Then, from deep inside her purse, Emily’s phone chimed. Suddenly, it hit her. Maybe it wasn’t luck or coincidence that Mrs. Colbert was at Applebee’s tonight. Maybe someone had told her to come.
“Just…give me a sec,” she said to her sister. She walked over to the curb near the takeout door and lowered herself down. Her cell phone’s greenish window glowed in the darkness. One new photo message, the screen said.
A picture appeared on the Nokia’s screen. But it had nothing to do with Emily, Isaac, or Isaac’s mom. Instead, it was of a big room with stained-glass windows, glossy wooden pews, and thick red carpeting. Emily frowned. It was Holy Trinity, her family’s church. There was Father Tyson’s confessional, the little wooden alcove near the lobby. Someone was emerging from the confession booth, his head bowed. Emily brought the phone close to her face. The guy in the photo was tall, with short, dark hair. A Rosewood Police Department badge glowed on his jacket, and a pair of handcuffs dangled from his belt.
Wilden?
Then she noticed the text at the bottom of the photo. Even though she wasn’t quite sure what it meant, an uneasy shiver rippled from the top of her head down to the soles of her feet.
I guess we all have stuff to feel guilty about, huh?—A
18 SOMETHING’S ROTTEN IN ROSEWOOD…
Friday morning, as the sky was turning from dark blue to pale purple, Hanna zipped up her green Puma running jacket and did a couple of calf stretches against the big maple tree in her front yard. Then she set off running down her driveway, listening to music on her iPhone. She’d been an idiot not to get an iPhone sooner—armed with a new unlisted phone number, she hadn’t received a single text from New A.
New A was certainly texting Emily up a storm, though—Hanna had received a forward from Emily early this morning, a photo of Darren Wilden skulking around a church. What do you think this means? Emily wrote, as if Hanna really would know. Lots of people went to church. She didn’t buy that A was sending Emily texts as all-important clues. More than likely, A was just messing with poor Emily’s already addled mind.
But Hanna had received quite a few texts from Mike Montgomery. Like the one that came in right now: U awake?
Yes, Hanna typed back quickly. On a run.
Sexy, Mike wrote back. What R U wearing?
Hanna smirked. Spandex. Super tight.
Mike: Run by my house!
You wish, Hanna answered, giggling.
Mike had even texted her last night, presumably after he’d returned from his date with Kate. Hanna considered scolding him about double booking, but then she worried she might sound whiny and insecure. Did Mike think Kate was prettier? Thinner? Did he take her shopping and try and bust into her dressing room, too? What did Kate do? Laugh…or freak?
What time do U want me to pick U up for the Radley party 2morro? Hanna texted.
She was at the bottom of her street before Mike responded. Do U mind if we add a third? Hanna came to an abrupt stop at the corner. It was obvious who the third person Mike wanted to add was—Kate.
She kicked the metal post of the stop sign hard. It made a loud clanging sound, startling a few birds from a nearby tree. Her dad might have relaxed the all-Kate-all-the-time punishment, but he was still trying to coerce Hanna and Kate into being BFFs. Like yesterday, when Kate had returned from her date with Mike, she’d joined Hanna and Mr. Marin in the kitchen, where Hanna was proudly showing her father her decorated Time Capsule flag. Mr. Marin studied it, then Kate, and then gently asked Hanna if Kate could have some of the credit for finding the flag too. Maybe Hanna could let her draw a little decoration in one of the corners?
Hanna’s mouth had dropped open. “It’s my flag,” she cried, astonished her dad could even suggest such a thing. “I found it.” Her father looked at her disappointedly, then walked away. Kate didn’t say a word the whole time, probably figuring that a silent, humble daughter was better than a screechy, bratty one. But Hanna knew Kate was thrilled that Hanna and her father’s relationship was dying a slow, painful death.
There was a swish behind her, and Hanna whirled around, suddenly struck with the distinct feeling that someone was on her tail. Only the narrow road was empty. She let out a long sigh and decided not to answer Mike at all, sliding her iPhone into her pocket and cranking up the music. She ran down the hill from her neighborhood, cut across a narrow footbridge between two yards, and found herself at a familiar intersection. There was an old gray farmhouse on the corner, set back from the street. Two cinnamon-colored horses and one spotted Shetland pony stood calmly next to the wood fence. This was the turn to Ali’s.
The first time Hanna stood at the crossroads was the day she’d tried to steal Ali’s piece of the Time Capsule flag. Hanna remembered gazing into the pony’s big, soft eyes, wishing she could ask its opinion about what she was about to do. Who did she think she was, assuming she could march in and snatch Ali’s flag? What if Naomi and Riley were there and they all laughed in Hanna’s face? Maybe I should face the fact that I’ll never be popular, she’d almost said out loud to the pony. But then a car had passed, and she’d squared her shoulders and biked on.
Now she jogged into Ali’s neighborhood, breathing hard. Mona’s house was one of the first houses on the street, its grand circular driveway and gabled six-car garage painfully familiar. Hanna looked away. Next came Jenna’s house, the red colonial with the big tree off to the side, the one that had once held Toby’s tree house. Then Spencer’s estate, which sat aloofly behind a large wrought-iron gate. Hints of the KILLER graffiti were visible through the repainted barn garage doors. Ali’s old house was last, looming at the end of the cul-de-sac.
Hanna ran up to the Ali shrine, which was still assembled at the curb. A few of the candles had been replaced, and one was lit, dancing in the wind. There were a few hand-lettered signs on poster board that said things like, WE’LL FIND HIM, ALI, and IAN WILL PAY FOR THIS!
She crouched down and looked at the photograph that had been part of the shrine ever since it was first assembled, back when Ali’s body had been recovered. The photo was warped and faded from months of rain and snow. It was a picture of sixth-grade Ali, wearing a blue Von Dutch T-shirt and Seven jeans, standing in Spencer’s grand foyer. The photo had been taken the night Melissa and Ian were going to the Rosewood Day Winter Ball—Ali had been vehement about spying on them, giggling hysterically when Melissa tripped on the stairs during her grand entrance. Who knew, maybe Ali had something going on with Ian even back then.
Hanna frowned, looking closer at the photo. Behind Ali, the Hastingses’ front door was slightly open, offering a partial view of Spencer’s front yard. Standing in Spencer’s driveway next to Ian and Melissa’s Hummer limo was a lone figure in a down jacket and jeans. Hanna couldn’t really make out who it was, his face a blur. Still, there was something intrusive and voyeuristic about the person’s posture, as if whoever it was wanted to spy on Ian and Melissa too.
A door slammed. Hanna jumped, looking up. For a moment, she couldn’t locate where the noise had come from. Then she saw Darren Wilden standing at the bottom of the Cavanaughs’ driveway. When he saw Hanna, he did a double take.