Chapter 27. Did I Know You Were Trouble When You Walked In?
Did I Know You Were Trouble When You Walked In?
We’re back in our room, and I’m spiraling. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can barely stand erect.
My brain won’t stop spinning.
Living with me is exhausting. I need a vacation from myself. Which I’m going to get on right after I get off this infernal island.
I can’t believe I came to another island.
Never again.
“You okay?” Oliver asks.
“Um, no.”
“I know.” He bends down in front of me. We’re in our bedroom. Harper’s gone to hers. It’s hot in here, the large, heavy fan above the bed spinning lazily and slightly off-kilter, like its position is precarious. “It’s going to be okay.”
“How can you say that?”
He tries to smile. “Because we can’t die right after we get engaged.”
“Are we engaged?”
“Think so. You’ve got the ring, haven’t you?”
“How did you…” I laugh. “You know me so well.”
“Hope so.” He holds out his hand.
“What?”
“The ring?”
“Oh, yes.” I go to stand, and something tumbles to the floor. The journal I was holding—Harper’s journal.
“What’s that?” Oliver asks.
“Harper’s journal.”
“She keeps a journal?”
“That’s what I said.”
“So many secrets.”
“Uh, yeah, that’s why we’re in this situation.”
“Probably.” He frowns. “No secrets between us, though.”
“Nope. Especially since you can read my mind at all times.”
“The ring?”
I reach into the pocket of my skirt, panicking for a minute that I lost it. But it’s there, tucked deep. I take it out, placing it in his palm.
“You looked inside, I assume,” he says.
“I didn’t.”
“Come on.”
“I was going to, but Harper told me not to.”
“Since when do you listen to her?”
“I don’t, but I think we got interrupted with a murder.”
“That happens.”
“Too many times.”
“But you want to get married?” Oliver asks.
“So?”
“It implies you believe in a future.”
I smile at him. “I do.”
“I think that part comes later.” He palms the ring box. “So…”
“Yes?”
“You’re always stealing my dialogue.”
“I’m sorry, I’ll be quiet now.”
“Thank you.” He pauses, looking a little lost. He’s so sweet, this man who’s half crouched on the floor in front of me. And he seems at a loss for words, which isn’t like him.
“You were saying?”
He smiles. “I had a whole speech planned.”
“Summarize?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Feels like the right time.”
“I agree.”
He brushes a piece of hair out of my eyes. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
“I … It was in Vicki’s office, wasn’t it?”
“It was. She’d just acquired my novel, and I was having my first in-person meeting with her. It was supposed to be at three, but she was late coming back from lunch with you. And you come in the room, and you’ve had a few Proseccos…”
I smile, remembering. “Naturally.”
“And you were telling this story about the worst waiter you’d ever had and you were waving your hands around, and it was—”
“Annoying?”
“Magical.”
My face flushes. “Oh.”
“Maybe I’ve never said this, but that’s what you are in my life, El. The magic. I’m not that exciting of a guy.”
“I don’t agree.”
“I’m not. I’m okay with that. I write cerebral detective fiction, and I’m not that successful, and I am a little too fussy for my own liking about my sock drawer.”
“You like it how you like it.”
“You should know that’s probably going to get worse as I get older.”
“The socks?”
“All of it. They say people mellow with age, but I don’t believe that.”
“That doesn’t bode well for me,” I say. “Or you, for that matter, because I’m already pretty nuts.”
He smiles. “I’m good with it.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m on my knees, aren’t I?”
“Asking?”
“You to marry me.”
“Truly, really, for real?”
“Truly, really, for real.”
“I accept.”
He gives me a wide grin. “You haven’t seen the ring yet.”
“It’s exchangeable, right?”
“You’re not going to want to exchange it.”
“So confident.”
“I did my research.”
“You got the password to my Pinterest from Harper.”
“You have a Pinterest?”
Will I ever stop saying the first thing to comes to mind in any situation?
Probably not.
Sigh.
“I use it to storyboard for my books.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Whatever. Open the box.”
He looks down. “I think I’m more nervous about this part than the last part.”
“Just open it.”
He tips the lid open and my eyes start to water. Tears, good ones. Because it’s exactly the ring I wanted without knowing I wanted it. A square-cut solitaire on a platinum band that’s classic, timeless.
But also familiar.
“Is this … my mom’s?”
“It is.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Harper said she found it in the box at the bank.”
I give myself a little shake. “There was a box at the bank? I didn’t know that.”
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
His face is like sunshine as he slips it on. It fits perfectly. I never noticed it before, but my hands look exactly like I remember my mother’s looking. And this makes it hard to breathe.
But maybe I’m wrong. She died so long ago that I’ve forgotten so many things about her.
Her voice.
Her laugh.
I know that’s what happens, but I stuffed her down, her and my father, for so long it’s almost like they didn’t exist. Like this ring. Hidden away in a lockbox in a bank that I didn’t know existed.
How much of my life is there that I don’t know about yet?81
“Thank you for doing this,” I say.
“We’re getting married.”
“We’re getting married. Though we already knew that because I did propose first.”
He rocks me from side to side. “I’m never hearing the end of that, am I?”
“I’ll probably stop mentioning it for a while and then spring it on you when we’re in a fight or something.”
“Sounds like you.” He leans forward and we kiss, a sweet kiss to seal our troth. “I think we should get married at the courthouse.”
“Police officers and a security check. That sounds like a good idea.” I smile at him and reach forward, the journal in my lap slipping to the floor. It flies open. Oliver picks it up, glancing at it. Then his eyebrows start to rise.
“Yikes.”
“What?”
He reads. “‘It was a bright, sunny day, but that didn’t change how black she felt inside. It was like tar; it stuck to everything she thought and touched and breathed. She’d tried everything she could think of to get rid of it, but she never managed.
It was all she could do to concentrate on other things because the truth of it was, she wanted to kill someone. Not someone. Her.’”
“What the hell.” I reach for the book and continue reading. “‘We all have someone we’d kill for. Someone who could drive us over the edge if they tried hard enough. If we thought no one was looking…’”
“What is this?” Oliver asks.
“It looks like … she was doing the exercises from my class.”
“Okay.”
“What?” I say.
“It’s pretty dark.”
“It’s just a writing exercise.”
“I know, but…”
I look up at him. “Are you suggesting that Harper is behind all of this?”
“No.”
“You were.”
I frown at him. “You were thinking it, too.”
“She can’t be.”
“Let’s work it out,” he says. “And see. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Oliver sits down next to me on the edge of the bed. “She knew everything she’d need to know to plan it—all those hidden details that are only known by someone who was with us in the past or who read the books.”
“But she wasn’t on the organizing committee.”
“She could’ve figured out what Connor was up to … Oh! Connor could’ve told her. They’re in touch, aren’t they? Working together even.”
I feel sick to my stomach. “On a book, not on a murder.”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Let me see … She wasn’t here when Brian got killed, but Guy was.”
“So now she’s working with Guy, too?”
Oliver gives me a grim look. “Maybe Connor tells her about his plan with Guy to snuff them out. Or she figures it out because of things Connor tells her—he’s not that smart.”
“And then?”
“She decides to put her plan in motion using their plan as cover.”
“To kill me?”
“No, you’re not the target, I don’t think.”
“But I got the note.”
“The note is a red herring. Remember who sent the note in Catalina?”
“Oh!” I say. “The murderer.”
“And why did they send it?”
“To divert suspicion. So Harper was diverting suspicion away from me? Because I had a motive to kill Guy?”
“Guy wasn’t supposed to die, I don’t think. He wasn’t the target.”
“Who was?”
“That’s the one thing I can’t get to,” he says. “Who here does she want to kill?”
“It is me.”
“Why?”
“Because I fired her.”
“But that just happened.”
“It’s been coming for months. And she’s been screwing up. Not having me do Elizabeth’s blurb. Other little things. It’s like she’s wanted me to fire her.”
“Why?”
“Maybe she wants to get away from me. Maybe that’s why she got with Sandrine…”
“She could just quit.”
“But if I die, then she inherits. A lot.”
Oliver squeezes my hand. “Is she short on money?”
“I have no idea. I pay her well, we co-own the house, but we don’t talk about finances … It’s a weird thing when I have so much more than her.”
“I don’t feel like Harper is motivated by money.”
“No,” I say, “you’re right, but…” I squeeze my hands together. “I think she blames me for everything that’s happened in the last six months. I’m always saying that every time I go on vacation, someone dies, but every time I go on vacation, I drag her with me, and she’s in danger, too.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“I’m not saying it’s logical. But at the same time, I’m the source of the majority of the strife she’s faced in her life. Maybe she’s sick of it. Maybe she’s sick of me. And all of it, the loss, it’s killed something in her, and so now she wants me dead.”
“You think she could’ve hidden it from you?”
“I don’t know. But what she wrote in that journal?” I shudder. “You’re right. It’s very dark. And it doesn’t even sound like her. It’s not the way she usually writes or thinks.”
“Why would she kill Elizabeth?”
“Maybe Elizabeth saw something? Or it was another misdirection. Because there hasn’t been a pattern to any of this, and maybe that’s the point.”
“Hide the solution in chaos.”
“Yes.”
“That’s smart.”
“Harper’s smart. I’ve always said that.” I hug myself. “It would be just like her to come up with the perfect murder.”
“Only you’re still alive. And the list of suspects is getting smaller every time someone dies.”
“You’re right.”
“If she killed you now, it would be too late. There’s no one left.”
“Only Connor.”
“Maybe they are in on it together—”
A bitter laugh bursts out from the doorway, and I don’t have to turn to know who it is. Harper. Listening.
“Oh my God, you guys, this is the best one yet.”
I stand up, feeling sad and desperate. “Harper, I can explain.”
“You had to do it, right? Make sure that it wasn’t me.”
“I didn’t want to.” Tears spring to my eyes. “I really didn’t.”
She shakes her head sadly. “If you say so. I’m not the murderer, by the way.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. I’m sorry, Harper. I really am.”
“You always give me too much credit.” Her mouth twists. “I wasn’t smart enough to know what Connor was up to with Guy. I should’ve figured it out, but I didn’t.”
“He told you?”
“In retrospect … he told me enough.”
“When? Why?”
She looks at her shoes. Once bright white, now faded. “You were right before. I’m ghosting his books.”
“Holy hell,” Oliver says.
“Why?”
“Why not? At least I’m getting published.”
“Under his name.”
“What’s in a name? Ego, that’s all.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you would’ve tried to talk me out of it.”
“You’re right.”
She looks at the book sitting next to me. “I can’t believe you read my journal.”
“We’re trying to figure out who the murderer is. Nothing is off-limits.”
“I should be.”
“You’re right.”
“There’s a problem, though.”
“What?” I say.
“If I didn’t do it, who did?”
Oliver coughs.
“Yes?”
“I think it was Vicki.”
“No.”
“Who else is left?”
“Stefano? Sandrine? Inspector Tucci? Connor? Cathy?”
“I don’t think any of them had all the information necessary. We need to talk to Vicki.”
“But we’re supposed to stay in our rooms,” Harper says. “Arrested on sight, Officer Rolle said. And they’ll never let us near her.”
“Hmmm.” Oliver smiles, and I can see the thought bubble forming over his head. “Maybe they aren’t watching the back doors.”
“What did you have in mind?” I say.
“There’s one place we haven’t searched yet. Brian’s room.”
“Ooh,” I say. “Good idea.”
We stand up at the same time as the bed gives a weird creak.
Then there’s a mechanical sound, like a chain being pulled through a cog on a wheel, and then a loud crash!
The ceiling fan that was positioned over the bed is now slowly spinning where I’ve slept the last two nights.
“Holy shit!”
“Are you okay?” Oliver asks me.
“Yeah, I … Oh my God.”
“What?”
I look at the dark wood fan lying askew on our bed. “It’s a blunt object. And it could’ve killed us.”