by Sara Shepard
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from Pretty Little Liars
Back Ads
About the Author
Books by Sara Shepard
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE
“HE DESERVES TO BE PUNISHED.”
That’s how it starts—with a simple statement like that. You might say it about a boyfriend who broke your heart when he kissed that skanky new girl. Or that former best friend who lied about you to save his ass. Or about a bully who went too far. You’re angry and hurt, and deep down, all you want is to get even.
That doesn’t mean you do it, of course. You might fantasize about fulfilling your darkest wishes . . . but you’re a good person. You wouldn’t actually go through with it. But as five girls learned, sometimes even thinking about revenge can lead to danger—and murder.
In other words, be careful what you wish for. Because you might get exactly what you want.
In a normal-seeming classroom in a normal-seeming high school in the normal-seeming town of Beacon Heights, Washington, thirty teenagers sat in darkness as the words The End flashed across the flat-screen TV before them. They had just watched And Then There Were None, an old black-and-white movie about justice, punishment, and murder. This was film studies class, a popular senior elective at Beacon High that was taught by the well-liked—and, at least according to most of the girls, totally gorgeous—Mr. Granger.
When Granger flicked on the lights, he had a smug, I’m-handsome-and-smart-and-you-should-worship-me smile on his face. “Amazing, right?” He swiftly divided the class into groups. “Discuss. What do you think this movie is truly about? Get some ideas for your papers.” Granger assigned an open-themed paper on every film they watched. It might seem easier that way, but his grading scale was brutal, in line with every other class at ultra-competitive Beacon High, so group discussions to come up with paper topics were key.
At the back of the room, Julie Redding sat in a group of girls who were, mostly, relative strangers to her. But she knew them in passing: There was musical genius Mackenzie Wright—word had it she’d played onstage with Yo-Yo Ma. Gorgeous Ava Jalali sat across from them, who’d done some small-time modeling gigs and apparently was snapped as a “trendsetter on the street” in Glamour. There was soccer star Caitlin Martell-Lewis, who was twitchy as a caged animal. Next to Julie sat the only one she knew well—her best friend, Parker Duvall, whose only talent these days was being a pariah. And of course, there was Julie herself, the most popular girl at school.
The girls didn’t know each other very well—yet. But soon enough, they would.
At first they talked about the movie, which was about killing people who had done terrible things—was that simply punishment, or murder? Suddenly Parker took a deep breath. “I know it’s kind of sick,” she said, her voice low, “but sometimes I think the judge in the movie was right. Some people deserve to be punished.”
There was a shock wave through the group, but then Julie spoke up, always quick to come to Parker’s defense. “Right?” she chimed in. “I mean, I know some people who deserve punishment. Personally, first on my list would be Parker’s dad. The judge let him off too easy.” She hated Parker’s dad for what he’d done to Parker. The scars of it were still all over her face, and ever since that night, Parker had gone from the most popular girl in school to . . . well, a damaged outsider. Parker hadn’t even tried to regain the friends she’d pulled away from, though maybe it was easier to hide than to reveal exactly how broken she was.
Parker nodded at Julie, and Julie gave her friend’s hand a squeeze. She knew it was always hard for Parker, talking about her dad. “Or what about Ashley Ferguson?” Parker offered, and Julie winced. Ashley was a junior girl who tried way too hard to be like Julie, buying the same exact clothes, retweeting everything she posted, even dying her hair the same color as Julie’s. It was starting to feel a little creepy.
The other girls in the group shifted. They weren’t sure they liked where this was going, but they also felt the all-too-familiar tug of peer pressure.
Mackenzie cleared her throat. “Um, I would pick Claire, I guess.”
“Claire Coldwell?” Ava Jalali’s eyes widened. The others were just as surprised—wasn’t Claire Mackenzie’s best friend? But Mackenzie just shrugged. She must have had her reasons for choosing Claire, Julie thought. Everyone had secrets.
Ava tapped her bright red nails on the desk. “I’d go for my father’s new wife, Leslie,” she decided. “She’s . . . awful.”
“But how would you do it?” Parker pressed, leaning forward. “For example, Ashley. She could trip in the shower, while she’s washing her copycat hair. If you were going to commit the perfect crime, what would you do?” Her eyes traveled to each of the girls in turn.
Ava’s brow knitted in concentration. “Well, Leslie’s always drunk,” she said slowly. “Maybe she could fall off her balcony after she finishes her nightly bottle of chardonnay.”
Parker looked at Mackenzie. “And you? How would you take out Claire?”
“Oh,” the musician squeaked. “Well . . . maybe a hit-and-run. Something totally accidental.” She reached for her water bottle and took a nervous swig, then glanced around the classroom. Claire was in this class . . . but she seemed to be paying no attention. Only Mr. Granger was looking at them from his desk. But when Mackenzie met his stare, he smiled at her and looked back down at a yellow legal pad, his paper of choice.
“Parker’s dad could get his ass kicked in the prison yard,” Julie volunteered in a small voice. “That happens all the time, doesn’t it?”
Caitlin, who hadn’t said a word, inched her chair closer to the others. “You know who I’d get rid of?” she said suddenly. She glanced across the room, her gaze cutting through group one and then Mr. Granger, who was peering at them again, until it finally landed on a guy in group three. The hottest guy in the room, actually. But his handsome mouth was twisted into a cruel smile, and his eyes narrowed dangerously.
Nolan Hotchkiss.
“Him,” Caitlin said gravely.
Each girl sucked in a breath. It was clear why Caitlin hated Nolan so much—her brother’s tragic death said it all—he’d been tormented to his breaking point by Nolan. Each girl’s own frustrations with Nolan began to surface. He’d started nasty rumors about Ava after she had broken up with him last year. Mackenzie felt her cheeks redden as she thought of how she’d fallen for his Casanova act—and sent him some seriously embarrassin
g pictures. Julie hated Nolan for the same reason Parker did—if he hadn’t drugged Parker that night, maybe her dad would never have hurt her like this. Maybe Parker would still be her old self, glittery and happy and full of life.
It was true, each of them thought: The world would be a much better place without Nolan. He was a monster, not just to them, but to Beacon as a whole. But even thinking these things felt dangerous. Nolan could ruin any of them with a snap of his fingers—and he had.
“How would you do it?” Ava asked, looking down. “If you were going to kill him, I mean?”
And so they talked it through—just for fun. They hypothesized a way to kill him, with cyanide, like in all the old movies. Not that they’d ever do that.
But then they came up with something they would do: prank Nolan. They could use Oxy, his drug of choice, to spike his beer. And then when he was passed out, they would write embarrassing messages on his face in Sharpie and post the pictures online. They’d make a fool out of him, just like he’d done to all of them.
At one point during the discussion, Nolan looked up at the girls, an eyebrow raised. His gaze flicked to each of them in turn, and then he rolled his eyes and looked back at his group. It was clear he thought he didn’t have a thing to worry about.
But that was just it. He did. Because a week later, Nolan was dead—of cyanide poisoning. Exactly the way the girls had originally planned.
After Nolan’s death, the girls called one another and spoke in panicked whispers. What had happened? All they did was prank Nolan, with a single Oxy pill and some dumb stuff written on his face. How had cyanide ended up in his system? This wasn’t their fault, they told one another. They were good girls, every last one of them. Not killers.
But they couldn’t help wondering: Had someone heard them in class and decided to take advantage of their plan? Someone else who hated Nolan, too, maybe? That was truly the perfect crime—Nolan was dead, and the girls were built-in suspects.
At first the girls thought it was Mr. Granger. Hadn’t they noticed him watching them carefully in class that day? But when Granger turned up dead, too, they were back to square one. The killer was someone else.
But how far would that someone go? What about all the other names on the list?
What if one of them was next?
CHAPTER ONE
ON SUNDAY MORNING, MACKENZIE WRIGHT stood outside the Beacon Heights police station, staring morosely at the curb. Storm clouds hung low in the sky. Six squad cars were lined up in the parking lot. The other girls from film studies had all already left, either with their parents—Mac’s would be there any minute now—or on their own.
As if summoned by her thoughts, her parents’ sedan turned into the parking lot. Mac’s stomach flipped. She’d caught a ride with Ava here this morning, but after the cops had called her parents, they’d insisted on coming to get her. Mac couldn’t imagine how her family was reacting to the news that she’d broken into the house of a teacher who’d been killed last night—stabbed with his own kitchen knife. She, Mackenzie Wright, first chair cello, was a murder suspect.
The car slowed, and her mother bolted out of the passenger seat, enveloping Mackenzie in a firm hug. Mac stiffened, surprised. “Are you okay?” Mrs. Wright said into Mac’s shoulder, her voice tinged with sobs.
“I guess so,” Mac said.
Her father had jumped out of the car, too. “We came as soon as we could. What happened? The police said you broke into a house? And there’d been a murder? What’s happening to this town?”
Mac took a deep breath, saying the words she’d rehearsed for the past five minutes. “It was a big mix-up,” she said slowly. “A few friends and I thought we had some information on Nolan Hotchkiss’s death. That’s why we came to the police station. But then . . . well, then things got kind of confusing.”
Her father frowned. “Did you or did you not break into a teacher’s house?”
Mac swallowed hard. She’d been dreading this part. “We thought he was home. The door was open. We had some questions for him, about Nolan’s death.”
She lowered her eyes. Her parents had known who Nolan Hotchkiss was even before he’d died—everyone did. The Hotchkisses were wealthy and powerful, even in the influential, glamorous, perfect world of Beacon Heights. What her parents didn’t know was what Nolan had meant to Mac. Not so long ago, he’d taken Mac out on a couple of dates. Wooed her, made her feel good, lit up her life. When he’d asked for a few pictures, she hadn’t even flinched, posing behind her cello and snapping away.
Turns out he’d only wanted the pictures for a bet—which Mackenzie realized when he drove by her house with his friends, laughing and throwing money at her. Can you say humiliating nightmare?
Worse, the police had found those pictures on Nolan’s phone, which to them was as good a motive as any for Mac to have murdered Nolan. They didn’t have proof of anything yet, but still, it wasn’t good.
That was why Mackenzie and the other girls had gone to Granger’s house—to try to clear their own names. They knew that Nolan had something on Granger—something big—and thought maybe Granger killed him to keep him quiet.
Mrs. Wright held Mac at arm’s length. “You honestly thought your teacher had something to do with Nolan’s death? What kind of teacher was he?”
“Not a good one.” Mac squirmed at the thought of Granger fooling around with quite a few of his students—the Something Big that Nolan had known about. They’d discovered that when Ava found a threatening message from Nolan on Granger’s phone. Oh, and Granger had hit on Ava, too.
After they snooped through Granger’s house and found hard evidence that Nolan was blackmailing the teacher, they’d all gone to the police station together. But they hadn’t exactly gotten the warm welcome they’d expected. Granger had died just moments after they fled the scene. Ava’s boyfriend—or maybe ex-boyfriend—had seen them leaving Granger’s house and called the cops.
The mind-boggling discussion she’d just had with her friends flashed through Mackenzie’s mind. Is Granger Nolan’s killer? Caitlin had asked. Or did Nolan’s killer kill Granger, too—and make it look like us again? No one had an answer for that. It had all made sense when they thought Granger killed Nolan, but now it was clear that everything was more complicated than they’d realized.
Her father slung his arm around her and pulled her in close, yanking Mac back to the present. “Well, we believe you, and we’ll get this worked out,” he said. “I already have a call in to an old friend who’s a lawyer. I’m just sorry it happened, especially in light of all the good things going on right now.”
It took Mac a moment to realize what he was referring to: She was supposed to be celebrating her unofficial acceptance to Juilliard in New York. She’d gotten the call from her mom’s friend—who had inside information from the admissions office—two days ago, but they hadn’t really gotten to enjoy the moment. Not that Mac felt much like celebrating, since the victory was tainted by the fact that Claire Coldwell had gotten in, too.
Her dad guided her into the backseat of the car. “I’m just glad you’re okay. What if you’d been inside that house with some maniac holding a knife?”
“I know, I know,” Mac mumbled into her chest. “And I’m sorry.” But that made her wonder: If they’d remained on Granger’s property, a safe distance away, for a little while longer, would they have seen who'd snuck into his house and killed him?
She was just about to get into the car when she heard a snicker behind her. Standing across the street in her front yard was Amy something-or-other, a sophomore she knew from school. Amy was leaning against a tree, a cup of coffee in her hands, just . . . staring.
Mac put her head down. How long had the girl been watching? Had she heard about Granger? How much did she know?
Sighing, Mac scooted into the seat next to her younger sister, Sierra. Sierra looked at Mac a little cautiously, almost as if she were afraid of her. Mac stared straight ahead, pretending she didn’t notice
, but when she heard Nolan’s name on the local news radio, she flinched. The search is still on for the person who poisoned Mr. Hotchkiss on the night of . . .
“Enough of that,” Mrs. Wright said sharply, her hand shooting forward to adjust the dial to the classical station, which was playing Beethoven. Nobody spoke for the short ride home. Mac leaned back and closed her eyes, feeling deeply, painfully tired. The silence was only broken when they pulled into the driveway and Mrs. Wright cleared her throat. “Looks like you have a visitor, Mackenzie.”
Mac’s eyes popped open, and she followed her mother’s gaze. Her first thought was that it must be Claire, her ex–best friend. Dread filled her. After Claire’s attempts to sabotage Mac’s Juilliard audition, Mac never wanted to see her again. The fact that she’d have to spend the next four years with her—at the school they’d both devoted their lives to getting accepted to—felt like some sort of cosmic joke.
But then her vision adjusted. It wasn’t Claire sitting on the family’s front porch, slowly turning the shiny fronds of a pinwheel that was jammed into the flower bed. It was Claire’s boyfriend—and the boy Mac had loved quietly for years. Blake.
Blake’s head shot up as the car pulled to a stop. There was a desperate, searching look in his eyes. His mouth opened, but no words came out, and he snapped it shut again. Mac felt a tug in her heart. His shaggy hair and long-lashed pale blue eyes still knocked the wind out of her. And he looked so . . . sad, like he missed hanging out with her.
Then she noticed something in his lap. It was a confection box from his sister’s bakery in town along with a square white envelope. A memory suddenly struck her: meeting Blake at the bakery last week so they could rehearse songs for his band. It felt like ages ago. Mac had kept her distance from Blake for so long—ever since Claire started dating him even though she clearly knew how Mac felt about him. But that day in the bakery, they’d . . . connected, just like old times.
She closed her eyes, flooded with the memory of how their lips had met. It had felt so wrong and so right, all at once.
But the soft spot inside Mac quickly turned iron-hard. She thought of the next time she’d seen Blake at the bakery: finding him and Claire after the Juilliard audition. They’d stood together, hand-in-hand, a united front. I told Blake to hang out with you, Claire had teased. I knew you’d drop everything, even practicing for your audition. Oh, and all your confessions to Blake? He told me everything. Including that you were playing Tchaikovsky. She’d looked at Mac with so much anger and hate in her eyes. And we aren’t broken up. We’re stronger than ever.
