Page 151 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

“What do we do if Connor’s dead?” I say to Oliver.

“It’ll be okay.”

“But they might think we planned it together…”

He puts his hand on my arm. “Don’t worry about that now. Come on, let’s take the stairs.”

We walk toward the grand staircase that winds down into the lobby.

And there he is, walking down the stairs arm in arm with Isabella, looking refreshed.

“What’s all the commotion?” Connor asks. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“You didn’t hear? It didn’t wake you?”

“I had a wonderful sleep courtesy of Mr. Ambien.” He looks around. “Has something happened?”

“Harper tried to kill Eleanor,” Guy says behind me. “Welcome to breakfast.”

CHAPTER 25Too Many Suspects

Connor and Isabella follow us back to the library after Guy’s announcement. It feels like the quieter place to be with all the commotion in the lobby, and Connor uses his charm on one of the waitresses to get her to bring in a more substantial breakfast. Over eggs and toast, Oliver catches Connor and Isabella up on what’s happened this morning, while the rest of us listen like we’re children in grade school who’ve been told that if one of us steps out of line, then we’re all going to be punished.

Connor takes it in, then turns his gaze to Harper, who’s sitting next to me with her hands in her lap.

“It’s you?”

“No.”

I rub her back, encouraging her.

“I didn’t try to kill Eleanor and I didn’t try to kill you.”

“What evidence do you have for that?”

“I wouldn’t have any idea of how to mess with your car, for one.”

Connor nods slowly. “But you did have a key to my house.”

“I gave that back!”

“You could’ve easily had a copy made.”

My stomach twists. Harper had a key to his house? This was way more serious than I imagined. How long were they involved? And why, why, why didn’t she tell me?

But I know the answer to that question. She was ashamed. She thought I’d judge her. Maybe she was even doing it to get back at me subconsciously.

And let’s be honest, if she’d told me she was dating Connor, I would’ve used every trick in my toolbox to break them up.

Harper knows me. So she didn’t tell me because she didn’t want me to interfere.

She wanted to make that mistake on her own.

“Harper’s not a liar. Or a murderer,” I say.

Harper leans forward. “I can prove that I didn’t do it.”

“How?”