Page 142 of No One Was Supposed to Die at This Wedding

A frisson goes through the room, which was Connor’s intention. He has a flair for the dramatic. It’s, perversely, one of the things that makes him appealing.

“Why don’t we wait for Officer Anderson?” I say.

“Come now, El. You can’t honestly tell me that you’re not intensely curious as to who killed Ken instead of Fred?”

“Insteadof Fred?” Emma says, her voice quavering. She’s still in her wedding dress, and I’m sure deeply regretting that she didn’t change into a second dress. It had been a long debate, but she’d run out of time to find something that she liked.

I’m sure she’s going to want to burn this dress after tonight.

I would, anyway.

“Well, certainly,” Connor says. “Unless you think someone killed Ken deliberately?”

I’m sure he doesn’t quite mean to speak in that tone, but it’s there, just the same.

As in, is Ken even worthy of being killed?

News flash: Everyone is.

“That seems unlikely,” Oliver says. He hasn’t said anything about me and Connor finding the body together, maybe because he doesn’t know that part yet.

He didn’t see me fling myself into Connor’s arms in relief either, thank God.

He doesn’t need to know about that.

No one here does.

You’ll keep my secret, right?

“So, we’re agreed then,” Connor says. “Fred was the intended victim. Which means you, you, you, and you are suspects.” He points to Emma, Simone, Shawna, and David. “And I suppose you lot.” He flicks his gaze to Mr. and Mrs. Winter.

Mrs. Winter pulls her sparkling shawl tight over her shoulders. There’s one half of a fake eyelash loose against the side of her eye, a crack in her facade.

“I do not like your tone, young man.”

“Excuse me?” David says. “What aboutyou?”

Connor scoffs. “Why wouldIkill Fred?”

“Because Tyler hired you to.”

“I am not a murderer for hire.”

“He makes a good point, though, Connor,” I say. “Youareworking for Tyler.”

“Seriously, Eleanor? You think I’m capable of that?”

Is thathurtin his eyes?

“If you were desperate...If you needed the money...”

“I’m fine.”

“In Italy, you were in dire straits. That was only three months ago.”

He juts out his chin. “I just sold my novel in a three-book deal at auction.”

“You...what? The rom-com?”80

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