Page 109 of No One Was Supposed to Die at This Wedding

And as for me?

I still have a lot of questions.

But maybe I can get the answer to at least one of them. I walk away from the group to where I left my backpack earlier. I search around in it and pull out the phone I got from Fred yesterday.

“What are you doing?” Oliver asks, coming up behind me.

“I thought I might make a call.”

“Maybe we should turn that over to the police.”

“I will. Just let me do a couple of things first.” I pull out my phone—which, yes, Ididbring with me because it feels like walking around on this island without a phone is a bad idea—and take photos of the text messages and the numbers on Fred’s phone.

And then I dial a number.

“Is that a phone ringing?” Emma asks, her head poking up.

“I think it’s coming from there.” Fred points to the thickest part of the undergrowth near where we found José’s body.

The phone stops ringing, and everyone pauses. I push the call button again.

“There!” Connor says, pointing in the opposite direction from Emma.

“No, it’s over here, I do believe,” Inspector Tucci says.

“You’re both idiots,” Simone says. “It’s this way.”

The ringing stops.

“Are you having fun?” Oliver asks me.

“You have to admit, it’s a bit funny.”

“Can you ever be serious?”

Ouch.

“Of course I can. Sorry. Last time.” I make another phone call and follow the ringing sound myself with Oliver close behind me as the others close in around us in a ring.

“You’re the one making the phone ring?” Allison says, nodding toward the phone in my hand. “How?”

“I have José’s number.”

We stop and peer into the thicket in front of us. José’s in front of us, covered by the tarp Andre put on him.

I take a step forward. You’re supposed to leave the body in situ until the police arrive to process the scene. EvenIknow that. And if I do what I’m thinking of doing, I’m going to be contaminating the scene, which is a crime in and of itself, isn’t it?

Whoopsie.

I’m a novelist, not the police.

There’s a reason for that.

I’m not fit for anything else.

I drop to my knees. I get the phone to ring one more time and reach out my hand; when I come into contact with a phone case, I rip a leaf off a palm frond and pick the phone up with it, then stand.

“So, itishis phone,” I say to Oliver.

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