Page 44 of Our Last Resort

“Would you like a printed copy of your receipt?”

Jesus.

“That’s okay,” I say. “But we’re going to need a car to the airport.”

“Of course. Let me call one of our drivers.”

“Before you do that…”

Gabriel and I turn around.

Deputy Harris is standing in the lobby, by the big vase of dried flowers.

“We’re about to make an announcement,” he says. “To all the guests.”

“We have a flight to catch,” I say. “Sorry.”

He continues like he doesn’t even hear me.

“We’re asking everyone to gather in the dining room. It won’t take more than ten minutes. Everyone’s been very cooperative.” He waits a beat, then: “It’s heartwarming, really, to see the community rally around an investigation.”

Very subtle.

I hold back a sigh.

No choice, then. I want to get out of here, but I’d rather do it without “asshole” written next to my name in Harris’s notebook.

We follow him to the dining room. Most guests are already there—Fabio and Lazlo, the divorcée, the couple with their two kids. Harris goes to stand next to his two colleagues. They exchange a few sentences; Harris checks his watch. He looks around the room, searching for someone who’s evidently not here yet.

The influencers join us. TheSVUactor. Most tables in the dining room are full, but the cops keep waiting.

William walks in. Harris’s face lights up. He gestures to the front of the room.

Was he…saving him a fucking seat?

William sits, holding a cup of coffee and a pair of sunglasses. Relaxed. Righteous.

Didn’t your wife just die?

Harris clears his throat.

There’s a special language cops speak when they find themselves tangled up in a mystery. A person is anindividual.A woman is afemale.You’re not dead; you’redeceased.Time turns into a series of dates. Random activities become alibis. The adrenaline of fear, numbed by the tedium of bureaucracy.

“Good morning,” Harris says.

He looks down at his notes. For an actual press conference, they’d be typed, but for us—this huddle of anxious tourists—he’s jotted down a few lines, his chicken scratch visible through the lined paper.

“As all of you know, we were called to this hotel on the morning of July fourteenth to reports of an unresponsive individual. This person, a female, was deceased. We were able to identify her quickly as Mrs.Sabrina Brenner, twenty-four years old.”

My god, shewasyoung.

At the mention of his wife’s name, William brings a hand to his face. It’s like he’s just remembered the role he’s supposed to play: the grieving husband, a man whose life was just upended by tragedy.

Harris glances up from his piece of paper. He avoids William’s gaze as he delivers this next part:

“Mrs.Brenner’s death is currently the subject of a murder investigation. We need all the information we can gather. We are determined to get to the bottom of this.”

He reads from his notes again.

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