Epilogue. She’s Not Going to Get Involved in Another Murder, Is She?
EPILOGUE
She’s Not Going to Get Involved in Another Murder, Is She?
Two Weeks Later
What do you still want to know?
The police decided Marco was guilty and Marta was innocent.
He’s been charged with Brian’s and Guy’s murders and is awaiting trial.
Marta was charged as an accessory in Italy, though, with Inspector Tucci accompanying her back to face trial with her sister.
Immunity was never on the table; it was only the lie Inspector Tucci told her to get access to her information.
The solar storm passed, and we were finally able to leave the island.
We spent a day in New York, but I was too tired/afraid to leave the hotel. Harper made fun of me, and Oliver consoled me, but I felt justified.
Sandrine unblocked me on Instagram.
Harper assured me that things between her and Sandrine were never serious, and she was swearing off women and men for at least a year. We’ll see. I hope rather than believe that to be true, but people can change. I’m trying to.
Ravi isn’t talking to me. I’m not sure if he blames me for Elizabeth’s plan or if it’s the lingering issues with his brother’s death, but we aren’t friends, and I’m okay with that.
Crazy Cathy slithered off to whatever she does between stalking me. I’m sure I haven’t seen the last of her. You’ll be happy to hear that, I’m sure.
John Hart left prison, and Harper started her podcast. By which I mean she’s immersed herself in research on how to podcast, listening to as many as she can, taking copious notes, and drawing up plans.
I hope she follows through with it. But even if she doesn’t, untangling her life from mine is a good step.
She’s even moved into the pool house at the back of our property.
I told her she didn’t have to do that, and she said she did, and oh, by the way, I’m paying to renovate it to her liking, so she’s taking her pound of flesh for the firing, and I’m okay with that.
With her moving out, we decided Oliver would move in formally. I let him have two drawers, a third of my closet, and Harper’s room as his office.
I’m kidding. He got three drawers, okay? Satistified?
Every morning and night, I check with him that he still wants to marry me, and he says he does.
I choose to believe him.
Elizabeth’s books returned to the bestseller lists, blocking Amalfi Made Me Do It from making the list. That seems fitting. She would’ve been happy with that, I think. I’ll never know.
All I do know is that being a murderer seems to be great for book sales.
But don’t worry. I’m not that desperate for another number one.
In fact, I’m quitting. I meant what I said before. I’m done. At least with murder, real and fictional. You probably think I’m joking, but I’m not. I need to rid my life of darkness and focus on something good. Oliver and me. Our future happiness. Our future.
I’ve managed to escape a bunch of dangerous situations, but I’m not a cat, and even if I were, I must be on my last life. I have to make myself small, less of a target. And I’m okay financially. We’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll ghostwrite Connor’s next novel.
Ha!
I haven’t heard from him since we got back. Hopefully, he’s reflecting on his life choices, too. Probably not, though. It’s hard to change.
Oh, and I’m doing dry-rest-of-January. And February, I think. We’ll see after that.
Who am I missing?
Stefano’s TikTok series about being trapped at a mediocre resort with a bunch of murderers went mega-viral, and his NetGalley access was restored. He’s also doing a new series on writing his first book, crowdsourcing ideas. So he’s happy.
Not so sure about Vicki. She’s racked with guilt, and I’ve heard she might get fired. I hope not. She’s still deciding about Oliver’s next manuscript, for one. And what happened wasn’t her fault. We never want to see the bad in those that we love. Even those that we know.
Like the Spanish Inquisition, no one expects a murderer.
I’ve murdered that, haven’t I?
I’m definitely repeating myself.
Maybe I’m being influenced by Elizabeth. This story began with a murder that was made to look like a suicide and ended with a suicide that was made to look like a murder.
Even when her plan went awry, there was a certain beauty to it.
Hmmm.
Elizabeth’s last book is being published after all. Of course it is. I can’t blame our publisher for capitalizing on events, given everything. I’d do the same. A Netflix series is in the works, too, because of course it is. Who’s going to play me this time, I wonder? Ugh.
Oliver got our copyedits done, and he’s turned them in. I haven’t told him my decision. He’ll notice soon enough that I’m not writing. I’ll tell him then.
No, it’s not a test. But it’s not not a test either. Can’t change everything about myself in a couple of weeks. But I’m trying.
I’m trying.
Don’t expect too much from me, okay?
I’m a work in progress. Like a novel that needs another couple of passes and a serious editorial letter to put it right. I’m good at taking notes; I just don’t always manage to incorporate them the first time.
I think that’s it.
Vicki will let me know if I’m missing something.
But before I can be officially done, I have to get through this bus tour my publisher arranged for their spring slate of titles.
Some hop-on, hop-off thingy with other writers that’s touring the most famous celebrity death sites in Los Angeles.
I feel like it’s in poor taste, but no one asked me.
They just made it clear that I needed to attend with a smile on my face.
So here I am.
Me, Oliver, Harper, Connor.85 Vicki’s here, too, looking worried. My film agent, Rich, is also along for the ride (ha!), along with some new protégé of his who wants to option Amalfi Made Me Do It “for the vibes.”86 That’s going to be a no, Rich.
The CEO of my publisher is here, too, a woman I haven’t interacted with much who always seems to be stressed. She’s extra stressed today because there’s a pack of venture capitalists circling the company, and if they’re in, she’s probably out.
Easy come, easy go.
She’s also babysitting one of the imprint’s other stars, Devin Hollister, who just happens to be Oliver’s nemesis. What? I know. Even Oliver has enemies. You see, he’s not perfect. Just almost.
Anyway, things went sideways between Devin and Oliver three years ago over a book they were supposed to write together.
Devin mentioned the idea to Rich, and the next thing you know it was optioned for beaucoup bucks without Oliver.
One New York Times bestseller and a (bad) Netflix movie later, he’s the toast of the town, and Oliver’s shit out of luck.
Personally, I never liked the guy.
And after six interminable hours on the bus, I know one thing—I’m not alone in my dislike of him. I know this because of the next thing. Which makes two things I know about him.87
When we got off the bus at our last stop, we realized that he was slumped over in his middle seat near the back exit, dead.
So I guess there are still going to be murders, after all.88