Chapter 18. Is This a Subplot?
Is This a Subplot?
This is a lot to process.
I’m sure your head is reeling a bit. I know mine is.
Connor and Guy arranged for this conference to be in the Bahamas to discover where Marta was hiding when they knew where Marta was hiding.
Wait.
That doesn’t make sense.
Which shouldn’t surprise me, because when has anything Connor’s ever done made any sense? Not on the surface, anyway. You have to dig down to get to the truth.
Like an excavation of an ancient civilization.
So, let the digging begin.
“If you knew where Marta was,” I ask, “why did you need to bring the rest of us into it?”
Connor answers in the same tone he did in the last chapter. “We needed a plausible excuse to be here so we didn’t spook her.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s the truth.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Give me a break. The minute Guy showed up, or before, even, when Marta learned who was coming to the conference, she’d be out of here.”
“Isn’t she an international fugitive?” Oliver says. “She’d need some time to arrange new papers if she wanted to leave … Wait. Did Guy tell her he could get her papers?”
Connor touches his nose with his index finger and points to Oliver.
“Do not say ‘Winner, winner, chicken dinner,’” I say.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That was his way of trapping her here?” Oliver says. “He wasn’t getting the papers; he was just waiting until everyone was in place.”
“Yes.”
“What was the plan then? Where’s Marta?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?” I say. “I thought you said she was here.”
“Marta’s here?” Harper says from the doorway. “What?”
I turn in surprise. “How did you find us?”
She shakes the phone she’s carrying, showing me her Find My Friends app.
“You’re still tracking me? I thought I told you to turn that off months ago.”
“Excuse me, it saved your life already once.”
“Did you find them, Harp—” Sandrine says, stopping behind Harper. “Oh, are we interrupting?”
“You’re hanging out with her? Again?”
Harper looks momentarily guilty, then sheds it. “What has that got to do with Marta being here?”
“Nothing. Or wait, maybe it does. Did you know she was here, Sandrine?”
Sandrine brings her hand up to her heart in pretend offense. “I don’t even know who Marta is.”
Wait. Is that true?
Sandrine wasn’t in Italy. And I changed her name in the book I wrote about it, so, maybe.
But something else is bothering me.
And it’s not just that she’s hanging out with Harper!
“You’ve been in touch with Guy, though. He told me. He implied you were involved romantically, and—what is it, Harper? Why do you start coughing every time I say that?”
“Nothing. Go on.”
I look at her, but I can’t let myself get distracted. “Anyway, as I was saying, Guy said you were here because he’d suggested it. But why would he do that? Why would he suggest that you come to an event he knew a murderer was at? Or any of us?” I turn to Connor. “Explain.”
“Guy told me he’d established communication with Marta before he got here.
He made the offer of giving her new papers so she could leave and go somewhere where no one could find her.
He told her he’d bring them to her. That he’d applied for the job here as cover so he could help her without raising suspicion.
He told me he made contact again when he got here, but not where she was specifically. ”
“Is she on staff?” Harper asks.
“I don’t know. I just know the family owns this place.”
“So the real plan was what?” I ask. “Come here, flush her out, and turn her in?”
Connor bites his lip.
“Oh, no, you didn’t.”
“What?”
“You were using me as bait, weren’t you? All of us. That’s why the conference is here. You figured she wouldn’t be able to resist exposing herself if I was this close to her.”
Oliver moves across the room like a shot, pushing Connor up against the wall, his arm across Connor’s throat. It happens so fast it takes us all by surprise, including Connor.
“Is she right, Connor? Is that what you’ve done? You’ve put Eleanor in danger?”
“Take a step back, old boy.”
“Answer the question.”
Connor tries to wriggle free, but Oliver’s got him in an iron grip. “Okay, yes, that was the plan. It was Guy’s idea.”
“And you went along with it?”
“He didn’t leave me much choice.”
“How’s that?”
Connor tries to move again, but Oliver holds him fast. “Will you let me go already?”
Oliver glances back at me and I nod. He releases him.
Connor steps away and pulls his shirt down where it rose up out of his trousers. “That wasn’t necessary.”
“I’ll decide that. Enough of your lies, Connor. Tell us what’s going on.”
Connor looks at me, then Harper.
A duo of women he’s slept with. Disappointed. Lied to.
Does he even care about that? Did he ever care about me?
Ah, now we’re getting to it, aren’t we?
Anyway, that’s not important right now.
“Let’s go, Connor,” I say. “Out with it.”
“As I told you, Guy found out that this resort is owned by the Giuseppes and that Marta was here. He reached out to me to ask me—no, insist—that I help him capture her.”
“Capture or kill?”
“He said capture.”
“And you believed him?”
“Guy has never killed anyone to my knowledge.”
“That’s so reassuring.”
“Let him talk, Eleanor,” Sandrine says. “It’s just getting good.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, but I do notice that she and Harper are standing awfully close to one another and … no. No, no, no, no.
Harper and Sandrine?
Seriously?
Sandrine’s married. Not that this has stopped her before, but Harper is my sister. Which is probably the point. The better to screw with me, so to speak.
And Harper? What does this say about her? She keeps sleeping with my sloppy seconds—Connor, Sandrine. Who else?
I shake myself, trying to regain my focus because everyone is watching me, waiting for me to say something.
“Uh … Why didn’t you just call Inspector Tucci and be done with it?”
“He doesn’t have jurisdiction here.”
“He could get her extradited, I’m sure.”
Connor flaps his hand in dismissal. “That is a whole long, involved process, and she might disappear before it was complete. Like I said, the plan was to get her to commit to staying, then come here and capture her ourselves and deliver her to Inspector Tucci.”
“So that’s why Inspector Tucci is here?”
“Yes.”
“How did you arrange that? Wasn’t someone else supposed to be on the faculty?”
“Guy took care of it.”
“And that didn’t make you suspicious? That he could pull strings and get a member of the Italian police force to the Bahamas?” I say.
Connor pulls in and exhales a long breath. “I didn’t ask sufficient questions, I grant you.”
“Too busy thinking about saving your own skin,” Oliver says.
“How do you reckon?”
“Marta wants you dead, too. If she’s behind bars, you’re safe.”
“Right,” I say. “And me, Oliver, Harper—we’re all here to tempt her to act. To pull her out of her hidey-hole.”
“Yes.”
“But it backfired somehow.”
“Clearly.”
“Marta killed Guy.”
“That’s my working theory.”
“She was in the dining room?”
“I didn’t see her,” Harper says.
“Are you sure you’d recognize her?” I ask.
“I spent a lot of time with her when she was working in the marketing department.”
“You didn’t … You weren’t involved with her, with you?”
“What? No. Why would you ask that?”
My eyes travel to her hand, which is now holding Sandrine’s. She drops it as her cheeks redden. “I spent a lot of time with her because I was working for you. Setting up your tours, and events, and appearances. So yeah, I’d recognize her.”
“Fine, sorry.”
“Honestly.”
“Maybe she’s wearing a disguise,” Oliver offers. “And it was dark. She might’ve slipped in and done it and then slipped out again.”
“That could work. But why kill Guy? I was sitting right next to him. Did she make a mistake?”
“I have a theory about that,” Connor says.
“Which is?”
“Marta figured out what he was up to. So she took the opportunity to kill him.”
“Why not you?”
“She must not know we were working together.”
“Or she has other plans for you.”
Connor smirks. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“What do you think?”
“I have a question,” Sandrine says. “How did you get the conference put here, exactly?”
“I volunteered to be on the organizing committee.”
“You’re on the organizing committee?” I say.
“Always the tone of surprise.”
“Using your own time to work on something that benefits people other than you? Doesn’t sound like Connor Smith.”
“He was working for himself,” Oliver points out. “Zero surprise.”
“I was doing it for all of us.”
“And Guy’s predecessor?” Oliver asks. “How did that factor in?”
“Guy arranged it. I’m not sure who he convinced to make him an offer to leave—someone, obviously.”
“How can you not know?”
Connor looks at me. “Aren’t you tired of this, El? Same old argument.”
“She gets off on it.”
“Harper!”
“What? It’s true.”
“We should find Inspector Tucci,” Oliver says. “And Officer Rolle.”
“That, I agree with,” I say. “But wait. What about Brian?”
“Who’s Brian?” Sandrine asks.
“The dead guy that was in our room,” Harper says.
“Ah.”
“You told her?”
Harper shrugs.
How long have they been in contact? How long has this been going on? Back to when Sandrine and I were still friends?
I. Have. So. Many. Questions.
“Why would Marta kill Brian?” I ask. “Was Guy working with him?”
“Not that I know of,” Connor says.
“We’ve established that you don’t know much.”
“See, I told you she gets off on it. Good thing you didn’t propose, Oliver.”
“Harper! What’s gotten into you?”
“Couple of cocktails at lunch,” Sandrine says with a slightly wicked grin.
“You had them, too!”
“Bien s?r. A murderer on the loose. Bodies dropping. That’ll drive anyone to drink.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” I say.
“Have we forgotten anything?” Oliver asks.
Connor lifts his hand. Sitting in the palm of it is the USB stick. How did he get his hands on that? Last time I saw it, Oliver was holding it.
“What’s that?” Harper asks.
“It was hidden in a book in Guy’s office.”
Oliver pats his pockets down. “You lifted it off of me.”
Connor shrugs. “Old habits.”
“Let’s look at it,” Harper says.
“It’s evidence,” I say.
“When has that ever stopped you before?”
“That’s enough out of you, Harper.”
“You can’t just order me around. I mean, you can, because you’re my boss and all, but it kind of sucks that you do.”
“You’re right.” This isn’t the right time to do this, but when has that ever stopped me? “Harper, you’re fired.”
“Ha ha.”
“No, you’re free. I release you.”
Her face falls. Maybe in relief. “Are you being serious right now?”
“Yes.”
“Wow, Eleanor. Firing your own sister. Nice.”
“Shut it, Sandrine.” I look at Harper to see how she’s taking the news. She seems suspended between shock and … happiness? “Harper? You okay?”
She lifts her chin, but her eyes are glistening. “I’m fine.”
“It’s for your own good.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You know it is. You’re miserable. Stuck in my life. Making bad personal decisions.” I try not to look at Sandrine, but I don’t quite manage it. “It’s time for you to figure out what you want to do in your life.”
“Sounds like a good idea for everyone,” Oliver says. “But in the meantime, how about we figure out what’s going on and then we can make big life decisions, yeah?”
I nod. “Where were we?”
“The USB,” Harper offers.
“Anyone have a laptop?”
“I do,” Connor says. “Writing deadlines, you know how it is. Give me a moment.”
My eyes shift to Harper. Her face reddens again.
I knew it.
Connor returns with a silver laptop. He puts the USB into the slot on the side of the computer. He clicks on the icon and finds one folder.
It’s called “Novel.”
“Oh God,” I say. “Not another writer.”
Connor clicks again on the icon, but it won’t open. Instead, a pop-up appears with a prompt for a password.
“Any idea what his password is?” Sandrine asks.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I say. “Connor?”
“It would be something obvious. Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit.”
I think about it for a moment, and then something flashes into my mind. The key to all of this. I reach forward and type:
Giuseppe.
Open sesame.