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Seems like everyone’s cashing in on this tragedy.

I’d expect nothing less.

Which brings us to Connor.

I almost forgot about him.

His book came out early, and we were invited to his lavish book launch at Zibby Books in Santa Monica. It’s a small store, but the choice of location was intentional. There was a line two miles long to get in there for Connor to sign a copy.

Not that I went to his event. I just saw the pictures on Instagram.

I think he was pissed we didn’t go.

But I didn’t want to be in that maelstrom.

I read it, though. And it pains me to admit this, but it wasgood?

ANYWAY.

“Bus arriving,” Oliver says as a dark blue minibus with the Footprints logo on it pulls up. Ten other people have gathered around us while I’ve been summarizing, at least one of whom I recognize: Elizabeth Ben, the grande dame of detective fiction. She’s in her eighties, thinning out and frail, and walks with a cane. But her dark brown eyes still shine with intelligence.

She’s written fifty bestselling murder mysteries, and I’ve never figured out the ending of any of them.

It can’t be a coincidence that she’s here.

You should know me well enough by now to know it isn’t.

Something is afoot.

Because of course it is.

You didn’t think I was going to be able to go on vacation somewhere without someone dying, did you?

LOL.

But even thoughIshould know better by now, I’ve found thatmoments of chaos are often preceded by moments of calm. Like the ride to the hotel down a palm-lined street while the Caribbean glimmers beneath a cloudless sky.

Like the glass of Champagne we’re greeted with before we’re even shown to our white stuccoed villa.

But there’s no forgetting when the porter opens our door for us and stops short with a piece of our luggage in each hand, then drops them with a thud to the ground.

“What now?” Harper says with an impatience that’s uncharacteristic for her.

But as she pushes ahead and her hand flies up to her mouth to stifle a scream, I almost don’t have to look to know what she’s seeing.

There’s a body lying on its back in the middle of the room with a bullet in its temple.

Shit.

This probably won’t come as a surprise for you, but:ThisWeekend Isn’t Going to End Well for Anyone.