Death By Chick Lit by Lynn Harris Read Free Book Online

The bloop was dormant, evidently, but not dead. Which, hey, was nice.
    Okay, here goes.
    You know, I’ll just do Quentin a favor and back up his whole hard drive, considering that Doug’s state-of-the-art bionic minidrive holds like a billion gigs.
    Now for the Documents file. Trash. Empty trash. Mission accomplished.
    Lola hit Shut Down. This would have taken me an hour in Windows, Lola thought, and Doug would be proud of me for thinking that. She scanned the room for her shoes.
    Rrrring!
    Lola jumped. Her phone.
    “Can’t sleep,” said Annabel.
    “Me neeth,” said Lola. She quickly explained where she was, pacing the room. “So I really can’t talk. Oh but wait, just tell me quick, where’d you guys go after Cabin 9?” she asked Annabel.
    “Well, Leo dropped me off—”
    “Ever the gentleman.”
    “And then Darius called.”
    “Oh!” said Lola. Darius. The rug trader. He was actually from Casablanca, which, until Annabel met him, Lola had forgotten was a place you could actually be from.
    “He intoxicates me,” said Annabel.
    “I’ll bet,” said Lola.
    “As in, he gets me drunk.”
    “Ah,” said Lola. She’d wandered into the study. A couple of crossword drafts lay on Quentin’s desk. Better grab these, too, she thought.
    “. . . which will make the nightmares I’m going to have about Mimi even worse,” Annabel finished.
    “I know, Bella. I know. But let me call you from the cab before the cops show up and find me here and I have to do some sort of I Love Lucy stunt to escape?”
    “Okay. Mwah.”
    “Mwah.”
    I was so wired a second ago, thought Lola. Now I’m tired. Crap.
    Sleepy.
    I am not my best after ten PM. And now it’s even after ten PM in California.
    I know, thought Lola, I’ll just look at this crossword for a second. Right over there on the bed. Huh. I should really know what silicates are, shouldn’t I? Five letters. See, doing the crossword will make me think it’s morning. And then I’ll get right up and go, like I do in the—
    Lola heard a noise. In her dream, it was the penguins, who were about to come in from the yard with Madonna. One took a key out from somewhere beneath its feathers. Lola heard it turning in the lock.
    She heard it in real life, too.
    Lola was an early sleeper, but also—fortunately—a light one.
    Stop, drop, and roll.
    She was under the bed in less than two seconds.

Seven
    There was a slipper in her face, the kind the dog brings Dad after work. Avuncular, elbow-patch-wearing Quentin was ahead of his time.
    The door closed. Silence. Lola waited, trying to do some sort of out-only yoga breathing so that she wouldn’t inhale whatever it was that accumulates under the bed of even the tidiest single male. Besides ex-girlfriends.
    Lola heard footsteps but no voices. God, if they would just speak, I could gauge their whereabouts more precisely and plan my Lucy maneuver. The bedroom was at the far end of the living room, with the door open, so if she came out, she’d be visible.
    They were coming closer. Lola held what was left of her breath.
    Clonk . The side of her head slammed into the floor, as the bottom of the bed had just slammed into her head.
    Hold on.
    “Quentin?”
    “Aaaaaah!”
    Lola rolled out from under. Quentin was crouched at the head of his bed, pillow raised to strike.
    “Lola?!”
    “No, a giant mouse.”
    “Not funny.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Lola. Jeez, Somerville, this guy’s girlfriend was just murdered. Once in a while, would it kill you—er, once in a while, could you not make a joke?
    Lola gave Quentin a giant hug. “I mean, I’m really sorry.”
    “Thanks.” Quentin was stiff in her arms. Still shocked and numb, surely.
    “So wait,” Lola said, sitting back. “After all that, they just dropped you off?”
    “I guess,” shrugged Quentin. “Maybe they were just trying to intimidate me.”
    “Probably,” said Lola. God damn . This Nervous Nellie totally eek-a-moused me again, thought Lola. Boy, should I