“They might have,” Emily said, “but the report didn’t say anything about that. And it’s not like they have the places on twenty-four-hour surveillance. Ali could have slipped in after the search.”
Hanna gestured to the magazine. “This seems so obvious, though. I mean, first we find a receipt leading us to Ashland, and we already know Ali was staying at the Maxwells’ town house. It feels too easy.”
“Or maybe Ali’s getting sloppy,” Emily suggested. “She doesn’t have Nick anymore to watch her back. Maybe she doesn’t realize we’ve made the connection. I think we should check it out.”
Aria twisted her mouth. “I don’t know, Em.”
Hanna agreed, though she didn’t say so. It seemed like Emily was trying to force mismatched puzzle pieces together.
But on the other hand, she got it. Hanna recalled Emily’s light, chirpy, beyond-excited voice when she’d told Hanna about Jordan potentially being released from prison. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say she’d never, ever heard Emily so happy. A carpet had been ripped out from under her—a whole life. No wonder she was acting this way.
Spencer wound a piece of hair around her finger. “We would be trespassing. And it could be a trap.”
Emily’s eyes flashed. “I knew you guys would be like this. She ruined my life. I’m willing to go to the ends of the earth to find her. And if I have to do it alone, then that’s what I’ll do.” She gripped the steering wheel purposefully.
Hanna glanced at Spencer and Aria worriedly. Both of them had the same shocked expressions on their faces. “Hey,” Hanna said quickly, touching Emily’s shoulder. “You’re not doing this alone. We’ll all go, okay?”
“We’re not going to let you get hurt,” Spencer added.
“But promise us that if anything seems creepy, we’re out of there,” Aria chimed in. “Deal?”
“Uh-huh,” Emily said robotically, but the tough look in her eyes made Hanna think that Emily was ready for all kinds of creepy. What if Spencer was right? What if Ali knew they were coming? What if she was waiting for them?
What were they in for?
Despite punching the address from the real estate listing into the GPS on Spencer’s phone, Emily still took several wrong turns before finding the Maxwells’ estate. The only marker to the house was a small red mailbox poking through the trees, but Emily finally made the correct left turn. A long gravel driveway led almost straight up, the tires crunching noisily on the rocks. The car was hemmed in on either side by tall, camouflaging oaks and pines. At night, the place was probably pitch-black, the trees obscuring the stars and the moon.
They pulled up to the house, which looked exactly like it did in the magazine’s picture: lots of levels, planes of stone, sheets of long, huge windows. The front porch was clean and swept. Flowers poked through mulched beds in the front yard. Tube-shaped wind chimes hung from the eaves. Hanna picked up a slight marshy, algae-like scent; maybe there was a creek back in the woods. There was a Realtor’s sign in the front yard and a lockbox on the door.
Emily immediately leapt out and started to look around. Hanna followed, not wanting Emily to go too far alone. “No one’s here,” Hanna called out quickly. “I guess we were wrong.”
“Yeah, let’s go,” Aria said, her voice quavering. “I’ve seen all I need to see.”
But Emily didn’t seem to hear them. She touched the peeling white bark on a birch tree in the front yard, then went up to one of the windows and peered inside the house.
“Em, there’s a lockbox on the door,” Spencer, who’d also climbed out of the car, called out. “Ali wouldn’t be stupid enough to still be hiding here if potential buyers are viewing this place, you know?”
“And I bet this house has a pimp security system,” Aria added, her eyes darting back and forth around the property. “An alarm would go off if Ali tried to get inside.”
“See? There you go,” Hanna said, heading back to the car. “Let’s get out of here.”
But then Emily pointed to a path in the side yard. “What’s that?”
She jogged toward the back of the house. Hanna and the others exchanged another worried glance, then followed reluctantly. A long wraparound porch extended all the way to the backyard. Jutting beyond that was a huge slate patio, complete with low-slung furniture and a granite fire pit. There was also an in-ground, oval, infinity-edge pool, its winter cover still on.
“This place is nicer than the Kahns’,” Aria mumbled, eyeing a massive stone waterfall and three large Grecian statues of buxom naked women.
Something cracked behind Hanna, and she turned and peered at the sky. Tree branches swayed. Something shifted in the woods. The hair rose on the back of her arms. Once again, she thought of that chalk message on the sidewalk outside the studio. BreAk a leg, Hanna.
“You guys . . . ,” she started nervously.
Emily was marching beyond the pool, seemingly impervious to danger. Hanna scurried after her, watching as Emily walked purposefully down a small path, pushing branches aside and stepping over thick roots. In moments, they were facing a square, two-story building hidden in the woods. Half-rotted barn-style doors sealed off the front. Cobwebs dominated the porch. Most of the windows were covered. Dead leaves and broken branches blanketed the roof, and one of the shutters flapped noisily.
“What is this place?” Aria said breathily, staring up at the eroded roof.
“A pool house, maybe,” Spencer said. “Or maybe some sort of work shed.”