Page 88 of No One Was Supposed to Die at This Wedding

“It was.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Don’t worry so much,” Oliver says, his voice a low rumble underneath me.

“Impossible.”

“We’re fine, I promise. Not so sure about Emma and Fred.”

I sit up. “Ugh. Yeah.”

“Have you talked to Emma?”

“I thought I’d give them some time alone.”

Oliver takes a pillow and folds it under his head. “Should we be worried?”

“We should.”

“You think someone’s trying to kill EmmaandFred?”

“Not Fred. They had him incapacitated, so they could’ve done it then. Instead, they just hit him on the head and left.”

I realize I never asked Fred if he was missing anything. Like on his person. Maybe it was a robbery, because those happen in mysteries, too, when the killer wants something they can’t get otherwise. Or maybe it was a warning.

I probably forgot to ask him a lot of things.

Because I’m not a detective. I just play one in my books.

And I’ll be honest about something: I’ve given myself all kinds of skills in there that I do not have.

“What then? Why do that?” Oliver asks.

I click my teeth together. “I think it’s clear someone doesn’t want this wedding to happen. And they think that if they apply enough pressure, it will be called off.”

“Tyler?”

“He’s the most likely suspect.”

“What about that cat thing?”

“Mrs. Winter shouldn’t have given it food. And why would anyone poisonher? There wasn’t any suggestion the plate was meant for Fred, right?”

Another question I never asked.

And maybe Mrs. Winterwasthe intended victim. If we’re dealing with a sociopath, he wouldn’t care who he hurt just as long as the wedding didn’t happen.

But he’s not going to get Emma back like that.

Then again, does logic apply to sociopaths?

Oliver sits up with an idea. “What about Fred’s phone? The one you took?”

“I haven’t looked at it yet.”

“That’s not like you.”

I pull a face at him and then get up, pulling his T-shirt over my head from where it lies at the end of the bed. “I was distracted last night. Let’s look at it now.”

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