Page 111 of No One Was Supposed to Die at This Wedding

“Aren’t we?” Simone puts her hands on her hips. “You’d be surprised how accurate casting can be. Typecasting exists for a reason. When you watch thousands of self-tapes65...you get a sense of a person is all I’m saying.”

“What would you cast me for?”

“A woman who feels like she lucked into her fame but also kind of thinks she deserves it.”

Well, that’s alittletoo accurate.

“Easy guess. Plus, you know me.”

“I knew high school Eleanor. Are you the same person?”

“Are you?”

She gives a little shrug of her shoulders. “That’s irrelevant.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure that Tyler isn’t capable of this,” Allison says. “He’s a self-starter. He built his company himself. He’s not a nepo baby. And he’s okay with getting his hands dirty. Trust me.”

“How do you know that?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I’ve been in this business for twenty years. I’ve heard all kinds of things.”

“So he thinks that by leaving the island he’ll just get away with it?”

“It makes sense to create an alibi.”

“Not if José was killed yesterday.”

“But it’s only luck that we found him,” Simone points out. “He could’ve been missing for days or weeks, especially with the storm.”

“True, but wait...” I think it over. “Me and Oliver falling through the ropes...that had to be deliberate. That’s why José is in a harness. Someone wanted to make it look like he had an accident on the ropes course. And so they made that hole my foot went through, and maybe they frayed some of the ropes and that’s why they gave out.”

“But everyone knew we were coming here this morning,” Oliver says. “It’s on the schedule.”

“Maybe they forgot that. Or maybe if the body was found today it doesn’t matter, because it would be long after the murder happened.”

“We saw José yesterday after lunch. Anyone see him since then?”

“He texted Fred around five last night,” Harper says.

“Right. And it’s eleven thirty now. That’s a big gap.”

“We should ask Mr. Prentice when the last time anyone saw José was,” Oliver says.

“Agreed.”

“So, we are saying Tyler killed José?” Inspector Tucci says, making a note in a notebook that he’s pulled from somewhere.

Maybe his ass.

But itdoesmake me think of something.

“Maybe Tyler communicated with José?” I look down at the phone I’m still holding. The screen is locked. What are the chances his password is as easy to crack as Fred’s?

Won’t know unless I try.

“What are you doing?” Connor asks.

“Seeing if I can unlock this phone.”

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