Sara Shepard - Stunning

Hanna bit her lip. “Actually, I haven’t seen her all night.”

“Of course she’s not here,” Aria said. “She’s at this house on Mockingbird Drive!” She looked at Hanna. “You’re with me, right? You think this is Gayle?”

A conflicted look crossed Hanna’s face. “I think so. But why would Gayle tell us she has Violet if she wants to keep her for herself? It sounds like a setup.”

“I don’t care!” Emily grabbed Aria’s car keys from her hands. “This is my daughter’s life we’re talking about! I’m sorry, Aria, but I’m going to that house, even if I have to go alone!”

Aria set her jaw. “We’re not letting you go alone.”

“We’re not?” Hanna squeaked.

Aria gave Hanna a look. “Of course we’re not.” She snatched the car keys back from Emily, marched across the parking lot, and slid into the driver’s seat. “C’mon, Em. Let’s go. You too, Hanna.”

The girls got into the car and slammed the doors. Aria kicked off her high heels, gunned the engine, and cranked the heat up high. As she pulled out of the parking lot, she looked behind her and saw a perfectly round, eerily yellow moon reflected in the museum windows. And there, next to the moon’s reflection, was a person in silhouette. Watching. Maybe even laughing at what fools they were.

Aria breathed in sharply, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. But when she looked at the window again, only the moon was there, bright and full, filling up the expanse of the glass.

Twenty-five minutes and three wrong turns later, the girls pulled onto Mockingbird Drive, a twisting street on the other side of Mount Kale. “Whoa,” Hanna mumbled, staring through the fog, which had rolled in heavily. Every estate was on a massive plot of land. Winding driveways led to faux castles, French estates, Tudor manors, and buildings that looked like a cross between the Capitol and a Frank Gehry masterpiece. Ferraris sat in driveways. Tennis court lights twinkled in backyards. Hanna was used to luxurious houses like Noel’s, Spencer’s, and even her dad’s new place, but people who lived in this neighborhood had more money than they knew what to do with, and they didn’t mind flaunting it.

The next mailbox bore the number 56 in Gothic script, and Aria rolled slowly up the long drive. Tall, imposing trees made a canopy over the road, creating a spooky tunnel. They passed a huge, six-car garage and a horse stable, and then came upon the house, an imposing mansion with columns and huge arched windows. It was positioned a bit cockeyed on the lot, probably angled so that it got the best morning sun. Not a single light was on in the windows.

“Um, now what?” Hanna whispered as Aria cut the engine.

“Come on.” Emily opened her car door and jogged up the front walk. Hanna and Aria scrambled after her. When Hanna heard a whispering sound, her heart began to thud. What if A had led them straight into a trap?

“Where do you think Spencer is?” Emily said over her shoulder. “She hasn’t responded to my texts.” They’d sent Spencer messages about what was going on and demanded that she meet them here.

“Maybe it took a while for her to get released from the hospital,” Hanna whispered.

“Or maybe she got as lost as we did.” Aria stepped up on the porch and stared at the doorbell. “What are we supposed to do, ring? ‘Hey, A, we’re here!’” She looked at Hanna. “You do it.”

Hanna’s eyes bulged. “No way!”

“ I’ll do it.” Emily touched the door, and it opened with a creak that sounded exactly like a haunted house entrance. Hanna shivered. What kind of person left their front door open in the middle of the night?

Emily pushed past them and walked into the foyer. “Hello?” she called out.

Hanna followed her. The foyer smelled oddly of nail polish remover. A single lamp on a console table was lit, showing a double staircase, an impressive crystal chandelier, and a wall full of black-and-white paintings of undulating sand dunes, animal skulls, and possessed-looking vultures. Heavy curtains hung on the windows in the room to the right; thick wool rugs decorated the floors. The coat closet door was ajar, and several jackets swung from hangers. The place had a museumlike stillness, as though it were a movie set, not someone’s actual house.

“Hello?” Emily said again.

There was no answer. Emily peered up the stairs. Aria wandered toward the kitchen. Hanna picked up a stone rabbit on the table next to the front door and set it down again. It was so quiet, she began to hear noises that might not have been there. A nervous swallow. A slight rustle. A joint crack.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Emily whispered suddenly, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Where’s Violet?”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Hanna whispered.

“Guys.” Aria’s voice was as thin as a pinched wire. She was standing next to a table in the living room, an envelope in her hand. “Look at this.”

Hanna squinted at the words. At the top left corner was a logo for Pennsylvania Electric Power. In the center was the address, 56 Mockingbird Lane. Then her gaze fell on the recipient’s name.

“Oh my God,” Hanna whispered. Gayle Riggs.

Aria set the envelope down, her eyes wide. “Guys, this is Gayle’s house . I told you.”

Emily blinked rapidly. “What does this mean?”

“It means we should get the hell out of here,” Hanna snapped. “Gayle doesn’t have your baby. She just used that to get us here because she wants to hurt us.”

She walked back toward the door, taking in every shadow, every dark crevice. A sculpture of a willow tree looked dangerous and alive. The coat rack reminded her of a hunched, crazy old man. A series of photographs were lined up across the mantle like crooked teeth in a ravenous mouth. In the dim light, she could make out a wedding photo of Gayle and her husband. Next to it was a snapshot of the two of them on vacation, and then a family portrait of Gayle and her husband and a smiling blond girl. Maybe this was the daughter Gayle had spoken about to Emily, the one she said she’d lost. Hanna squinted, trying to see what she looked like, but the picture was too small, the features too difficult to make out.

Until she looked at the photo next to it, an 8 x 10 in a wood frame. It was a school headshot of a pretty blond teenager. As soon as Hanna saw her cunning blue eyes and devious smile, the taste of metal filled her mouth. She’d recognize that smirk anywhere.

Hanna stopped short. “Oh my God.” She pointed a shaky finger at the picture. Emily walked over and followed her gaze, and then sank down, her knees going weak.

“Is that . . . ?” Emily whispered.

Aria just let out a terrified gasp.

Hanna picked up the photo from the shelf. This explained everything—how Gayle knew everything and why Gayle didn’t just want them to suffer . . . but to die .

“Tabitha’s her daughter?” Emily’s voice shook uncontrollably.

“How did you not know that?” Hanna demanded. “Didn’t you ever meet the husband? Didn’t you ask for the daughter’s name? Didn’t you find out what happened to her?”

Emily shook her head dazedly. “I never met the husband—and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, since we didn’t know what he looked like until Tabitha’s body was found. Plus Gayle goes by Riggs, not Clark. She never told me any details of what happened to her daughter, either, just said she disappeared. And none of this ever came up on a Google search!”

Hanna ran her hands down the length of her face. “Why didn’t she turn us in?” She could barely get the words out she was breathing so hard.