Killer (26 page)

Deep down, a part of Hanna wanted to believe that what her dad said was true—that despite everything, Kate honestly wanted Hanna as a friend. But after all Hanna had suffered through, it was hard to trust that Kate’s aims could be pure.

As she strode out of her bedroom, she heard water running in the hall bathroom. Kate was loudly belting out a recent song from
American Idol
, using up all the hot water. Hanna paused by the door, feeling wholly unsettled. Then, as a truck rumbled past outside, she turned away and marched down the stairs.

The Radley Hotel was bustling with guests, photographers, and staff. Hanna and Mike pulled into the driveway, parked, and handed the car over to the valet. As she got out, Hanna took in the charming brick walkways, the ice-crusted lake in the back meadow, and the grand stone steps leading to the stately wooden door.

When she and Mike walked into the main ballroom, Hanna’s jaw dropped even farther. The party’s theme was Palace of Versailles, and the Radley lobby was draped with silk tapestries and filled with crystal chandeliers, gold-framed paintings, and ornate chaises. There was a huge fresco of some mythological scene on the far wall, and Hanna could see a Hall of Mirrors at the back, just like in the real Versailles outside Paris. To her right was a throne room, complete with a tall, royal chair with a burgundy velvet cushion. A bunch of guests were gathered near the bar and standing in clumps near the tables. A complete orchestra was set up at the back, and off to the left were the lobby desk, the elevators, and a discreet sign to the spa and the bathrooms.

“Wow.” Hanna sighed. This was her kind of hotel.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Mike said, stifling a yawn.

Mike was dressed in a sleek black tux. He had his dark hair slicked off his face, showing off his prominent cheekbones. Whenever Hanna looked at him, her arms and legs felt noodly. Even more bizarrely, she kept getting vague twinges of sadness. It wasn’t the way a winner was supposed to feel.

A caterer in a white suit swept past. “I’m going to get a drink,” Hanna said airily, banishing the melancholy feelings from her head. She walked over to the bar and stood in line behind Mr. and Mrs. Kahn, who were whispering excitedly about which art on display they wanted to buy. Then a shock of blond hair across the room caught Hanna’s attention. It was Mrs. DiLaurentis, deep in conversation with a silver-haired man in a tuxedo. The man swept his arms around, pointing out the balcony, the fluted columns, the chandeliers, the hallway to the spa and the guest rooms. Mrs. DiLaurentis nodded and grinned, but her expression seemed pasted on. Hanna shuddered, uneasy to see Ali’s mom at a party. It was like seeing a ghost.

The bartender cleared his throat, and Hanna turned and ordered an extra-dirty Ketel One martini. As he mixed it up, she turned and stood on her tiptoes, searching for Mike. When she finally found him, he was in the corner near a gigantic abstract painting, next to Noel, Mason, and a few girls. Hanna narrowed her eyes at the pretty girl whispering in his ear.
Kate
.

Her stepsister was dressed in a floor-length navy gown and four-inch heels. Naomi and Riley flanked her on either side, both wearing ultrashort black dresses. Hanna grabbed her martini and shot across the room, the vodka sloshing over the lip of the glass. She reached Mike and tapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Hi,” Mike said, an I’m-not-doing-anything-wrong look on his face. Kate, Naomi, and Riley peered around him, snickering.

Hanna’s skin felt scorched. Grabbing Mike’s hand, Hanna faced the others. “Did you girls hear? Mike and I are going to prom together.”

Naomi and Riley looked confused. Kate’s smile dimmed. “Prom?”

“Uh-huh,” Hanna chirped, running her hands over her Time Capsule flag, which she’d tied to the gold chain of her Chanel purse.

Noel Kahn clapped Mike on the back. “Sweet.”

Mike shrugged, as if he’d known from the start that Hanna would ask him. “I need another Jäger shot,” he said, and he, Noel, and Mason ambled across the room to the bar, shoving one another every few steps.

The orchestra launched into a waltz, and a few of the dusty old partygoers who actually knew what that meant started to dance. Hanna locked her hands to her hips and shot Kate a smug smile. “So! Who’s the winner now?”

Kate lowered one shoulder. “God, Hanna.” She burst out laughing. “You seriously asked him to prom?”

Hanna rolled her eyes. “Poor baby. You’re not used to losing. But face it—you did.”

Kate shook her head vigorously. “You don’t understand. I never even
liked
him.”

Hanna let out a lip fart. “You liked him as much as I did.”

Kate lowered her chin. “Did I?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I wanted to see if you’d go after
anyone
if you thought I was going after him too. The joke’s on you, Hanna. We
all
knew about it.”

Naomi made a nickering noise. Riley puckered her lips, trying hard not to erupt into giggles. Hanna blinked hard, knocked off balance. Could Kate be serious? Was
Hanna
the brunt of this joke?

Kate’s face softened. “Oh, chill. Think of this as payback for the herpes thing, and now we’re even! Why don’t you party with us? There are some gorgeous guys from Brentmont Prep in the Mirror Room.”

She looped her arm through Hanna’s, but Hanna shook her away. How could Kate be so cavalier? How was this
payback
for the herpes thing? Hanna
had
had to tell everyone Kate had herpes. If she hadn’t, Kate would have told everyone Hanna’s binge-purge secret.

But suddenly, Hanna remembered how stunned Kate had seemed when Hanna broke the herpes news. She had looked at Hanna so helplessly, as though she’d been blindsided by the betrayal. Was it possible Kate never intended to tell Hanna’s secret that night? Could what her dad said—that Kate just wanted to be friends—be the truth?

But no.
No
.

Hanna faced Kate. “You wanted Mike, but I got him.”

It came out louder than she intended. A few people stopped and stared. A beefy-looking black man in a tux, presumably a bouncer, eyed Hanna warningly.

Kate lifted her hip. “Are you really going to be like this?”

Hanna shook her head. “I won!” she cried. “You lost!”

Kate looked over Hanna’s shoulder, her expression shifting. Hanna followed her gaze. Mike was holding two martinis outstretched—one for him, and a refill for her. His eyes looked extra-blue. By the way he was staring at Hanna, it seemed as if he understood perfectly what had just happened. Before Hanna could say a word, he gently set Hanna’s drink next to her half-finished one and turned around, saying nothing. His back was ramrod straight as he disappeared into the crowd.

“Mike!” Hanna called after him, gathering her skirt and starting to run. Mike thought Hanna was only pretending to like him…but maybe that wasn’t the truth at all. Mike was funny and genuine. Maybe he was even more perfect for her than any guy she’d ever dated. It explained why she felt butterflies in her stomach whenever he was around, why she smiled giddily when he sent her texts, and why her heart pounded when they almost kissed on his front porch. It explained why Hanna had been feeling morose tonight, too—she didn’t want this game with Mike to end.

She came to a stop at the other end of the ballroom, frantically searching around. Mike had disappeared.

26

SOMEONE HAS A SECRET

Emily stood on the big stone porch outside the Radley entrance, watching the limos and town cars roll into the circular drive. The air smelled like a jumble of expensive perfumes, and a photographer was flitting around the partygoers, snapping pictures. Every time a flashbulb went off, Emily thought of the creepy photos from A. Ali, Jenna, and Naomi, gathered in Ali’s backyard. Darren Wilden, emerging from confession. And then there was Jason DiLaurentis arguing with Jenna Cavanaugh in Jenna’s living room.
What do you think
he’s so
angry about
?

What did it mean? What was A trying to tell her?

She pulled her cell phone from her bag and checked the time once more. It was a quarter after eight, and Aria was supposed to meet her at the entrance fifteen minutes ago. About an hour after their uncomfortable phone conversation this morning, Aria called Emily back and asked if she wanted to go to the Radley party together. Emily figured it was Aria’s way of apologizing for yelling at her, and although she hadn’t really felt like going now that she and Isaac were through, she’d reluctantly agreed. They’d called Spencer and asked if she wanted to go too, but Spencer said she was spending the night in her sister’s barn doing homework.

More people streamed through the Radley’s doors, showing their invitations to a girl wearing a headset and holding a clipboard. Emily called Aria’s phone, but she didn’t pick up. She sighed. Maybe Aria had gone in without her.

The inside of the hotel was warm and smelled like peppermint. Emily slithered out of her coat and handed it to the girl at the coat-check window, smoothing down her strapless, dark red dress. After Isaac invited her to this, she’d rushed out to the mall, tried on this dress, and imagined Isaac swooning when he saw her in it. For once in her life, she’d bought it without even looking at the price tag. And for what? At 2
A.M
. last night, Emily had rolled over in bed and looked at the little window of her phone, hoping Isaac had sent her an apology text. But there had been nothing.

She craned her neck, looking for him now. He was definitely here somewhere—and so were Mr. and Mrs. Colbert.

Her skin began to prickle. Maybe she shouldn’t be here. It was one thing to accompany Aria—at least she’d have a buffer—but Emily didn’t think she could deal with this place alone. She turned back toward the entrance, but tons of people had arrived at once, jamming the doors. She waited for the crowd to clear, praying she wouldn’t see any of the Colberts. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the hatred in their eyes.

On the wall next to her was a large bronze plaque describing the Radley’s history.
G. C. Radley Retreat for Childhood Wellness began in 1897 as an orphanage, but eventually changed into a safe haven for troubled children. This plaque commemorates those children who have benefited from the Radley’s unique facility and environment, and the doctors and staff who have dedicated years of their lives to the cause
.

Underneath were the names of various headmasters and deans of the facility. Emily scanned them, but they meant nothing to her.

“I heard some of the kids that stayed here were real lunatics.”

Emily looked over and gasped. Maya was standing right next to her, dressed in a hazelnut-colored tiered gown. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and she wore sparkly gold eye shadow. There was a teasing little smile on her face, not unlike the look Ali used to give Emily when she wanted to make Emily uncomfortable.

“H-hi,” Emily stammered. She thought about Maya standing in her bedroom window last night just as Emily pulled into the cul-de-sac, as if she’d anticipated Emily’s arrival. Was that just a coincidence? And the other day at school, she’d seen Maya and Jenna talking. They lived right next to each other—had they struck up a friendship?

“See that balcony?” Maya pointed to the hotel mezzanine. People were leaning over the elaborate wrought-iron railing, peering down to the crowd below. “I heard some kids killed themselves by jumping off that. They splattered right where the bar is. And I heard a patient
murdered
a nurse.”

Maya touched Emily’s hand. Her fingers were stiff and deathly cold. And when she brought her face close to Emily’s, her breath smelled hauntingly like banana gum. “So where’s your boyfriend?” Maya singsonged. “Or did you two have a fight?”

Emily pulled her hand away, her heart slamming against her ribs. Did Maya somehow know…or had she just guessed?

“I-I have to go,” she said. She faced the entrance again, but the crush of people was still there. She wheeled around, heading back through the ballroom. There was a staircase ahead of her, leading to the upper level. Gathering the hem of her dress, she ran for it, not even caring where it led.

At the top of the steps was a long dark hallway with several doors on either side. Emily tried a few, thinking they might be bathrooms, but the cold, slippery knobs wouldn’t turn. Only one door at the end of the hall swung open. She fell inside, grateful for some quiet and privacy.

Emily’s nose twitched. The room smelled like dust and mildew. Bulky shapes of what looked like a desk and a couch were in front of her. She fumbled for a light switch on the wall, snapping on an overhead lamp. The desk was covered in papers and books. An old scuffed leather love seat was heaped with books, too. There were bookcases along the back wall, piled with manila folders. Loose papers were scattered over the floor, along with an upended cup of pencils. It almost looked like the room had been deliberately trashed. Emily remembered Mr. Colbert mentioning that parts of the hotel hadn’t been renovated in time for the party. Maybe this was an office from when this place used to be a school…or, as Maya put it, a house for lunatics.

A floorboard creaked. Emily turned toward the door and stared. Nothing. A shadow passed across the wall. Emily looked up at the cracked ceiling. A spider sat in the center of a large, sinuous web. There was a black mass of something caught in the silk, maybe a fly.

It was too spooky in here. Emily turned to go, carefully maneuvering around the stacks of books and journals spread out across the floor. Then something caught her eye. There was a book splayed open at her feet, a list of names written in dark blue ink. It seemed like a log. The page was divided into columns labeled
Name, Date, In, Out
. One of the names was…

Emily knelt down, thinking—hoping—she’d imagined it. Her vision blurred. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

One of the names in the book was
Jason DiLaurentis
.

His name appeared on the page three times, first on March 6, then on March 13, then on March 20. Seven days apart. Emily flipped a page. There was Jason’s name again, on March 27, then April 3, then April 10. He’d logged into the book in the morning, and logged out in the evening. She turned the pages faster and faster. Jason’s name kept cropping up. He’d logged in on April 24, Emily’s birthday. The date was from eight years ago. Emily counted back—she’d been nine. It had been a Saturday. That year, her parents had taken Emily and her swim team friends out for a birthday dinner at All That Jazz!, her old favorite restaurant at the King James Mall. She’d been in third grade. Ali had started at Rosewood Day at the beginning of that year, her family moving here from Connecticut.