Sara Shepard - Wanted

Ali turned to Spencer. “Do you know where she is?”

“I haven’t seen her all day,” Spencer said. Which, come to think of it, was a little odd—lately Melissa had been at the house nonstop, tending to their mother’s every need.

“Guys, you’d better c’mere,” Emily whispered. She was standing at Melissa’s desk, staring at something on the computer screen. Spencer and Ali rushed over. The only window open was a jpeg image. It was an old photo of Ian and Ali standing together, Ian’s arm around Ali’s shoulders. Behind them was the round stone building of the People’s Light playhouse, and Spencer could just make out that the marquee said Romeo and Juliet . Scrawled over the photo were three simple, chilling words Spencer had definitely seen before.

You’re dead, bitch.

Hanna clapped her hand over her mouth. Spencer took a big step away from the computer. Ali sank roughly to Melissa’s bed. “I don’t understand.” Her voice wobbled. “That’s my photo. What is it doing here?”

“Spencer and I have seen this before.” Emily’s hands shook. “It was from Mona.”

“She put it in my purse,” Spencer explained, nausea overcoming her. She staggered to Melissa’s desk chair and sat down. “I figured she found this photo in your diary and forged Melissa’s handwriting.”

Ali shook her head. Her breathing quickened. “Mona didn’t do that. That Polaroid showed up in my mailbox years ago—with that writing on it.”

Hanna pressed her hand to her chest. “Why didn’t you tell us about this?”

“I figured it was a stupid prank!” Ali raised her arms helplessly.

Emily turned back to the computer. She zoomed in on Ali’s cheery smile. “But if Mona didn’t write this…and it’s on Melissa’s computer…” She trailed off.

No one had to complete the sentence. Spencer paced around the room, her mind racing a million miles a minute. “We have to tell Wilden about this. He has to find Melissa and question her.”

“Actually…” Ali was staring at something on Melissa’s bureau. “Maybe we don’t have to worry about Melissa right now.” She held up a pamphlet. On the front was a logo that said The Preserve at Addison-Stevens .

Hanna went pale.

They unfolded the pamphlet on Melissa’s bed. It showed a map, outlining the facility’s buildings. There was some information about pricing. Clipped to the front was an appointment card for someone named Dr. Louise Foster. Melissa had a meeting with her this morning.

“Dr. Foster,” Ali murmured. “She’s one of the psychiatrists there.”

“Have you tried her cell?” Emily asked, picking up the portable phone on the bed.

Spencer dialed Melissa’s phone. “Straight to voice mail.”

“Maybe Melissa’s decided to check herself in,” Ali said, tracing the picture of the main entranceway with her index finger. “Maybe she realized how crazy this was getting and knew she needed help.”

Spencer stared at the boxy squares on the map. It was certainly a comforting thought—if Melissa was going to snap, it was best she did so in a padded room. A stay in the psychiatric hospital would probably be the best thing.

A nice long stay. Preferably for the next twenty years.

Hanna parked her Prius at the curb of Ali’s house, straightened her dress, and then climbed into Ali’s BMW. “Ready?” Ali said, grinning behind the wheel. Wilden had helped her quietly get a license when her parents checked her out of the Preserve.

“Absolutely,” Hanna answered.

Her eyes traveled up and down Hanna’s mulberry-colored Lela Rose dress, which had a ruffled collar and a cinched waist, and stopped mid-thigh. The dress was even named the Angel, which seemed especially perfect for Valentine’s Day. “Ugh,” Ali said. “I hate that you look better than me tonight. Bitch .”

Hanna blushed. “ You’re the one who looks awesome.” Dressed in a fitted, lacy red sheath, Ali looked like she could grace the cover of Vogue.

Ali shifted the car into drive. They were the only two riding to the dance together—Andrew Campbell was escorting Spencer, and Emily had promised to go with her sister Carolyn. Ali had told Naomi, Riley, and Kate that she was doing an exclusive CNN interview today and would meet them on the dance floor.

The car pulled away from the curb, leaving Ali’s dark house behind. For a split second, Hanna swore she saw someone slipping behind one of the pine trees across the street. She thought again about the discussion she, Ali, Emily, and Spencer had had at Spencer’s house this afternoon. Could Melissa really have been the stalker behind the barn… and the murderer?

When they rolled past the stone Rosewood Day sign and up the winding path to the school, she saw girls in swishy gowns strutting down a Valentine-pink carpet that had been laid across the icy road. A couple of kids were doing Hollywood starlet poses as if they were at a movie premiere.

Ali pulled into a parking space, whipped out her cell phone, and hit a speed dial button. Hanna heard a guy’s voice on the other end. “You all set?” Ali whispered. “Everyone’s getting the papers? Good.” She clapped the phone shut and gave Hanna a wicked grin. “Brad and Hayden are manning the doors with the letters.” Brad and Hayden were two freshmen she’d conned into helping them.

They got out of the car and started toward the party. As Hanna and Ali passed, Hanna noticed a familiar chiseled profile. Darren Wilden. What the hell was he doing here? Booze police?

“Hi, Hanna,” Wilden said, spying her, too. “Long time no see. Everything okay?”

He was staring at her so curiously that Hanna bristled, wondering if she smelled like champagne. Wilden sometimes got all dadlike because he’d dated Hanna’s mom for like a second. “I didn’t drive,” she snapped.

But Wilden’s eyes were now on Ali, who’d moved down the pink carpet. “You and Courtney are friends?” He sounded startled.

Courtney . It was crazy he still thought that was her name. “Uh-huh.”

Wilden scratched his head. “We’ve been trying to get Courtney to talk to us about the note she got from Billy the night of the fire. Maybe you could convince her that it’s really important.”

Hanna pulled her silk scarf tight around her shoulders. “You were the one who rescued her the night of the fire. Why didn’t you ask her then?”

Wilden stared across the drive at Rosewood Day’s main building, a massive redbrick structure that looked more like an old mansion than a school. “It wasn’t exactly the first thing on my mind.”

There was a hardened, stern look on his face. A wary feeling swirled in the pit of Hanna’s gut as she suddenly remembered how Wilden had played chicken with an oncoming car when he’d driven her home from running a few weeks ago. Freak. “Gotta go,” Hanna blurted, scampering away.

The inside of the tent was done up in pinks, reds, and whites, with bouquets of roses everywhere. There were intimate, two-person tables scattered all around the room, complete with votive candles, heart-shaped petit fours, and long-fluted glasses of what Hanna assumed was sparkling cider. Mrs. Betts, one of the art teachers, was giving temporary tattoos in a booth in the corner. Mrs. Reed, the sophomore English teacher, was leaning against the DJ booth, clad in a tight-fitting red gown and heart-shaped sunglasses. There was even an old-fashioned Tunnel of Luv at the far end of the gym. Couples coasted through a makeshift candlelit tunnel in mechanical swans.

Hanna couldn’t help but wonder what Mike was doing that night. Something told her he wasn’t here.