Page 126 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

“Oh, but I do have a problem. I know why you’re in Naples. You got reassigned there, didn’t you, after you failed to solve the Giuseppe robberies on your own?”

Inspector Tucci doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at Connor with enmity.

“You should recuse yourself from the case.”

“Pardon me?”

“You can’t investigate this,” Connor says. “I’m the intended victim. You have as much reason to want me dead as any of them. Maybe more than some. You’re biased.”

“That is ridiculous. As ridiculous as your assumptions generally are. I do not hate you. I have a beautiful life in Naples. The ocean is warm, the pizza is delicious, and the cases are generally easy to solve, as I’m sure this one will prove to be.” He looks to the easel. “Who is Allison?”

This time, Allison does raise her hand. “That’s me.”

“Allison…?”

“Smith.”

Inspector Tucci glances at Connor and then back to Allison. “How unfortunate.”

Allison laughs. “Don’t pity me. I divorced him long ago.”

Inspector Tucci’s eyes flit in my direction.

“Yes, that’s right. It was her fault. Hers and Connor’s.”

I sink into the couch, feeling a wave of shame. Oliver hasn’t said anything in a while, and while I want to catch his eye, this isn’t the moment.

Allison laughs again. “Don’t look like that, Eleanor. I forgive you.”

“And me?” Connor asks.

“Let’s not take things too far, shall we?”

“I see you are as good at creating enemies as you always were,” Inspector Tucci says.

Connor places his hands on his hips. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You can’t be on this case.”

“But I am.” He extends a hand. “Mrs. Smith, please come with me.”

“It’s Ms. Smith, now.”

“My apologies.”

She tilts her head down in acknowledgment. “What do you want to speak to me for?”

“Since your party seems to think that you are responsible for this tragedy, I will question you first.”

“You got all that from this?” Isabella says. “I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be,” Connor says. “You don’t have to talk to him, Allison, if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, now you care about my well-being?”

“I—”

“Forget it, Connor. I can take care of myself.” She gives a little shrug and follows Inspector Tucci out of the room.

The police officer who’s been guarding the door, whose name I’ve already forgotten (I told you I was bad at this), comes in with a notepad and takes our names and basic details. Then he collects everyone’s backpacks and bags, and gets us to turn out our pockets. He also takes our phones, labeling each with our name. He gives no indication of when we’ll get them back.