For Cheddar or Worse by Avery Aames Page B

winked. “Florence Nightingale?”
    â€œC’mon.”
    We excused ourselves and climbed to the third floor. Rooms ten and fourteen flanked Lara’s room, number twelve.
    I rapped on the door. “Lara? Are you awake?” She didn’t respond. “Miss Berry,” I said, opting to go with the more formal address. “It’s Charlotte. We’ve started breakfast. Are you hungry?”
    Still no answer. I didn’t hear anyone moving about. The bedsprings didn’t squeak. No water was running in the adjoining bathroom. Jordan tried the doorknob. It didn’t budge. Locked.
    I rapped again. “Lara, we’re all sorry about last night.” I hoped to appeal to her egotistical side.
We
were sorry;
she
needn’t be. “C’mon. Open up. Join the party.”
    Deadly quiet.
    â€œJordan,” I whispered with more urgency. “We’ve got to get inside. What if she’s hurt? What if she went to the restroom and fell, and she hit her head and . . .” I gulped, unable to utter any more
what if
s. I had
snafus
on the brain. And
willies
at the pit of my stomach. “Break down the door.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou heard me. Open it. Something’s wrong.”

CHAPTER
9

    Jordan kicked the door next to the handle. Four powerful kicks later, the door gave way. He lunged into the room and whirled to prop the door, which was hanging on one hinge against the wall.
    I rushed past him. “Lara?”
    She lay on top of the bedspread, eyes closed, arms at her sides. She was dressed in a slip and the blouse she had worn last night. Her skirt and her robe, sans belt, lay on the duvet. Her shoes were positioned on the area rug at the foot of the bed. A pair of white sleeping pillows and half a dozen decorative pillows, similar to the ones in our room, were strewn on the floor.
    â€œLara?” I repeated and drew near. I halted when I noticed the blue tinge in her lips, the ashen color of her skin. There was no rise and fall in her chest. “Jordan, she’s not breathing.”
    He darted to the bed and nudged me to the side. He touched her neck with two fingers. His eyes widened. He tookhold of her wrist for a second and released it. He shook his head. “She’s dead.”
    A small moan escaped my lips. I pressed the back of my knuckles to my mouth.
    A cavalry of footsteps pounded the stairs. I spun around. Ryan stood near the doorway. He jutted his arm to prevent Victor and Erin from entering.
    â€œWhat happened?” Ryan yelled.
    Erin wouldn’t be deterred. She ducked beneath his arm and darted into the room. “Charlotte, you screamed.” I guess my moan wasn’t as small as I’d thought. “Is everything—” Erin glanced beyond me. “Lara!” She tried to get past me.
    I clasped her by the shoulders. “No!”
    â€œIs she . . . Did she—”
    â€œDie? Yes,” I said. A bitter sadness filled my mouth.
    Erin moaned. “How horrible.” She wriggled out of my grasp and dashed to the others who had clustered into the room.
    Kandice was now in attendance as well, but not Shayna. Where was she? The others looked horrified. The words
She’s dead
and
She must have died in her sleep
circulated among them. Snowball slinked past Kandice’s ankles, his eyes as wide as saucers.
    Erin spun around. “Charlotte, do you know what happened?”
    â€œNo.”
    I scanned the room. The door to the bathroom was ajar. The doors of the hand-painted armoire were hanging open. My gaze landed on the bedside table, upon which sat a sliver of cheese on a napkin and an empty wineglass—the glass Lara must have taken from the dinner table. The tray of fruit and cheese she had whisked off the table rested on an ornate escritoire across the room, as did the bottle of cabernet—empty.
    Jordan pulled his cell phone from his pocket and stabbed in a number.