It had been Hanna’s favorite winter break memory, but now she wondered if she and Lucas should’ve been doing something more mature. Like sneaking off to the Mandarin Oriental in New York City, for example, and shopping for jewelry on Fifth Avenue.
The halls were almost empty, and many of the teachers were shutting their classroom doors. Hanna started down the hall, tossing her hair and trying her hardest to snap out of her weirdness. A tiny beeping sound from inside her bag made her jump. Her cell phone.
A small seed of worry began to throb in the pit of Hanna’s stomach. When she looked at the screen, she was relieved to see it was just from Lucas. I forgot to ask, he wrote. Are we still hanging out this afternoon? Text me when you get this.
The between-classes classical music went silent, meaning Hanna was late. She’d forgotten that she’d offered to help Lucas pick out new jeans at the mall. But she hated the idea of Kate, Naomi, and Riley dress-shopping without her, and it seemed weird to have Lucas tag along.
Can’t, she replied, typing while walking. Sorry.
She hit Send and clapped her phone shut. When she turned the corner, she saw her new BFFs standing at the end of the hallway, waiting for her. She smiled and caught up to them, pushing her sinking, guilty feelings out of her head. After all, she was Hanna Marin, and she was fabulous.
18
A JURY OF ONE
Thursday evening, Spencer sat at the dinner table all alone. Melissa had left with friends an hour ago, and her parents had made themselves scarce and then pointedly breezed out the front door, barely saying good-bye. She’d had to scavenge in the fridge for some leftover cartons of Chinese food for dinner.
She stared at the pile of mail on the kitchen table. Fenniworth College, some podunk school in central Pennsylvania, had sent her a catalogue and an accompanying letter saying they would be thrilled to show her around their campus. But the only reason Fenniworth was still willing to let Spencer apply was probably because of how much money her family had. Money she’d thought she was entitled to—until now.
Spencer pulled her Sidekick out of her pocket and checked her e-mail inbox for the third time in fifteen minutes. Nothing from the adoption site. Nothing else from that creepy new A. And, unfortunately, nothing from Wilden. At Hanna’s suggestion, she’d called him about the note she’d received in the library, adding that she was positive someone had been watching her through the windows.
But Wilden had seemed distracted. Or maybe he didn’t believe her—perhaps he thought Spencer was an unreliable witness too. He’d reassured her yet again that this was just some bored kid making trouble, and that he and the rest of the Rosewood PD were investigating the origin of the notes. Then he’d hung up on Spencer when she was in the middle of a sentence. She’d stared at the phone, peeved.
Candace, the family’s housekeeper, started scrubbing the stove, filling the room with eucalyptus-scented cleaner. The latest season of America’s Next Top Model, Candace’s favorite show, droned on the little flat-screen TV above the cabinets. The caterers had just come to drop off some of the ingredients for Saturday’s fund-raiser, and the alcohol distributor had brought in several cases of wine. A few magnum bottles sat on the kitchen island, constant reminders that Spencer was not included in these preparations. If she had been, she certainly wouldn’t have ordered merlot—she would’ve gone for something classier, like Barolo.
Spencer looked up at the TV, staring as a bunch of pretty girls walked down a makeshift runway in a morgue, modeling what looked like crosses between bikinis and straitjackets. Suddenly, the TV went dark. Spencer cocked her head. Candace let out a frustrated grunt. A news logo flashed on the screen. “We have breaking news from Rosewood,” said a voice-over. Spencer reached over to the remote and turned up the volume.
A bug-eyed reporter with a crew cut stood in front of the Rosewood courthouse. “We have an update about the much-anticipated Alison DiLaurentis murder trial,” he announced. “Despite speculation about lack of evidence, the D.A.’s office announced just minutes ago that the trial will take place as scheduled.”
Spencer pulled her cashmere cardigan closer around her, letting out a huge sigh of relief. Then the broadcast cut to a shot of the front of Ian’s house, a big, rambling compound with an American flag prominently over the front porch. “Mr. Thomas has been released on temporary bail until his trial begins,” the reporter’s voice announced off-camera. “We spoke with him last night to see how he was doing.”
Ian’s image swam onto the screen. “I’m innocent,” he protested, his eyes wide. “Someone else is guilty of this, not me.”
“Ugh,” Candace spat, shaking her head. “I can’t believe that boy was ever in this house!” She picked up a can of Febreeze and squirted it toward the TV camera, as if Ian’s mere presence on the screen had let a bad odor into the room.
The report ended, and ANTM came back on. Spencer stood up, feeling dizzy. She needed to get some air…and clear Ian from her head. She stumbled out the back door and onto the patio, a chilly gust of wind hitting her in the face. The heron-shaped thermometer that swung from a post next to the grill said the temperature was only thirty-five degrees, but Spencer didn’t bother to go back inside to get a jacket.
It was quiet and dark on the porch. The woods behind the barn—the very last place Spencer had seen Ali alive—seemed darker than usual. When she turned and looked toward her front yard, a light in the Cavanaughs’ house snapped on. A tall, dark-haired figure floated by the living room bay window. Jenna. She was pacing around, talking into her cell phone, her lips moving quickly. Spencer shuddered, uneasy. It was such a disconnect to see someone wearing sunglasses indoors…and at night.
“Spencer,” someone whispered, very close.
Spencer whirled around toward the voice, and her knees buckled. Ian was standing on the other side of the deck. He wore a black North Face down jacket zipped up to his nose and a black ski hat pulled down to his eyebrows. The only thing Spencer could see was his eyes.
Spencer started to cry out, but Ian held up his hand. “Shhhh. Just listen for a sec.”