by Sara Shepard
The final straw came two weeks before Emily’s scheduled C-section. Derrick had asked Emily to pick him up at Gayle’s house after work one Saturday; they were going to go to the Camden Aquarium. Emily hadn’t told Gayle she was coming; she was too tired to deal with her. After parking the car in the long driveway, she’d walked up to the front door and looked through the window. Gayle was standing in the foyer with her back to Emily, talking on the phone. “Yes, it’s true,” she was saying into the receiver. “I’m having a baby. I know, I know, I’ve barely gained any weight, but I guess I’m one of those lucky pregnant people.”
Emily had nearly tumbled off the porch. What kind of crazy person pretended they were pregnant when they really weren’t? Was she going to try and pass off Emily’s baby as her own? It left a horrible taste in her mouth. The Bakers had told Emily that the child would know she’d been adopted. They’d even tell her about Emily. What else would Gayle lie to the baby about?
She’d fled back to her car, revved the engine fast, and driven away, too upset to even leave a message for Derrick. Everything was so clear in that moment. There was no way Gayle was getting her baby. The money didn’t matter. The privileged life the child might lead in Gayle’s care didn’t matter. And so, the next day, she called Gayle and told her that the doctor had rescheduled her C-section for two days later than originally planned. Then she’d called Aria, Hanna, and Spencer, asking for their help.
“Emily?” Aria called now. “Em, you have to come see this!”
Emily followed Aria’s voice to a smaller bedroom down the hall. “Look!” Aria said, spreading out her arms.
Emily spun around. The walls were striped with green and yellow paint. On the far wall was a mural of a circus train, a lion, tiger, elephant, and monkey peeking out of the cars. Above the mural was a decal that said Violet, the o a smiley face, and the t sprouting a flower out the top.
“It was her room,” Aria whispered.
Tears filled Emily’s eyes. She remembered the Bakers telling her that they’d designed a nursery for the baby in gender-neutral colors, leaving a space on the wall for a boy name or a girl name. They hadn’t told Emily their choices, though, saying they wanted to see what the baby looked like before they made a final decision. The name Violet, she thought, was perfect.
“It’s so beautiful,” Emily whispered, walking to the little window seat and settling on the cushion. There were still marks where the crib and changing table had stood. When the Bakers found the baby seat on their doorstep, had they brought her in here to sleep? No, Emily decided. Not that first night. They’d probably held the baby until the sun came up, amazed she was theirs. Scared, too. They’d probably made plans to move that very night to avoid questions and to make sure the baby wouldn’t be taken away.
Suddenly, Emily knew something for sure: The Bakers had done everything they could for the baby. They’d uprooted their lives just to ensure they could keep her, her happiness meaning more than their community, their home. That was worth more than any amount of money. She had made the right choice giving her daughter—Violet—to them.
“Hey,” Aria said soothingly, noticing Emily’s tear-streaked face. She wrapped her arms around Emily and squeezed tight. Emily hugged back, and they remained that way for several minutes. She felt happy and sad at the same time. It was wonderful to know that the baby had such a loving home, but she hated that she still didn’t know where the Bakers had gone.
Emily broke from Aria’s embrace and started down the stairs to find the realtor, suddenly fueled with purpose. Sandra was in the kitchen, rearranging papers in a binder.
“Excuse me,” she called. Sandra turned, a plastic smile frozen on her face. “The family that lived here before. Do you know what happened to them?”
“If I recall, they left in early September, I believe.” Sandra flipped through a file folder containing information about the house. “Their names were Charles and Lizzie Baker.”
“Do you have a forwarding address?” Emily asked.
Sandra shook her head. “Were you the one who e-mailed me about this?”
“E-mail?” Emily raised an eyebrow. “No . . .”
Sandra whipped out her BlackBerry and scrolled through it. “That’s funny. I got an e-mail asking the same question. Someone else was eager to know where the Bakers went, too.”
Aria, who had just arrived in the kitchen, coughed. “Do you remember who sent the e-mail?”
Sandra stared at her BlackBerry. “I swore I had it on here, but maybe I deleted it. It was a woman’s name, definitely. Maybe it started with a G?”
“Gayle Riggs?” Aria blurted.
Sandra’s face lit up. “Yes, I believe that’s it! Do you know her?”
Emily and Aria exchanged a haunted look. Emily had never told Gayle who she’d originally chosen to give the baby to. The adoption agency would never have given out that information, either. What if she’d found out, somehow? What if A had told her? And what if—Emily’s heart started to pound—Gayle was trying to track the baby down?
Suddenly, a ping sounded from inside Aria’s bag. She pulled it out and looked at her phone. “Hanna says she’s been trying to contact you, Em.”
Emily reached into her pocket for her phone and studied the dark screen. “The battery’s dead.”
Aria’s eyes were still on her phone. She hit a button and gasped. “Look at this.” She passed it to Emily. Tell Em it’s urgent, a text from Hanna said. I think Gayle is after her baby. Call me ASAP.
“Oh my God,” Emily whispered.
Another ping sounded as a new message arrived on Aria’s phone. The sender was a jumble of letters and numbers. Aria clapped her hand to her mouth. Emily’s heart thudded fast as she read the words.
Guess Emily’s not the only one looking for that little bundle of joy. Who’s going to get there first? —A
19
SECRET AGENT HANNA
The thing about camo, Hanna realized, was that it was really ugly. There should be Louis Vuitton camo or camo that actually complemented one’s skin tone. It wasn’t like she was hiding out in the green and brown woods, after all. She was lurking in the King James Mall.
It was a little later on Saturday afternoon, and Hanna had just put on her first—and last—camouflage outfit to kick off Operation Figure Out If Colleen Is Hiding Something. She’d bought the outfit at the Rosewood Army/Navy, a terrifying store full of gas masks, grenade holders, unflattering combat boots, and other sundries she hoped to never see again, except maybe on CNN. She’d also picked up a field scope that had scratches on it (probably from some scary war), night-vision goggles, and a platoon helmet, just in case she had to do a commando roll or jump out of a moving car. Perhaps it was overkill to buy all that equipment to spy on a girl who’d probably be delighted if she knew Hanna had taken such an acute interest in her, but Hanna thought it would help her get in the mood.
Now, she was crouching behind a large fake plant in the middle of the esplanade and peering through the binoculars at Colleen and Mike strolling into Victoria’s Secret. Hanna felt a moment of misgiving. Was it weird that she was doing this? It was sort of like she was becoming an A herself. But then, maybe Gayle was right—maybe Colleen had a secret she didn’t know about. Everyone did.
Hanna checked her watch. She would give it another half hour, she decided, and then call Emily again. As for the Colleen thing, it wasn’t like she and Gayle were on the same team or anything—A just had a good idea for once. All she needed to do was unearth some embarrassing secret of Colleen’s to turn Mike off her for good and kick her back to dork-dom where she belonged.
There was only one problem: so far, Colleen seemed like an open book. Hanna had peeked in Colleen’s car in the parking garage, but she kept it tidy and boring. She’d followed the couple to Otter, the best boutique in the mall, and watched as Hanna’s favorite salesgirl showed Colleen a brand-new style of James jeans that had just come in—jeans that Hanna was supposed to see first. Traitor.
Now, Colleen approached the Victoria’s Secret salesgirl and explained she was looking for some new lingerie. “What size are you?” the assistant asked. Hanna had learned how to lip-read when she was in fifth grade, mostly to decipher her parents’ tense fights through the glass back-patio door. Colleen gave her the answer, and Hanna’s jaw dropped. Colleen’s boobs were even bigger than she had thought.
As the salesgirl searched for some styles Colleen might like, Mike wandered over to a table of satin bras, held an enormous pink one to his chest, and started striking exaggerated poses. Hanna snickered. Mike used to do that all the time when they went shopping together, and it never failed to crack her up. But when Colleen saw him, a disapproving scowl settled over her features. Mike pouted and dropped the bra back to the table, looking like a scolded puppy.
Hanna’s phone chimed loudly, and she frantically patted her pocket to silence it. Aria’s picture was flashing on the screen. “Did you get in touch with Emily?” Hanna whispered into the receiver.
“I’m with Emily, and I’ve patched in Spencer, too.” Aria’s voice echoed on speakerphone. “We’re really freaked. I got a note today. A is definitely after Emily’s baby.”
Hanna sank down further into the bushes. “We have to prove Gayle is A. But how do we do that without going to the cops?”
“Gayle’s psycho,” Aria explained. “Just like Kelsey. The cops wouldn’t believe anything she says.”
“Yeah, but she has money,” Hanna reminded her. “And she’s an adult. That holds some weight, don’t you think?”
“Guys, I’m not so sure Gayle is A,” Spencer’s voice sounded far away. “I got a note last night, and I’m at Princeton. How could Gayle be in two places at once?”
Hanna watched as a bunch of kids from Rosewood Day passed. “Maybe she can be. At the race this morning, Gayle apologized for being late, saying she’d just come from Princeton. Her husband just donated some cancer lab.”
Spencer made a small noise at the back of her throat. “Do you think she followed me to my party? Wouldn’t I have noticed someone like her in a crowd of kids?”
“She was probably hiding in the bushes outside,” Hanna said.
“That still doesn’t prove Gayle is A,” Emily protested. “But the important thing is, either way, she’s after the baby. How are we going to find out where the Bakers went? We need to warn them.”
“The realtor didn’t have the information on where they moved,” Aria added, sounding despondent. “They could be anywhere.”
“Actually, I might be able to find them.” Hanna moved the phone to the other ear. “My dad’s campaign has voter registration information for people across Pennsylvania. If they stayed in the state, I can probably dig up their new address.”
“Really?” Emily sounded hopeful. “How soon can you do that?”
“I’ll look into it when I get home,” Hanna promised. “It may take a few days, though.”
“I still think Gayle’s A,” Aria said. “But how can we prove it?”
There was a pause on the line. “Well, A is following all of us, right?” Spencer said after a moment. “Maybe one of us could try to catch her in the act.”
“Or one of us could try to steal her cell phone,” Hanna piped up.
“That would be great, but we’d have to know her schedule and show up somewhere she’s going to be.” Aria sounded discouraged.
“I know somewhere she’s going to be.” Hanna ran her tongue over her teeth. “My dad’s campaign party tomorrow. Maybe we could figure out a way to snag her phone and go through her texts then. You guys are all going to be there anyway, right?”
Emily groaned. “I never want to see Gayle again.”
“We’ll keep you safe,” Hanna assured her. “But if Gayle does want to confront you, we could steal her phone while she’s preoccupied. Then we’ll prove she’s A.”
“But she might not be A,” Emily moaned.
“Look at it this way,” Aria said gently. “Even if she isn’t A, maybe there’s something in her phone about her search for the baby. Maybe A tipped her off or something. You want to know what she’s up to, right?”
Emily agreed, and the girls promised to be on the lookout for anyone following them and get in touch as soon as they got another message from A. After she hung up, Hanna parted two of the leaves of the potted plant and gazed into Victoria’s Secret. Mike and Colleen weren’t there anymore. Shit.
Then she spied them walking hand-in-hand toward the exit. Shooting out of the plants—and getting strange looks from the passersby—she trailed them to the parking garage. They paused by Colleen’s car and talked. Hanna ducked behind a VW Beetle to listen.
“Are you sure I can’t come with you?” Mike was saying.
“It’s probably better I go alone,” Colleen answered, her hand on the driver’s door.
“Come on.” Mike brushed Colleen’s bangs out of her eyes. “I bet it’s going to be really hot.”
Colleen kissed the tip of Mike’s nose. “I’ll tell you all about it when I’m done, okay?”
She slipped into the driver’s seat and revved the engine. Mike waved until she’d rounded the bend. Hanna darted for her car, which was parked only a few aisles away. She needed to get a move on if she was going to follow Colleen to her secret rendezvous.
She caught up to Colleen on the little driveway out of the mall to Route 30, then trailed the car down a series of back roads. Strip malls gave way to old Victorian houses and the brick-and-stone school buildings of Hollis. One street was blocked off; there had been a fender-bender between a Jeep and an old Cadillac. Hanna averted her eyes, the old memories of her own car accident from the previous summer swarming back to her. Not that she’d stayed around to see the ambulance lights.
Colleen turned onto a side street and expertly parallel-parked at the curb. Hanna turned her car around in an alley, parked crookedly, and dove into a bush just in time to see Colleen walking up the front steps of an old, grand house on the corner. Colleen rang the bell and stood back, fixing her hair.
The door opened, and a graying man with crow’s feet opened the door. “Great to see you,” he said, giving Colleen an air kiss.
“Thank you so much for seeing me at such short notice,” Colleen said.
“Anything for you, dear.” The guy cupped Colleen’s face in his hands. “You have such good bone structure. You’re a natural.”
Colleen tittered bashfully. “I’m so glad you think so.”
A natural for what? Hanna pushed a branch out of the way. Was Colleen two-timing Mike with this geezer?
When the door slammed, Hanna scampered up to the porch and stared at a plaque next to the doorbell. JEFFREY LABRECQUE, it said. PHOTOGRAPHER.
Hanna snickered. So Colleen was getting professional photos taken. She knew just how that would go—if this Jeffrey character was anything like Patrick, her seedy photographer, he’d butter up Colleen and then convince her to take off her top. Mike’s jealousy of Patrick—and Hanna’s reaction to it—was what had broken them up. It could be just the thing to ruin Mike and Colleen, too.
Hanna peered into the window, watching the photographer set up a bunch of lights around a black screen. He gestured for Colleen to sit on a stool, then perched behind his camera. The flash went off again and again, Colleen twisting her knees this way and that and making faces ranging from ecstatic to intense to brooding to sullen. After a few minutes, Jeffrey Labrecque walked toward Colleen and said something Hanna couldn’t hear. He stepped away, and Colleen slipped off her cardigan sweater. Hanna leaned forward. This was probably the moment she was going to pose in her lacy black bra.
But when Jeffrey stepped away, Colleen was still in a T-shirt. She smiled for the camera, looking wholesome and sweet. Within minutes, the photo session was over, and Colleen rose from the stool, handed the photographer a check, and shook his hand.
“Unbelievable,” Hanna muttered. Everything was so damn pure the whole vignette could have a halo o
ver it.
Colleen headed for the front door, and Hanna skittered off the porch before Colleen saw her. As she rounded the corner, she almost ran smack into a black sedan chugging at the curb. The windows were tinted, but she could see a pair of eyes peering through the slightly open backseat window. Before she could see who it was, the car sped away. Hanna swung around and stared at the receding car, but it was too far away for her to see the license plate.
Beep.
Hanna’s phone glowed at the bottom of her bag. The words of a new text assaulted her as soon as she looked at the screen.
You’re close, Hanna. Keep digging. —A
20
A POT OF GOLD
That same afternoon, Spencer left the seedy Motel 6 on the outskirts of the Princeton University campus, where she’d been staying since the party disaster last night, and started toward the train station. The rain had abated and the sun had come out, making the sidewalks glimmer and the air smell like fresh flowers. People folded up their umbrellas and lowered their raincoat hoods. A couple of Ultimate Frisbee players straggled out of the dorms and resumed their games. On any other day, Spencer would have taken the opportunity to sit on one of the benches and just gaze at the splendor that was Princeton University. But today, she just felt exhausted.
Starting almost immediately after the police had hauled Harper away from the party, Spencer had texted Harper with several profuse apologies, but Harper hadn’t responded. Neither had Quinn or Jessie or anyone else whose numbers she’d gotten before the big drug bust. Spencer knew staying at the Ivy House—or anywhere else on campus—wasn’t an option, so she’d Googled local motels in the area and stumbled into the Motel 6 room at almost midnight. All she wanted to do was get some sleep and forget about everything that had happened, but she’d been kept awake almost all night by the techno music coming from the adult bookstore next to the motel. Her hair was greasy from the motel shampoo, her skin itched from the cheap cotton sheets, and her head was spinning from just how badly she’d ruined her chances at getting into Ivy.
