Page 168 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

Someone isn’t trying to kill both of us.

They’re just trying to kill me.

I’ve said it before, but now I know it’s the truth. There’s no evidence that anyone actually tried to kill Connor. There’s only his word for it, and his word is bullshit.

The push at the Vatican, the bystander who saved him, the incident with his car. The man who died in the street could’ve been anyone, a convenient excuse to pull me in because it’s not like he mentioned Davide by name before he died.

And none of what Connor says occurred happened in front of anyone else.

Only my almost-deaths did.

Mine and Shek’s.

If there’s one thing I know after all these years of writing about murders: If the pattern doesn’t match, then it should be tossed out. And if you toss out what Connor said happened and you’re left with only what we know happened, well, then it’s a clearer picture.

It’s been Connor, all along.

Connor told me that his life was in danger to distract me. To distract everyone. Because who’s going to benefit the most if I die?

Him.

A murder mystery author gets murdered on her tenth-anniversary book tour? That’s gold.

And Connor’s out of gold right now.

He must’ve found out I was thinking of ending the series. Maybe it was Harper who told him, guessing the truth even though I never said it expressly, or maybe he knew about the statute of limitations, or maybe it was just his instinct.

He’s always had good instincts about people.

That’s how a con man operates.

So that’s who did it.

Who’s doing it.

Who isn’t finished doing it.

Connor.

The most obvious suspect is usually the best answer in the real world, and sometimes even in books. Then again, sometimes it’s just terribly wrong.

Now you can flip the page.

CHAPTER 27So You Solved It, Now What?

It’s an odd feeling when you feel like you know something no one else does.

And the thing I know is: Connor is trying to kill me.

I feel it in my bones. And it’s weird because it doesn’t frighten me like I thought it would. Not like all the harried thoughts of the last few days, the uncertainty, the not knowing.

Now that I know, I feel calm. I only need to decide what I’m going to do about it. How I’m going to go about proving it.

Because what evidence do I have?

None.

And I’m not naive enough to think I can just waltz into the inspector’s office (he has an office, right? a cubicle at least) and point some dramatic finger at Connor and he’ll be taken away in handcuffs.