Page 77 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

I mean, can ten million people be wrong?96

Of course they can. I told you I have imposter syndrome, didn’t I? And now my sister is confirming it. I’m not good; I’m just lucky.

That’s what I told that reporter from the New York Times for the profile I can’t bring myself to read. I know I’m going to come off sounding like an asshole, and I’ve already got enough people telling me that I am one.

I take the elevator to my floor and walk to the door to my suite. Like always, it’s adjoining Harper’s, but Connor is a floor above me, which feels like a relief.

I fish around in my purse for the key I just deposited in there and pull it out. Only it isn’t in the paper case for this hotel, and when I look at it, I realize it’s the key from the hotel in Rome we left this morning. Black with a silver logo.

But wait, I gave my key to Harper when she collected them from all of us in the lobby so she could check us out.

Oh, shit. Is this what I think it is? The missing master key?

I never asked Harper if she’d replaced the other one. But she must have. That’s how she got Connor’s door open this morning and discovered his prank. She used a master key. It was there on the floor at her feet where she’d crumbled to the ground.

But what’s this one doing in my purse? Is it the new one or the old one?

I feel a frisson of fear, then push it away. Harper must’ve dropped it in there this morning in all the rush to get on the bus. Our bags and purses were next to one another in the lobby. Besides, it’s not the key to any rooms in this hotel. If the mugging was connected to all of this, whoever was behind it didn’t end up using the key.

I fish around in my purse again and find the key to my room. I make a mental note to ask Harper to keep a sharp eye on her master key and go inside.

The walls are cream, and the sun is flooding in from the balcony. I put my bag down and open the doors, letting the warm sea breeze caress my face. The view is breathtaking, with the sea below and Capri visible in the misty distance. We’re supposed to go there tomorrow on a boat, but all I want to do right now is sleep.

“Hey, Eleanor!”

I look down at the veranda. Shek and Guy are sitting at a table with Emily, drinking Aperol spritzes. The glasses are glowing in the sun like luminous jewels.

See, Harper. I can write flowery phrases.

I just choose not to.

“Come join us!” Guy says, unusually gregarious.

I shouldn’t.

I should lie down and take the nap my body’s asking for, but doing what I should has never been my MO.

“Give me ten minutes!”

I rinse my face off in the sink and change into a loose-fitting white cotton dress, then head to the veranda.

It’s large and made of sandstone with a wrought iron railing on the edge of the cliff that’s capped in more stone. There’s a steep set of stairs on the left that lead down to the town below. Twenty black bistro tables with red tablecloths and bright yellow umbrellas are scattered around. Shek, Guy, and Emily are the only ones out here. Sensible people are probably taking a siesta, or whatever the Italian equivalent is.

The word comes back to me: “riposo.” That’s what Connor used to call our afternoon sessions in bed.97 I shudder at the thought and take the fourth seat at the table.

“Excellent decision, Eleanor,” Guy says. He’s dressed in black, his thick arms bulging out of his T-shirt. “Best view in Sorrento.” He motions toward the sea dotted with sailboats and superyachts. It’s beautiful. Overwhelming, almost.

“We’re lucky to be here.”

“That’s directed at me, I suppose,” Shek says. He’s wearing a linen kaftan that looks incredibly comfortable, and his head is covered with a straw hat.

“Not everything is about you, Shek,” Emily says. Like me, she’s dressed in white and looks delicate and intelligent, and I get it now.

She threatens me.

You probably already figured that out.

Because I’m average, in more ways than one.