by Sara Shepard
The news reporter popped back on screen and assumed a grave frown. “This data brings up questions about the photos discovered in Mr. Ford’s car and on his computer and just how they got there. If anyone has information, please call the police immediately.”
The news alert ended, and Extreme Makeover resumed. Spencer and the others remained silent. Worry hung over the room like a soupy fog. A chain saw growled in the backyard, followed by the thud of a branch crashing to the ground. A bunch of ducks in the nearby pond quacked.
Ali picked up the remote and turned down the volume. “This is crazy,” she said quietly. “Billy killed my sister. I know it.”
“Yeah,” Hanna said, twisting her hair into a bun. “But that face doesn’t look like Billy’s.”
Ali narrowed her eyes. “Have you ever heard of Photoshop?”
“You can’t Photoshop a Polaroid,” Spencer said quietly.
They all exchanged anxious glances. Then Spencer took a deep breath, the image of those glowing blue eyes looming in her mind. A theory had been turning itself around in her head ever since she’d seen that photo. “What if Billy didn’t take the pictures?”
“Then who did?” Hanna asked, running her hands up and down her forearms.
Spencer chewed on her pinkie nail. “What if Melissa took them?”
Hanna dropped the blush brush she was holding, sending a cloud of pink powder into the air. Ali cocked her head, a lock of pale blond hair falling in her face. Emily’s mouth made a small O. No one said a word.
“Sh-she hated you, Ali,” Spencer stammered. “Melissa knew you and Ian were dating, and she wanted revenge.”
Ali’s eyes widened. “What are you saying?”
“That it’s possible Melissa took the pictures of us that night—and that she killed Courtney. A couple of weeks ago, before the fire, I saw her hunting around in the woods for something, probably those last few photos. She might have been worried that the police were going to find them during their search for Ian’s body. When she couldn’t find them, she torched the woods to make sure they were really gone. Except they didn’t burn.”
Ali stared at Spencer. Her eyes were like saucers.
“It does kind of fit,” Emily croaked. “Better than Ian…or Jason and Wilden…and definitely Billy.” Hanna nodded and grabbed Emily’s hand.
“Do you think Melissa could’ve killed Ian, too?” Ali whispered, her face ashen. “And…Jenna?”
“I don’t know.” Spencer thought of the time Ian broke house arrest and met her on her porch. What if I told you there’s something you don’t know? It’s something big. Something that will turn your life upside down. Ian had told Spencer that he’d seen two blondes that night. In Spencer’s disjointed memories of the evening, she remembered seeing two blondes, too. After Billy was arrested, she’d assumed it was him. But maybe it had been Melissa.
“Maybe Ian and Jenna found out the truth,” Spencer said, hugging a pillow to her chest.
Hanna cleared her throat. “I’ve seen Melissa skulking around lately. I think I saw her at the mall yesterday.”
Ali gaped at Hanna. “That person by the fountain?”
Hanna nodded.
Spencer’s heart thumped faster and faster. “Do you remember that awful look she gave you at the press conference, Ali? What if Melissa knows you’re not Courtney? What if she realizes she got the wrong girl years ago?”
Ali bit her lip. She spun a black Stila eye pencil around and around in her hands. “I don’t know. This all sounds crazy. We’re talking about your sister. Is she really that unhinged?”
“I have no idea anymore,” Spencer admitted.
“Maybe we should just ask her. Maybe there’s an explanation for all this.” Ali stood up.
“Ali, no.” Spencer tried to grab Ali’s arm. Was Ali insane? What if Melissa was the killer and tried to hurt them?
Ali was already at the door. “Strength in numbers,” she insisted. “C’mon. We have to end this craziness right now.”
Ali marched into the hall, made a left, and knocked on Melissa’s bedroom door. No answer. She leaned against it lightly, and it swung open with a long creak. The room was in disarray—clothes all over the floor, the bed unmade. Spencer picked Melissa’s makeup caddy off the floor. Most of the brushes were dirty, there was loose eye shadow everywhere, and a bottle of moisturizer-with-SPF had leaked onto the bottom of the drawer, making everything smell like the beach.
Ali turned to Spencer. “Do you know where she is?”
“I haven’t seen her all day,” Spencer said. Which, come to think of it, was a little odd—lately Melissa had been at the house nonstop, tending to their mother’s every need.
“Guys, you’d better c’mere,” Emily whispered. She was standing at Melissa’s desk, staring at something on the computer screen. Spencer and Ali rushed over. The only window open was a jpeg image. It was an old photo of Ian and Ali standing together, Ian’s arm around Ali’s shoulders. Behind them was the round stone building of the People’s Light playhouse, and Spencer could just make out that the marquee said Romeo and Juliet. Scrawled over the photo were three simple, chilling words Spencer had definitely seen before.
You’re dead, bitch.
Hanna clapped her hand over her mouth. Spencer took a big step away from the computer. Ali sank roughly to Melissa’s bed. “I don’t understand.” Her voice wobbled. “That’s my photo. What is it doing here?”
“Spencer and I have seen this before.” Emily’s hands shook. “It was from Mona.”
“She put it in my purse,” Spencer explained, nausea overcoming her. She staggered to Melissa’s desk chair and sat down. “I figured she found this photo in your diary and forged Melissa’s handwriting.”
Ali shook her head. Her breathing quickened. “Mona didn’t do that. That Polaroid showed up in my mailbox years ago—with that writing on it.”
Hanna pressed her hand to her chest. “Why didn’t you tell us about this?”
“I figured it was a stupid prank!” Ali raised her arms helplessly.
Emily turned back to the computer. She zoomed in on Ali’s cheery smile. “But if Mona didn’t write this…and it’s on Melissa’s computer…” She trailed off.
No one had to complete the sentence. Spencer paced around the room, her mind racing a million miles a minute. “We have to tell Wilden about this. He has to find Melissa and question her.”
“Actually…” Ali was staring at something on Melissa’s bureau. “Maybe we don’t have to worry about Melissa right now.” She held up a pamphlet. On the front was a logo that said The Preserve at Addison-Stevens.
Hanna went pale.
They unfolded the pamphlet on Melissa’s bed. It showed a map, outlining the facility’s buildings. There was some information about pricing. Clipped to the front was an appointment card for someone named Dr. Louise Foster. Melissa had a meeting with her this morning.
“Dr. Foster,” Ali murmured. “She’s one of the psychiatrists there.”
“Have you tried her cell?” Emily asked, picking up the portable phone on the bed.
Spencer dialed Melissa’s phone. “Straight to voice mail.”
“Maybe Melissa’s decided to check herself in,” Ali said, tracing the picture of the main entranceway with her index finger. “Maybe she realized how crazy this was getting and knew she needed help.”
Spencer stared at the boxy squares on the map. It was certainly a comforting thought—if Melissa was going to snap, it was best she did so in a padded room. A stay in the psychiatric hospital would probably be the best thing.
A nice long stay. Preferably for the next twenty years.
22 TAKE THAT, BITCHES
Hanna parked her Prius at the curb of Ali’s house, straightened her dress, and then climbed into Ali’s BMW. “Ready?” Ali said, grinning behind the wheel. Wilden had helped her quietly get a license when her parents checked her out of the Preserve.
“Absolutely,” Hanna answered.
H
er eyes traveled up and down Hanna’s mulberry-colored Lela Rose dress, which had a ruffled collar and a cinched waist, and stopped mid-thigh. The dress was even named the Angel, which seemed especially perfect for Valentine’s Day. “Ugh,” Ali said. “I hate that you look better than me tonight. Bitch.”
Hanna blushed. “You’re the one who looks awesome.” Dressed in a fitted, lacy red sheath, Ali looked like she could grace the cover of Vogue.
Ali shifted the car into drive. They were the only two riding to the dance together—Andrew Campbell was escorting Spencer, and Emily had promised to go with her sister Carolyn. Ali had told Naomi, Riley, and Kate that she was doing an exclusive CNN interview today and would meet them on the dance floor.
The car pulled away from the curb, leaving Ali’s dark house behind. For a split second, Hanna swore she saw someone slipping behind one of the pine trees across the street. She thought again about the discussion she, Ali, Emily, and Spencer had had at Spencer’s house this afternoon. Could Melissa really have been the stalker behind the barn…and the murderer?
When they rolled past the stone Rosewood Day sign and up the winding path to the school, she saw girls in swishy gowns strutting down a Valentine-pink carpet that had been laid across the icy road. A couple of kids were doing Hollywood starlet poses as if they were at a movie premiere.
Ali pulled into a parking space, whipped out her cell phone, and hit a speed dial button. Hanna heard a guy’s voice on the other end. “You all set?” Ali whispered. “Everyone’s getting the papers? Good.” She clapped the phone shut and gave Hanna a wicked grin. “Brad and Hayden are manning the doors with the letters.” Brad and Hayden were two freshmen she’d conned into helping them.
They got out of the car and started toward the party. As Hanna and Ali passed, Hanna noticed a familiar chiseled profile. Darren Wilden. What the hell was he doing here? Booze police?
“Hi, Hanna,” Wilden said, spying her, too. “Long time no see. Everything okay?”
He was staring at her so curiously that Hanna bristled, wondering if she smelled like champagne. Wilden sometimes got all dadlike because he’d dated Hanna’s mom for like a second. “I didn’t drive,” she snapped.
But Wilden’s eyes were now on Ali, who’d moved down the pink carpet. “You and Courtney are friends?” He sounded startled.
Courtney. It was crazy he still thought that was her name. “Uh-huh.”
Wilden scratched his head. “We’ve been trying to get Courtney to talk to us about the note she got from Billy the night of the fire. Maybe you could convince her that it’s really important.”
Hanna pulled her silk scarf tight around her shoulders. “You were the one who rescued her the night of the fire. Why didn’t you ask her then?”
Wilden stared across the drive at Rosewood Day’s main building, a massive redbrick structure that looked more like an old mansion than a school. “It wasn’t exactly the first thing on my mind.”
There was a hardened, stern look on his face. A wary feeling swirled in the pit of Hanna’s gut as she suddenly remembered how Wilden had played chicken with an oncoming car when he’d driven her home from running a few weeks ago. Freak. “Gotta go,” Hanna blurted, scampering away.
The inside of the tent was done up in pinks, reds, and whites, with bouquets of roses everywhere. There were intimate, two-person tables scattered all around the room, complete with votive candles, heart-shaped petit fours, and long-fluted glasses of what Hanna assumed was sparkling cider. Mrs. Betts, one of the art teachers, was giving temporary tattoos in a booth in the corner. Mrs. Reed, the sophomore English teacher, was leaning against the DJ booth, clad in a tight-fitting red gown and heart-shaped sunglasses. There was even an old-fashioned Tunnel of Luv at the far end of the gym. Couples coasted through a makeshift candlelit tunnel in mechanical swans.
Hanna couldn’t help but wonder what Mike was doing that night. Something told her he wasn’t here.
Ali grabbed her arm. “Look!”
Hanna gazed into the crowd. Guys in red ties and girls in flirty pink and white dresses were staring at the sheets of paper she and Ali had Xeroxed this morning. The whispers began immediately. Jade Smythe and Jenny Kestler nudged each other. Two soccer boys hooted at Riley’s use of the word loins. Even Mr. Shay, the wizened old biology teacher who chaperoned every Rosewood Day event, chuckled giddily.
“Kate wants to go to V Club!” Kirsten Cullen tittered.
“I always knew there was something off about Naomi,” exclaimed Gemma Curran.
“When you touch my arms during blocking, I feel there’s a real spark between us,” Lanie Iler guffawed, reading from Riley’s letter to Christophe.
Ali nudged Hanna’s side. “Another problem solved by Ali D!” Her eyes sparkled.
Hanna spied Naomi, Kate, and Riley at the entrance. They were all dressed in identical satin gowns, Kate’s bloodred, Naomi’s virginal bride white, and Riley’s wallflowery blush. They pranced in like princesses.
“Fag hag!” someone croaked. Riley looked up, cocking her head like a dog.
“Hey, Naomi, want to see my Speedo?” another voice called. Naomi frowned.
A boy passed Kate a pink sheet of paper. She gave it a cursory glance at first, but then her jaw dropped. She nudged Naomi and Riley. Naomi covered her mouth. Riley glared around the room, searching for whoever had done this.
The whisperings and giggles intensified. Hanna squared her shoulders, seizing the opportunity. She marched straight up to Kate. “I thought you should have this.” She dropped a silver ring into Kate’s limp palm. “It’s a purity ring. You’ll need it when you join V Club.”
The crowd behind Hanna snickered. Hanna signaled to Scott Chin, her old friend on yearbook. He leaped out with his camera and snapped a picture of Kate’s horrified face. For once, Hanna was on the right side of the joke. They were laughing with her, not at her.
Kate’s cheeks bulged, as if she was about to vomit. “You did this, didn’t you? You and Courtney.”
Hanna shrugged nonchalantly. There was no point in denying it. She turned to Ali, wanting to give credit where credit was due, but Ali was gone.
Kate picked up the crumpled paper from the ground, smoothed it out, and shoved it into her quilted Chanel clutch. “I’m telling Tom about this.”
“Tell him,” Hanna announced. “I don’t care.” And then she realized: She didn’t. So what if Kate told her father? So what if he punished her again? Even if Hanna acted pure and sweet for the rest of her days, her relationship with her dad would never be the same.
Riley flapped her arms up and down like a scrawny chicken. “I get why you’d stoop so low, Hanna. But why would Courtney do this? She’s our friend.”
Hanna leaned against a column decorated with red and white streamers. “Please. You two have had this coming for years.”
“Huh?” Naomi huffed. Her boobs were nearly spilling out of her low-cut dress.
The crowd was getting thicker. More and more kids poured into the room and headed to the dance floor. “Courtney wanted to get back at you, obviously,” she answered loftily. “For what you did to Ali.”
Riley and Naomi exchanged a shocked glance. “Huh?” Riley exhaled. Her breath smelled like banana liqueur.
Hanna gazed down her nose at them. “You did something to Ali. That’s why she ditched you. This is Courtney’s way of getting even.”
Heart-shaped confetti suddenly rained magically from the ceiling, sprinkling the top of Naomi’s blond hair. She didn’t brush them away. “We didn’t do anything to Ali.” She shook her head. “One minute, Ali was our best friend. The next, she acted like she didn’t know us at all. I don’t know why she dropped us cold—or why she picked you to replace us. Everyone thought it was a joke, Hanna. You were such a loser.”
Hanna bristled. “It wasn’t a joke….”
Naomi shrugged. “Whatever. Ali was crazy and a liar, and her sister obviously is, too. They’re identical twins, remember? They share everything.”<
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Disco lights spiraled above Hanna’s head. She burped, tasting champagne. Her body felt hot, then cold. What they were saying couldn’t be true.
Naomi and Riley remained rigidly still, waiting for Hanna’s response. Finally, Hanna shrugged. “Whatever,” she said airily. “We both know you did something terrible, even if you won’t admit it.”
Hanna flipped her hair over her shoulder and swiveled around. “It’s your funeral!” Naomi called out as she walked away. Not that Hanna listened.
23 HURTS SO GOOD
The enormous Valentine’s Day dance tent was overflowing with people by the time Emily arrived. Heat lamps were set up along the walls, making the room feel cozy but not stuffy, and a DJ in a red velvet jacket bopped on the stage, mixing a Fergie song into something by Lil Wayne. Mason Byers was swinging Lanie Iler around, Big Band–era style. Nicole Hudson and Kelly Hamilton, Naomi and Riley’s on-and-off sophomore toadies, were glaring at each other, annoyed because they’d both worn the same ruffled red gown. A couple of sheets of paper lay on the floor, big shoe marks over them. Emily picked one up. It seemed like a love letter to Sean Ackard. It was signed Kate Randall.
Emily straightened the pale pink dress Ali suggested Emily buy from BCBG. She’d gone all out for tonight, blow-drying her hair so that it was sleek and straight, borrowing Carolyn’s foundation, blush, and bronzer to make her skin look glowing and sparkly. She’d forced her flat, flipper-like swimmer’s feet into a pair of red Mary Janes she’d worn only once to a sports banquet. Emily wanted Ali to be dazzled by the sight of her.
A knot of kids gyrated on the dance floor. Andrew Campbell spun Spencer around, their hands entwined. Hanna had her arms in the air and was doing a slinky, sexy dance Emily could never pull off. The girl next to her was dressed in a gorgeous, lacy red gown, her hair piled seductively on her head. Ali. Then she noticed James Freed standing behind Ali, snaking his hands along her hips, up her waist, and dangerously close to her boobs.
It took Emily a couple of seconds to realize what was happening. Her heart lurched. But by the time she’d marched over to the circle, James had peeled off and started dancing on his own, doing a faux Justin Timberlake move that involved spinning on one heel.
