Page 123 of No One Was Supposed to Die at This Wedding

“He does tend to lie,” Oliver says.

I shoot him a look.

Even though he’s right.

Fuck. Maybe Idohave unresolved feelings for Connor?

No. No. Absolutely not.

“That’s true,” I say. “He can be less than truthful...But he’s not a murderer.”

“He killed someone in your bookDrowned in Porto, didn’t he?”

“Oh, you read that?”

“I’ve read all your books.”

“You have?”

She taps herself on the chest. “Big detective fiction reader.”

“You didn’t give any indication when we met earlier.”

“You have to keep it close to the vest, don’t you, while you’re getting the lay of the land?”

“I guess that makes sense. Anyway, that was fiction.”

“Who else is a suspect?” Oliver asks, his mouth in a frown. I don’t think he’s about to ask if she’s readhisbooks, but it’s possible.

Oliver has an ego, too, even if his is better hidden than mine.

“That Mr. Liu is an interesting fellow, don’t you find?”

“David the screenwriter? How so?”

“Seems like he might be behind those notes being left for Ms. Wood.”

“I thought Tyler left those?”

“Cutting out of the pages of a script? That screams scriptwriter to me.”

“How did you know it was from a script?”

“It’s that Final Draft font, isn’t it?”

“You know Final Draft?”

“Doesn’t everyone in LA?”

“I...”

She gives me a broad smile. “I write screenplays in my spare time.”

Of course she does.

Because only in LA would a cop also be a screenwriter.

Heck, a few more years in the force and she’ll probably be able to get a series green-lit with the reductive former-cop-turns-to-writing-about-cops pitch line alone.

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