Page 57 of No One Was Supposed to Die at This Wedding

“It’s not him, Connor,” Allison says, laughing. “It’s—”

He puts up a hand. “As I have told you repeatedly, Ms. Smith, I prefer to stay in character throughout the shoot. Please address me as Inspector Tucci.”

“What’s he talking about?” Oliver asks. “Is thisnotthe guy from Italy?”47

“This is the guyplayingInspector Tucci,” I say. “He’s a method actor, you know, who stays in character the whole time?”48

“But the shoot’s over.”

“There might be reshoots,” Inspector Tucci says.49“I don’t want to presume anything.”

“Give me a fucking break,” Fred says.

“Is this for real?” Simone asks. “Or is it part of that thing thatwas on the wedding schedule? The murder that will be served at midnight?”

“What?” Connor says.

Emma looks panicked, then recovers quickly. “How clever of you to pick up on that, Simone. Yes, we’re doing a murder mystery theme. To go with the movie, of course.”

“And was this part of it?” Simone gestures around her. “An almost-cat-poisoning?”

“No, of course not. It will be in much better taste than that.”

“What about him?” She points at Inspector Tucci. “Have you hiredhimto be in it?”

Inspector Tucci looks hopeful.

“If I told you that, I’d be ruining the surprise.”

“Well, it’s all a bit unusual.”

“It’s her wedding, isn’t it?” I say. “If she wants to have a theme, she’ll have a theme.”

“Did you clear this withPeople?” Tyler asks, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Fred joins the conversation. “We can do what we want, Tyler. Bad enough that we can’t even havewhowe want at the wedding.”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that? You don’t want to pay for your wedding, you go back on a deal with your oldest friend, and now you’re complaining that I’m here? What the fuck, Fred? What. The. Fuck.”

“Keep your voice down. My parents are here.”

“I’m supposed to care about that?”

“You don’t care about anything anymore.”

“Or anyone,” Emma adds.

Tyler stares at her like he wants to correct her assertion, to profess his undying love maybe, but he clamps his jaw shut.

“What about the cat?” Inspector Tucci says. “Shouldn’t we be talking about that? Taking samples of the food? Sending things, how do you say, to the lab?”

“He is, how do you say...totally nuts,” Harper says to me, sotto voce.

“We should eat our lunch,” Oliver says, making a placating motion with his hands. “Before we ruin the rest of this day for everyone.”

“Too late,” Fred says, through his teeth.

“Fredrick Hubert Winter! Come sit down right this minute.”

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