Page 73 of No One Was Supposed to Die at This Wedding

“No, Mrs. Winter. We’re looking for him.”

“By standing around bickering?”

“We’re trying to find out if anyone saw him,” I say. “Has anyone seen Fred in the last hour?”

“Fred’s missing?” Oliver says, walking up with Connor in tow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Emma says. “Do you know anything?”

“I might,” Connor says, raising his hand like he’s being called on in class.

“Excuse me?” I say.

He glances at Tyler, who nods his head imperceptibly. “I have a tracker on his phone.”

“Youwhat?”

“Standard operating procedure.”

“Standard operating procedure for what?” Oliver asks, his voice as stiff as his posture.

“That’s none of your business.”

They glare at each other.

“Connor,” I say, “if you know something, please tell us. Emma’s worried.”

“If you insist.” He takes out his phone and taps at it. “He’s in the building.”

“No,” Emma says. “His phone is in our room.”

Connor gives her a sad shake of the head. “Maybeoneof his phones is.”

“What doesthatmean?”

I put a hand on her arm. “Let’s figure that out later, okay? Where is he, Connor?”

Connor opens an app, which shows a glowing dot. “It looks like he’s below us.”

“In the basement?”

“If there is one?” He glances around and spots the hotel manager. “You. Sir. Is there a basement in this establishment?”

Mr. Prentice walks up. He’s wearing a baby-blue suit like you might see at a gender-reveal party. “Why do you ask?”

“We need to see it.”

“Why don’t you just call Fred?” I say.

“I’ll do it,” Emma says.

Connor looks at her with some pity. “No, you can’t.”

Emma pales and shrinks away. I pull her to me. “Just call him, Connor.”

Connor dials a number. We can all hear itring, ring, ringthrough his phone. But no one answers. And there’s no voicemail; it just goes, um,dead.

“The basement?” Connor says to Mr. Prentice.

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