Love You To Death: A Novel - Softcover

Dotson, Christina

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593874986 ISBN 13: 9780593874981

Verlag: Random House Publishing Group, 2026

Inhaltsangabe

When two best friends’ hobby of crashing weddings takes a deadly turn, they’re forced to embark on a road trip of survival in this addictive thriller.

“The hairpin turns and killer twists of this propulsive bad-girls-gone-worse thriller will have you hanging on for dear life!”—Layne Fargo, bestselling author of The Favorites and They Never Learn

How well do we really know our friends?

As the only Black women at an antebellum-themed wedding, Kayla and Zorie should’ve known this heist was doomed from the start. They should never have come, but when their financial situation became dire, they agreed to hit one last wedding.

Jaded and cynical Kayla has spent the last decade trying to fix her life since an angsty teen prank led to her arrest. Now, with her housekeeping job at a subpar hotel and her disappointing, Cinderella-esque relationship with her dad and obnoxious stepsister, she hates the life she’s built. Her only bright spots are her best friend, Zorie, and their favorite weekend pastime of crashing weddings to steal the money and pawn the gifts. But what started as a lark has evolved into a greedy obsession, making each wedding haul riskier than the last.

While trying to avoid the angry bride and groom, Kayla and Zorie’s getaway takes a gruesome turn and suddenly the “Wedding Crasher Killers” are national news. The best friends are forced to hit the road to dodge the authorities, but their escape plan leaves behind a bloody trail of destruction from Georgia all the way to the bayou. As past grudges resurface, Kayla realizes that the best friend she thought she knew is more dangerous than she could ever have realized.

Sharp, unpredictable, and madcap from start to finish, Love You to Death is the most fun—and deadly—road trip you’ll ever take.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Christina Dotson is an Eleanor Taylor Bland Crime Fiction Writers of Color Award runner-up. In addition to writing, she is a licensed clinical social worker for a palliative care practice and lives in Kentucky.

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Chapter One

Thursday

Housekeeping at the Chamberlain Hotel is a thankless profession. We clean strangers’ semen-stained sheets, scrub their pissy toilets, and vacuum their disgusting floors, all for them to f*** up our pristine work as soon as they return to their overpriced rooms with the sad interstate views. I’d quit, but the only job around here willing to pay more per hour than the cost of a value meal at the Tasty Freeze is, well, the Tasty Freeze, and I’d rather wear an apron than a hairnet.

“Room 314 left me twenty dollars, and forty dollars from 322.” My best friend, Zorie, waves three crisp twenty-dollar bills at me. “How’d you do?”

“Suite on seven left me a bathtub full of pubes.”

We stop at the supply room, and I swipe my ID card across the reader. A green light flashes, followed by a click, and I push open the door. The smell of vinegar is overwhelming. Our hotel manager, Leslie Grace, insists on using vinegar for cleaning, even though guests constantly complain about the smell. I toss two bottles and an armful of toilet paper onto my cart. Zorie swipes two rolls from the shelf and places them inside a laundry bag. She stocks it throughout the day with assorted boxes of cereal from the kitchen, individual soaps, and toilet paper and then empties it into her trunk on her breaks. Good thing we’re roommates, or I’d probably starve to death or, worse, never wipe my ass again.

“They’re gonna fire you one of these days for stealing,” I say.

Zorie winks at me. “They have to catch me first.”

Last month, rumors started circulating that Leslie Grace installed cameras inside the housekeeping supply room to catch thieves, but all they caught was the housekeeping manager going down on the sales manager. They were both fired, and Leslie Grace has been on my ass about applying for the housekeeping manager position.

“You know if I become manager, you have to stop stealing from the supply room,” I say.

“Does that mean you’re applying?”

“Are you gonna stop stealing?”

Zorie lifts her left hand and places her right hand over her heart. “Best friend’s honor.”

Best friend’s honor is our version of swearing, like our own little sworn testimony, minus the Bible. It started in third grade when I accused Zorie of taking my favorite unicorn pen and she declared her innocence by placing her hand over her heart and announcing, “Best friend’s honor.” Now it’s our saying for anything needing more assurance, like Zorie swearing she paid the rent on time or me swearing I didn’t use the last tampon.

“I’m serious, Zo. If I do this, no more f***ing around.”

Zorie looks at me like she’s not sure if she should laugh, so she nods instead. “I still don’t know why you want that job. More hours and more of Leslie Grace’s bullshit. Sounds like hell to me.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not applying,” I say and poke her in the side with my finger.

“Just the two ladies I wanted to see.” Leslie Grace stands in the doorway, her blood-red lips twitching as though she forgot how to smile. The sleeves of her white button-down are rolled up to her elbows, with a visible sweat ring under each arm. Leslie Grace loves to look like she’s been hard at work, but the truth is she’s just premenopausal. “Would either of you be willing to work second shift tonight?” she asks, fanning herself with her clipboard.

“I can take the shift,” Zorie says. Then, to me, she adds, “You have dinner with your folks tonight.”

“Right,” I say, thinking how I’d much rather spend the evening cleaning extra rooms than enduring another dinner of awkward conversation and insults disguised as encouragement.

“I knew I could count on you two,” Leslie Grace says. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, hugging her clipboard to her chest. “Teamwork and outstanding service is what this company is all about.”

I nod and go back to sorting shampoos and lotions on my cart. Nothing gave Leslie Grace a bigger lady boner than reciting the company’s mission statement. Her dedication to the Chamberlain Hotel would be impressive if it weren’t so pathetic. The woman’s entire life’s purpose was defined by her ability to fill eight floors of a three-star hotel located in the heart of Redwood Springs, Georgia.

“Kayla is always talking about teamwork,” Zorie says.

I drop the shampoo bottle I’m holding, and it rolls across the floor to Leslie Grace’s foot. She’s wearing open-toed shoes even though her nails are jagged and uneven, with chipped green polish. Leslie Grace picks up the rogue bottle and carefully returns it to my cart.

“Keep up the good work, Kayla,” she says. “Teamwork makes the dream work.” She turns and takes off toward the door, her sandals slapping hard against her heels in sync with her swinging ponytail.

“What was that?” I say to Zorie.

“You want that manager job, don’t you? Think of me as your personal hype woman. I’m just reminding old girl how bomb you are.”

I roll my eyes dramatically and smile. “If you expect me to say thank you, I’m not going to.”

“Oh, really?” Zorie lifts an eyebrow, and I know what’s coming next. She tickles my sides, and I howl with laughter until tears stream from my eyes.

“Okay! Okay! Thank you, Zorie!” I choke out between giggles. I barely have time to catch my breath when I hear footsteps, followed by a loud grunt. Kevin from maintenance is beside me. I know this because I smell him: chewing tobacco, armpits, and beef jerky—his signature scent.

“Morning, friends,” he says. “You look awfully pretty today, Kayla.”

“She literally looks the same every day. We all do,” Zorie says, and gestures to her uniform.

“Can’t a man pay a beautiful woman a compliment?” he asks.

“Thanks, Kev,” I mumble but keep my eyes on my cart. Maybe if I avoid eye contact, he’ll go away. We’d shared a regrettable and drunken mistletoe kiss last year at Leslie Grace’s Christmas party, and now he’s like my shadow.

“Y’all hear about the lady on seven?” Kevin asks. He leans against Zorie’s cart, and she jerks it backward.

“What about her?” Zorie asks. “She die or something?”

Kevin stumbles backward into my cart and laughs. He’s close enough for me to see the enormous wad of tobacco stuffed in the middle of his lower lip. “This chick paid for a full week in cash, and I heard she tipped Geraldine a C-note for cleaning off her table at breakfast. That pocketbook must be deep.”

“A hundred dollars?” Zorie says, shaking her head. “Damn, how much extra bacon did Geraldine give her? Too bad she’s not on my floor.”

“She’s on mine,” I say. I try to keep my expression neutral, but my lips twitch up into a smile. I could really use my own C-note, especially since Freemont Debt Collections keeps garnishing my checks.

“You better get that money, girl!” Zorie high-fives me, and Kevin snorts. A trickle of tobacco juice slides down his chin. God, he’s disgusting. He’s also nosy as hell, always asking questions and watching us with that goofy grin on his face. Kevin’s nosiness has been...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Random House Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2026
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593874986
• ISBN 13: 9780593874981
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 321
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar