Chapter 24. Can a Good Night’s Sleep Help You Solve a Murder?
Can a Good Night’s Sleep Help You Solve a Murder?
Where were we? Oh, right, Marta made some threats. That happens so often it barely registers with me. But with that warning, Marta stops talking, and Officer Rolle sends us back to our rooms, telling us—again—to stay there till morning.
When we get back, Harper seems to have gone to sleep, and so we decide to do that, too.
And improbably, it works. I tuck myself into my lumpy bed and pull up the comforter that should never be viewed under a black light, and fall into a deep sleep without any effort, something that rarely happens.
But tonight, tonight, I swim deep, tumbling through dreams, images, all the people I’ve met and seen die in the last year.
But it’s not a nightmare; it’s a catalogue.
It’s my brain going over and over and over the evidence and sifting it through.
Putting it into order, seeing the patterns.
And eventually, there’s a moment of clarity, and I know who did it.
Me.
“El? You okay?” Oliver’s shaking me gently.
I blink slowly against the morning light. “I did it.”
“What?”
“The murders. It was me.”
“Are you serious?”
I rub my eyes with my fists, and the images start to recede. The certainty. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, in my dream, it was me, but that doesn’t make sense, does it?”
His dark brown eyes cloud with concern. “Are you having a stroke?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Smile for me.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to check if your smile is crooked. That’s one of the signs.”
I sit up. “I’m not having a stroke. I think it’s more of an epiphany.”
“Please explain because I’m about to call the staff doctor.”
“I’m not sure I can. I just know we haven’t solved it yet.”
“I don’t agree,” Oliver says. He runs his hand through his curly hair. How does he look so good and put together after the night we had. After three murders?
I feel like a potato that got half skinned before it was put into boiling water.
“Explain it to me like I’m five.”
The side of his mouth twists. I bet his breath doesn’t even smell.
“Guy was involved with the Giuseppes. We know this from two sources now, Connor and Marta. He’s been pissed at Connor for years.
Probably for ‘solving’ the whole plot in Italy ten years ago.
That wasn’t the plan. They were helping Gianni plan those robberies.
They weren’t supposed to go to the police.
But when the murder happened, Connor decided it was too much.
So he found a way to ‘solve’ the crimes and get the finder’s fee, which I bet he didn’t share with Guy.
And regardless, now they had an enemy. A dangerous one.
“So, Connor and Guy have no choice but to leave Italy. Then you write your book, and they both get famous. Guy always said it himself—he couldn’t work as a detective anymore because of it.
So he writes his book, it doesn’t sell, what’s he got left?
I bet his resentment builds over time. And then Antonio, the capo, dies, and maybe Guy reaches out to Sylvie with the idea in the first place. ”
“But what would he get out of killing Connor?”
“Satisfaction?”
I shudder. “Maybe. So that’s why he brought the gun to Italy? To kill Connor.”
“Or to defend himself if necessary.”
“But we survived.”
“You did.”
“So he’s still pissed, and he figures he’ll find the rest of the family to finally get revenge?”
“Sounds like it.”
“But why not just kill us in LA? Why bring us here?”
“He’d be a suspect if anything happened to you in LA. But here, they’d get blamed. It would come out who Marco and Marta were. So, he gets away with it.”
“He tricked them.”
“Yes.”
“And Brian?”
“He wasn’t working with Guy,” Harper says, coming into the room, her hair a mess and deep circles under her eyes.
“What?”
“I read the book. I stayed up all night, but I did it.”
“Did he really write out everything he was doing?”
“Not exactly. I’m not sure why he was writing it—he said at one point that it would be like an O. J. Simpson thing, How I’d Do It—”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Yep.”
“So what did you find?” I climb out of bed and put on a robe, as Oliver does the same. We don’t sleep in the nude, but I don’t want to be talking to my sister with both of us in our underwear either.
She catches us up on the details we already figured out: Guy planned to bring me and Connor here so the Giuseppes could kill us off once and for all.
He could blame them and then turn them over to Inspector Tucci.
He’d get off scot-free and get a book out of it, too.
Once he changed enough details “to protect the guilty,” which is a line he plagiarized FROM ME.
Guy even cackled about Connor being stupid enough to fall for it. Again.75
“And Brian?”
“Guy was suspicious of him from the beginning. So he started to look into him. He thought Marco and Marta had hired him to watch him.”
“Did they?”
“He couldn’t find any connection between them. But when he found Brian snooping in his room, his suspicions were confirmed.”
“So Guy killed Brian?”
“Unclear. He told Marco about it, but Marco denied having anything to do with Brian being here. Said he’d just applied for the job.”
“Impossible. He was sent here.”
“Obviously.”
“But by who?”
“It must be Marco and Marta,” I say.
“But why?” Harper says. “They were already on the inside. Marco runs the place. He didn’t need an inside man.”
“Guy, then.”
“Then why cover it up in the book? His surprise was genuine. And Guy’s not that sophisticated. I mean, his plan is the same plan as they had in Italy.”
I freeze in place. “Say that again.”
“It’s what they planned to do in Italy, isn’t it? Get you and Connor together with a bunch of suspects. Kill you off. Blame someone else.”
“So, who were Marco and Marta going to blame it on?” I ask. “From their perspective?”
Oliver tucks his head to the side. “Ravi, Sandrine, Stefano, Crazy Cathy—take your pick.”
“Crazy Cathy loves me.”
He shakes his head. “A crazy thing called love.”
“Whatever.”
“Okay, yes, they might all be considered viable suspects to kill me, but not Connor.”
“Who says Connor was the target?”
“You just said that’s what Guy wanted to do.”
“But he could blame Marco and Marta.”
“Exactly. So why are the other people here, then?”
Harper frowns. “I don’t follow.”
“Why are there other suspects at this conference?”
“Connor made sure they were here.”
“Probably. And probably at Guy’s suggestion, but why? If the plan was to blame Marta and Marco, why bring Sandrine, Stefano, or Ravi into it? And then what about Brian? What’s happening now, it isn’t Guy’s plan.”
“Obviously,” Harper says. “He’s dead.”
“I mean, from the moment Brian arrived, it wasn’t his plan. It was somebody else’s.”
“Wait,” Harper says. “What?”
“Like you said, we’ve seen this film before.”
“Guy’s not the director?” Oliver says.
“Not anymore. Someone else figured out what he was doing and is using it to their advantage. That’s why he’s dead. That’s why Brian’s dead. And Inspector Tucci, too.”
“So … not Marta and Marco?”
“I don’t think so. Because if it was their plan, then why are Connor and I still here? No one’s even tried to kill Connor. No one’s really tried to kill me. So, something else is going on … Someone else is in charge here.”
“But who?”
I flip through the Rolodex of suspects in my brain but come up blank. “I have no idea.”
“How are we going to figure it out?”
“The way we usually do.”
“Which is?”
“Gather all the suspects and start asking questions.”
“Oh, sure,” Harper says. “What could go wrong with that?”
We decide Oliver should find Officer Rolle to tell him the conclusion we’ve come to while Harper and I get dressed. She leaves, and I root around in the drawers in our room looking for something suitable to wear to the potential unveiling of a murderer.
It’s harder than you think.
I’m amazed my things aren’t still in their suitcase where I left them, then smile. Oliver. That man. He is the best. And he’s right. We’re engaged now. I have to find a way to be done with Connor emotionally. I should start by never going on vacation or any other type of trip with him again.
I have a new Connor Smith/Vacation Mysteries book coming out in a couple of weeks, and we’ll have a bunch of events together, but once that’s done, that’s it. My book with Oliver isn’t coming out till the fall. I haven’t written another Connor Smith mystery. I’m out of contract. I’m free.
I smile as my hand hits something hard in the drawer.
I pull it out. It’s a small blue box. You know, one of those boxes. I let it sit in my palm for a minute. I shouldn’t open this.
Oliver said he wanted to have a moment to give this to me. A proper moment that wasn’t tainted by murder and mayhem. And I get that, I do. But I also have low impulse control.
You know that about me, obviously.
So, do you really expect me not to peek? I mean, it’s research. And it’s in Oliver’s best interest. Because what if I don’t like the ring? There’s still time to change it, and I don’t have a great poker face. He’d want me to be happy with it, right?
But wait. Harper. Harper knew about the proposal. He must’ve consulted her about the ring. So the ring is fine. I can put it back in the drawer and forget about it.
Ha ha.
You didn’t fall for that, did you? Not after all this time. Actually, I haven’t looked yet. But I am taking it with me to Harper’s room to ask her about it.
I enter without knocking, which I should also know better than to do, but did you just read that thing above about my bad impulse control?
“Harper, am I going to like this ring?”
She looks up from where she’s sitting on her bed with what looks like a journal on her lap. “Where did you find that?”
“In a drawer.”
“Put it back.”
“I will, but I want to know if I’m going to like it.”
“You’ll like it.”
“Promise?”
She shakes her head. “You’re awful, you know that?”
“But you love me anyway.”
She doesn’t say anything, which is not a great feeling.
“Are you in love with Sandrine?”
“What? No.”
I bite my lip. “But you’re together, yes? You’ve … hooked up?”
She blushes, then nods.
“How could you?”
“You want me to draw you a picture?”
“I understand the mechanics—I want to know how come you slept with my ex–best friend.”
“We ran into each other at a party. You know I’ve been down since everything that happened on Catalina. You were even the one who told me to go to the party. You remember, the one Rich was throwing? Anyway … one thing led to another.”
I take a deep breath. I want to push this and confront her. Tell her how betrayed I feel by her choices. But she knows me better than anyone. She knows how bad I’d feel about it.
That must be why she did it.
And okay, okay, I’m making it about me again, but is there another way to see it?
“Can I give you a bit of advice?” I say.
“Maybe?”
“It seems like you keep ending up getting involved with people in my world. Connor, Shawna, Sandrine. And I know it’s none of my business, but this is all related to why I fired you. Go find someone who has nothing to do with me, okay? Untangle your life from mine.”
“You think it’s easy?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Harper looks off to the side. “All anyone ever asks me about is you. Even Sandrine. You think I don’t know why she’s interested in me?”
“She’s trying to hurt me.”
“Yes.”
“So why did you go along with it?”
Her eyes brim with tears. “Maybe I was trying to hurt you, too.”
My own eyes start to well. “Why?”
“I don’t know, El. I ask myself that all of the time.”
I gulp down the tears forming. This is not the time or place to have a deep discussion about why my sister wants to hurt me.
Besides, I already know the answer.
“Maybe you can write about it in there.” I gesture to the journal she’s holding. “But also, since when have you journaled?”
She shrugs, and I reach for it. She pulls it away quickly, but not quickly enough for me. I have great reflexes from years of tennis.
“Give it back.”
“I wanna see.” I take a step back as she stands and moves toward me. I flip it open.
“Don’t read that.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s private.”
I glance down. I see the word “murder” before Harper wrenches it from my hand.
“You’re journaling about murder?”
“It’s just a writing exercise. Like you assign to your students.”
“Okay.”
She holds the journal against her chest. “You really have a problem with boundaries.”
“I know.”
“Are you working on it?”
“I fired you, didn’t I?”
“Hilarious.”
“You’re still writing?”
“No.”
I make a face.
“Okay, yes. But it’s not going anywhere. Like I told you.”
“You’re going to do that podcast thing?”
“I think so.”
“Okay.”
“You should put that away before Oliver gets back.” She points to the ring box.
“Good idea.” I tuck it into the pocket of my skirt for safekeeping.
Harper releases a sigh. “Someone wants to kill you? Again?”
“Seems like it, given all the suspects and everything.”
“They’ve killed so many other people, though … Oh! And Then There Were None? Maybe that’s the plan. To kill all of us.”
“Or it’s another smokescreen.”
“We have no idea what’s going on, is what you’re telling me.”
“Pretty much,” I say. “We need to talk to the others.”
“I thought that’s what we’re doing.”
“Thanks for the reminder. I’m going to go put this back. Be ready to leave in five. And bring that.” I point to her journal.
“Why?”
“I want to try something.”