Page 35 of No One Was Supposed to Die at This Wedding

“Because I write the mysteries. I know what happens in advance.”

“Still,” Emma says, “the skills have to be applicable. Putting together a mystery has to be the same as taking it apart. Look at Italy.”

“I was almost too late in Italy.”

I was too late.

Someonedied.

“But you solved it in the end. You survived.” She shudders and tears spring back to her eyes.

“Why do you think it’s directed at you, Emma? Even if theschedule’s not a typo, it doesn’t mention who the intended victim is.”

Emma frowns at me, pissed I’m pushing her to reveal her secret. But if her life is in danger, now is not the time to keep things to herself.

Because that’s how people die in these kinds of books.

They hold back a crucial fact, and the next thing you know, they turn up dead.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Emma says to Fred. “I should’ve told you this before, but this isn’t the first thing like this that’s happened. There have been notes. And a Twitter thing.”

“What kind of notes?” Fred says.

“And plural?” I add. “More than one?”

She catches my eye and ducks her head slightly. “Nothing specific. Just vague...threats, I guess you’d call them.”

“Did you keep them?” I ask.

“I threw them away except for the one I gave you yesterday.”

“There was a note yesterday?” Fred says.

I pull it out and show it to him.

He shakes his head and hands it back to me. “Why didn’t you tell me about this, Em?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. You know how it is with fans sometimes. It’s not the first time I’ve received weird mail.”

Fred frowns. “How was this delivered?”

“It was left in my trailer. The others, too.”

“Yourtrailer? That means it was someone who had access to set.”

“I know. But there are so many people wandering around all the time. It’s not that hard to get access if you want to.”

This feels like a lie. Every time I’ve visited set, I’ve had toshow ID and be on a list. But I understand why she’s telling it. She wants to justify why she didn’t do anything about it.

Why she didn’t tell Fred.

She wants to minimize the possibility that she’s in danger.

And who can blame her for that?

“I didn’t want to worry you, Fred.”

“And the Twitter thing?” I ask.

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