Page 52 of No One Was Supposed to Die at This Wedding

“What else is new?”

“It’s not her fault Simone is such a beast, and now with this wedding planner thing...”

“What wedding planner thing?”

“The wedding planner refused to come to the island because of the storm. So now Shawna has to do it.”

“Itissupposed to be part of production...”

Harper gives me a soft belt in the shoulder, then goes to Shawna and talks to her in a low voice so I can’t hear what she has to say. It must help, though, because Shawna smiles at Harper and they share a brief hug.

“Hi, Shawna,” I say. “Hi, Ken.”

“I was just telling Shawna,” Ken says in his high-pitched voice that’s completely unlike Fred or Connor, “that she should quit.”

“I’ll be fine,” Shawna says. “Two more days won’t kill me.”

I give her a bright smile while a shadow passes over my grave, as it always does when I hear that phrase, and then we go to our table.

Unsurprisingly, we’re seated with Connor, Allison, David, Tyler, and Simone.

If thereismurder on the menu, the person behind it knows what they’re doing because there are many potentially murderous airings at this table.

It seems hard to believe it, though, in this idyllic setting.

Which is probably the point.

That and the fact that we’re essentially alone on this island. NotAnd Then There Were Nonealone, but not in the middle of a bustling metropolis either.

Not that you need to be in a remote location to pull off amurder. Italy was teeming with people. But still. If we’re in the middle of a plan, the location is factored into it.

But whose plan is it?

I search the room, looking for something or someone out of place.

Emma and Fred are sitting at a table with his parents. They’re both smiling, and being an actor must be a good asset at a time like this because Fred’s mother is a notorious handful, an old-school diva who likes to complain about everyone and everything in a loud, ringing voice.

She was a noted beauty in her youth, with dark hair and startling blue eyes, but now her hair is too obviously dyed black and it floats around her head like an aura. Imagine Marge Simpson as a faded movie star and you’ll get the drift.

Her husband is a diminished man who started out acting, too, but once he landed Fred’s mother, he faded into the background, becoming her manager and chief apologist. He’s still handsome, though, with silver hair and a trim figure. The resemblance between him and Fred is strong, but he doesn’t have Fred’s charisma.

Right now, the Winters seem to be in some minor fight over a cat—there are a few of them wandering the property that seem feral.40This one appears tamer than the others, and its tabby fur is clean and fluffy. Maybe it’s been adopted by the club. Either way, it’s hungry like us and is hunting the room for scraps. I see Mr. Winter reach down to feed something to it, only to be met with a withering glance from Mrs. Winter.

That cat is probably going hungry now.

But enough about them.

Let’s spin the camera back to my table, shall we?

Everyone’s dressed like they stepped out of a J.Crew catalog—chinos and striped sweaters from the nautical collection—except for Allison, who’s in one of her classic jumpsuits in a creamy fabric.

I’m wearing something similar, but I’m already regretting the choice because (1) I don’t look as good as Allison does in it, and (2) I kind of have to pee, and that means I’m going to have to get naked in the bathroom to do it.

Anyways! We spend a few minutes in idle chat before serving ourselves at the buffet.

Mr. and Mrs. Winter are ahead of me in line, as is Simone. She’s making friendly conversation with Mr. Winter, who seems like a nice man, but Mrs. Winter gives her a withering gaze over her shoulder, which shuts Simone up, something I didn’t think was possible.

What’sthatabout?

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