a flash of lightning outside and then a thunderclap almost immediately, its boom echoing through the room, rattling the window frames.
Emma jumps, and Fred puts his arm around her, making a shushing sound. Emma’s always been, well, deathly afraid of thunder.
“For the last time, you are not the authorities,” Simone says. “And you have no expertise.”
“We could try to figure it out just the same,” Connor says.
“Why would we do that?” Simone asks.
He cocks a smile. “Aren’t you curious?”
“About?”
“Who did it and why. I would’ve thought the fact that you’re likely sitting in a room with a murderer would motivate you.”
A frisson goes through the room, which was Connor’s intention. He has a flair for the dramatic. It’s, perversely, one of the things that makes him appealing.
“Why don’t we wait for Officer Anderson?” I say.
“Come now, El. You can’t honestly tell me that you’re not intensely curious as to who killed Ken instead of Fred?”
“ Instead of Fred?” Emma says, her voice quavering. She’s still in her wedding dress, and I’m sure deeply regretting that she didn’t change into a second dress. It had been a long debate, but she’d run out of time to find something that she liked.
I’m sure she’s going to want to burn this dress after tonight.
I would, anyway.
“Well, certainly,” Connor says. “Unless you think someone killed Ken deliberately?”
I’m sure he doesn’t quite mean to speak in that tone, but it’s there, just the same.
As in, is Ken even worthy of being killed?
News flash: Everyone is.
“That seems unlikely,” Oliver says. He hasn’t said anything about me and Connor finding the body together, maybe because he doesn’t know that part yet.
He didn’t see me fling myself into Connor’s arms in relief either, thank God.
He doesn’t need to know about that.
No one here does.
You’ll keep my secret, right?
“So, we’re agreed then,” Connor says. “Fred was the intended victim. Which means you, you, you, and you are suspects.” He points to Emma, Simone, Shawna, and David. “And I suppose you lot.” He flicks his gaze to Mr. and Mrs. Winter.
Mrs. Winter pulls her sparkling shawl tight over her shoulders. There’s one half of a fake eyelash loose against the side of her eye, a crack in her facade.
“I do not like your tone, young man.”
“Excuse me?” David says. “What about you ?”
Connor scoffs. “Why would I kill Fred?”
“Because Tyler hired you to.”
“I am not a murderer for hire.”
“He makes a good point, though, Connor,” I say. “You are working for Tyler.”
“Seriously, Eleanor? You think I’m capable of that?”
Is that hurt in his eyes?
“If you were desperate...If you needed the money...”
“I’m fine.”
“In Italy, you were in dire straits. That was only three months ago.”
He juts out his chin. “I just sold my novel in a three-book deal at auction.”
“You...what? The rom-com?” 80
“Yes.”
“Who bought it?”
“Vicki.”
My blood runs cold. “Vicki as in Vicki my editor?”
And Oliver’s. Jesus.
“Yes.”
“Holy shit.”
“And last week I optioned the film rights for high six figures. So I am fine financially. I agreed to some detective work for Tyler, yes, because I like to keep my hand in, and the book deal payment hasn’t gone through yet. He was willing to pay a handsome finder’s fee if I recovered his money—”
“Connor loves a finder’s fee,” Harper says.
“I do. But murder? No. Absolutely not. And I certainly wouldn’t confuse Fred and Ken. Please. Give me that credit, at least.”
Another flash of lightning, and a loud clap of thunder that’s even closer this time. It feels like it shakes the building to its roots.
Emma gives a little squeal.
“It’s okay, Emma,” I say.
“No, it’s not .”
Fred makes that shushing sound again. If Oliver did that to me, it might make me break up with him. But it seems to soothe Emma.
“It’s true about the book deal, El,” Harper says.
I look across the circle to her. “How do you know?”
“I’ve been, um, working with him on it.”
Wait, what ?
“Working on it, how?”
“You know, editing, working through the dialogue with him. Like I do for you.”
“Oh,” Oliver says. “ That’s what you were talking about on the phone.”
“You’ve been listening to my phone calls?”
Oliver looks embarrassed. “Not on purpose. I just heard...”
Harper’s eyes widen. “The read-through. Oh my God. You thought I was with Connor?”
“I didn’t know what to think.”
She looks at me. “And you, El? You thought that?”
“You were defending him! Telling me he’d changed. What was I supposed to think?”
“Ugh. No.”
“No need to be quite so disgusted, surely?” Connor drawls.
“What are we even talking about?” Emma asks.
“I’m sorry, Em. Where were we?”
“We’ve just eliminated Connor as a suspect,” David says. “Who next?”
“You?”
He tips back in his chair. “Me? Whyever?”
“Eleanor, please,” Allison says. “Be serious.”
“I am being serious. I don’t trust him. And you shouldn’t either.”
“Why not?”
“Because he wrote you into the movie, and now you’re dating him. Doesn’t that raise a red flag?”
She looks uncertain. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“And didn’t Emma get you fired off a movie, David?”
Emma sits up. “That’s true.”
“You did?” David asks. “You expressly told me you hadn’t.”
“I only meant I knew that you thought I did.”
“So convincing.”
“So, you’ve been mad at Emma ever since?” I say.
“It was years ago. And yeah, I wasn’t happy. But if I was going to kill her for getting me fired, I would’ve done it back then. Not now.”
“But you thought about it?”
“No!”
“I don’t think it was him, El,” Emma says. “He might hate me, but why would he want to kill Fred?”
“Yes,” David says. “Exactly. Why would I?”
Everyone turns to look at Fred. He holds his hands up. “Don’t look at me. I like David.”
“What if he did it for publicity?” Harper says. “For the movie?”
“That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?” Oliver says.
“Not if he has money problems. David, I mean. And that’s who gets blamed, right, if the movie doesn’t succeed? Not the actors, unless they’re women, but Emma’s already well established. But the writer and director? Especially if they’re people of color...”
“We don’t need you to defend us,” Simone says. “You can keep your white-savior act for someone else.”
Two spots of color tinge Harper’s cheeks. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?” David asks.
“Only that you might be desperate to save your career. This is only your second credit, right?”
“I...”
“I was checking out your IMDb page,” Harper says. “Lots of staff writer jobs, but this is only your second film. And you’re, what? Forty-five? And the writers’ strike...That took a lot out of people like you, didn’t it? Months of no work...”
David turns his palms up. “So I killed two people?”
“Maybe the original plan was just to scare everyone. And then José didn’t want to go along with it anymore, and you ended up killing him, maybe by accident. And then you had to cover up that crime. Maybe Ken saw you do something and was trying to blackmail you, so he had to go, too. As Connor says, who would confuse Ken and Fred? Certainly not from the front.”
Harper sits back, a little out of breath. And I have to admit it.
I’m impressed.
So is Simone because she starts a slow clap. “Bravo.”
“Don’t be a bitch, Simone,” I say. “Wasn’t Mrs. Winter just accusing you of Fred’s murder?”
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
Mrs. Winter throws her a look. “I’ve never liked you.”
So I guess those rumors of Fred and Simone dating all those years ago are true.
Huh.
“Me either, Mrs. Winter,” I say, and immediately regret it.
In my defense—nope, it’s not defensible.
“Nice, Eleanor, nice.”
“I’m sorry, but Harper’s theory is plausible.”
“Please. Someone’s committed two murders to guarantee a box office success? That’s the stupidest plot I’ve ever heard. And what about the sequel he’s already writing? Not going to happen if one of the leads dies.”
“That’s what the sequel could be about.”
“And you think David is behind it?” She makes a dismissive wave of her hand. “No.”
“Central casting again?”
“Yes. But also that theory could apply to any one of us here.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s a bad one,” I say. “Maybe that’s what’s brilliant about it. Get a bunch of people together with the same motive so no one sticks out and you confuse the police...It’s been done before.”
Simone arches an eyebrow. “So a brilliant person designed this plan? Does David strike you as being that smart?”
I consider her. “Why are you defending him?”
She puts her hands out in front of her. “I have no skin in this game.”
“But you have the same motive as me,” David says.
“No, I don’t. I’ve already booked my next gig.”
“What is it?” I ask.
Her composure slips for a moment. “A film I wrote.” 81
“What’s it called?”
“ Untitled .” 82
“Congratulations.”
The room falls silent, the only sound the close grumble of thunder and the clatter of the rain and the party that won’t end, though I don’t blame them.
I’d rather be out there doing bad dance moves to hits from three decades ago than in here with a bunch of people tossed together because they have the means, motive, and opportunity to kill someone.
“I think we’re all forgetting something,” Oliver says, scratching at his chin in the way he does when he’s working on one of his uber-detailed book outlines.
“What’s that?”
“Maybe Fred wasn’t the intended victim.”
“You think it was Ken?” I say.
“No, that theory seems wrong to me—sorry, Harper.”
“Then who?”
But as he says it, I know.
There’s one other person that could be mistaken for Fred.
“Connor.”
There’s another massive CRACK , and then the lights flicker again and go out. Emma squeals and Mrs. Winter starts to mewl like the cat she almost killed yesterday.
Oliver tells everyone to remain calm, but we’re sitting in the dark with a murderer.
We all know how this is going to go.
The lights will come back on and one of us will be dead.
I hug myself, keeping my ears and eyes as alert as possible.
But it’s total darkness. The wind is howling now, a primal shriek. The hairs on my arms are standing straight up as I hear the sound of a chair scraping back, then a door opening.
Oh, shit.
“Don’t do it,” I say. Though I don’t know who I’m pleading to.
And then there’s a whine and a flicker as the generator kicks in and the lights come back on. I search the circle as my eyes adjust to the light. Everyone’s still here, alive.
But in that moment of darkness, something has changed.
There’s a figure in the doorway, a silhouette.
A woman is standing there, wet to the bone, holding what looks like a club above her head as if she’s about to strike.
It’s...Crazy Cathy?
76 Not that I’ve ever been to an AA meeting. In case you were wondering.
77 The next one might be, though. This Weekend Doesn’t End Well for Anyone might be exactly that kind of book.
78 I mean, sure, if the movie is a success, I’ll probably sell some books. And there’s a formula in my contract that means that if it makes a ton of money, I might see some more. Then again, maybe not. Studios are famous for their creative accounting.
79 Sorry if I spoiled that for you. But how have you not read that book yet or at least seen the movie?
80 I learned in Italy that Connor was writing a rom-com with a plot like one of those Hallmark Christmas movies. Small-town girl returns home to hometown boy, etc.
81 Another writer ? Seriously?
82 Damn it, that’s a good title.