I will, I promised, meaning it. Okay, so maybe he was just a fantasy, but Black was the one person who really got me. He always knew just the right thing to say—or type—to make me feel better. Let’s face it, my internet crush knew me better than anyone.

Jesus, I needed to get a life.

Chapter Thirteen

I was just finishing up my story when my cell rang from Strawberry Shortcake. I pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID. Marco.

“What’s shaking?” I asked.

“Dahling, did I come through for you, or did I come through for you!”

“You got Jennifer Wood’s alibi?” I asked.

“I did.”

I grabbed a pen. “Shoot.”

“Well,” Marco started, and I could tell he was going to give me the long version. “I met up with my friend’s friend’s boyfriend at a party in the Hills last night, and he said that he did, in fact, see Jennifer at Ashlee’s housewarming.”

I felt my heart sink. One by one my suspects were falling. I could feel myself slowly being dragged back to square one again. “Did he see what time she got there?” I asked.

“No. But he said he was there at eleven, and she was already drinking appletinis with a Jonas brother.”

“How long was she there?” I asked.

“She did a table dance in Ashlee’s dining room at two.”

Shit. “Did she leave the party at any time?” I was so grasping here.

“Sorry, dahling, no idea. Ricky didn’t keep that close tabs on her, ya know.”

“Right. Thanks anyway.” So, Jennifer had been telling the truth. Granted, there was a slight chance she could have snuck out of the party, booted up her computer, used the Audio Cloak software to disguise her voice and play it back into a phone to leave me a threatening message before slipping back into the party. But, considering the phone was on the Sunset Studios lot, that chance was very slight.

“Hey, before you hang up—whose party were you at last night?” I couldn’t help the gossip hound in me from asking.

“Oh, honey, it was to die for! A birthday party for that kid who plays the brother on that medical drama. He turned twenty-one, and man, does that boy know how to throw down.”

“Sounds fun.” I tried to remember the last time I’d gotten an invitation to a birthday party. I think it was Aunt Millie’s. And we’d all had pudding cups instead of cake ‘cause she’d cracked her dentures.

“Oh, it was, doll. Everyone was there. The Kardashian girls, Jessie Simpson, Katie Briggs.”

That’s it, my social life officially sucked. “Anyone get drunk? Make out? Cat fights?” I asked, mentally preparing tomorrow’s column.