Sara Shepard - Heartless

Melissa gave Spencer a taut smile. “I don’t even know why I brought any of this up,” she said breezily, patting Spencer’s shoulder. Then she stepped out of the car.

Spencer watched numbly as Melissa navigated around her dad’s line of power tools and into the house. Her head felt like an upended suitcase, the contents of her brain like jumbled clothes all over the floor. Everything her sister just said was crazy. Melissa had been wrong about Spencer’s adoption, and she was wrong about this, too.

The interior lights in the Mercedes snapped off. Spencer unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out of the car. The garage smelled like a dizzying combination of motor oil and fumes from the fire. In the Mercedes side mirror she caught a glimpse of a flash of dark hair across the street. It felt like someone’s eyes were on her back. When she turned, there was no one there.

She reached for her phone, about to call Emily or Hanna or Aria and tell them what Melissa just said about Ian. But then she noticed an alert on her screen. One new text message.

As she pressed read, an ache of dread wormed its way through her abdomen.

All those clues I’ve given you are right, Little Liar—just not in the way you think. But since I’m such a nice person, here’s another hint. There’s a major cover-up taking place right under your nose . . . and someone close to you has all the answers.

—A

Bright and early on Tuesday morning, Hanna’s father navigated a narrow, woodsy back road somewhere in Bumblefuck, Delaware. Isabel, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, suddenly leaned forward and pointed. “There it is!”

Mr. Marin cut the wheel sharply. They veered onto a blacktopped road and stopped at a security gate. The plaque on the bars said THE PRESERVE AT ADDISON-STEVENS.

Hanna slumped in the backseat. Mike, who was sitting next to her, squeezed her hand. They’d been driving around lost for a half hour. Even the GPS didn’t know where they were—it kept bleating “Recalculating route!” without actually recalculating anywhere for them to go. Hanna had hoped with all her heart that this place didn’t exist. All she wanted was to go home, snuggle with Dot, and forget about this whole train wreck of a day.

“Hanna Marin, checking in,” Hanna’s father said to a khaki-clad man in the security hut. The guard consulted his clipboard and nodded. The gate behind him slowly lifted.

The past twenty-four hours had galloped by, everyone rushing around and making decisions about Hanna’s life without bothering to ask her opinion. It was as if she were a helpless baby or a troublesome pet. After her panic attack at breakfast, Mr. Marin called the hospital Hanna was sure A had recommended. And wouldn’t you know it, the Preserve at Addison-Stevens was able to accommodate Hanna the very next day. Next, Mr. Marin called up Rosewood Day and told Hanna’s guidance counselor that Hanna would be missing two weeks of school, and if anyone asked, she was visiting her mom in Singapore. Then he rang Officer Wilden and told him that if the press showed up at the hospital, he would sue the entire police force. And finally, in a move that further complicated how Hanna felt about her dad, he looked squarely at Kate, who was still lingering in the kitchen, no doubt loving every minute of this, and said that if Hanna’s visit to the hospital got out to anyone at school, he’d immediately blame her. Hanna was so thrilled that she didn’t bother to point out that even if Kate kept quiet about Hanna’s disappearance, it didn’t mean A would.

Hanna’s father continued up the drive. Isabel shifted in her seat. Hanna stroked the two pieces of Time Capsule flag that were carefully nestled in her purse, one of them Ali’s, the other the piece she’d found at the Rosewood Day coffee bar last week. She didn’t want to let either flag out of her sight. Mike craned his neck, trying to get a view of the facility. Unlike Kate, Hanna didn’t have to worry about Mike uttering a word about this—she’d threatened to make her boobs off-limits if he did.

They pulled into a circular roundabout. A stately white building with Grecian columns and small terraces on the second and third floors loomed in front of them, looking more like a railroad baron’s mansion than a hospital. Mr. Marin killed the ignition, and both he and Isabel turned around. Hanna’s dad attempted a smile. Isabel still had that pitying, puckered-lips face she’d been making all morning.

“It looks really nice,” Isabel tried, gesturing at the bronze sculptures and carefully maintained topiaries in the doorway. “Like a palace!”

“It does,” Mr. Marin agreed quickly, releasing his seat belt. “I’ll get your stuff out of the trunk.”

“No,” Hanna snapped. “I don’t want you to come in, Dad. And I especially don’t want her. ” She nodded at Isabel.

Mr. Marin’s eyes narrowed. He was probably about to say that Hanna needed to show Isabel some respect, she was going to be her stepmom soon, blah, blah, blah. But Isabel laid an orangey, cronelike hand on his arm. “It’s okay, Tom. I understand.” Which made Hanna’s scowl even deeper.

She shot out of the car and began to haul her suitcases out of the trunk. A full wardrobe had come along—just because she was being committed didn’t mean she was going to walk around in a hospital gown and Crocs. Mike climbed out too and loaded the suitcases onto a large, unwieldy cart and pushed them into the facility. The lobby was a wide, marble-floored expanse that smelled like the clementine soap she kept on her dressing table. There were large, modern oil paintings on the walls, a bubbling fountain in the center, and a wide stone desk at the back. The receptionists wore white lab coats, just like skin care specialists at Kiehl’s, and youngish, attractive people sat on wheat-colored sofas, laughing and talking.

“This doesn’t look like Alcatraz,” Mike said, scratching his head.

Hanna’s eyes darted back and forth. Okay, the lobby was nice, but it had to be a front. These people were probably actors rented out for the day, like the Shakespearean troupe Spencer’s parents had hired to perform A Midsummer Night’s Dream for her thirteenth birthday party. Hanna was sure the real patients were hidden in the back of the building, probably in wire-mesh dog kennels.

A blond woman wearing a wireless headset and a sage sheath dress rushed over. “Hanna Marin?” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Denise, your concierge. We’re looking forward to having you stay with us.”

“Uh, good for you,” Hanna deadpanned. There was no way she was going to kiss this woman’s ass and say she was looking forward to it, too.

Denise turned to Mike and smiled apologetically. “We can’t have visitors past this point. You’ll have to say your good-byes here, if that’s okay.”

Hanna gripped Mike’s hand, wishing he were a teddy bear she could drag inside with her. Mike pulled Hanna out of earshot. “Now listen.” His voice dropped an octave. “I snuck a Pepperidge Farm cheese Danish into your red suitcase. Inside it is a file. You can saw through the bars of your room and slip out when the guards aren’t looking. It’s the oldest trick in the book.”

Hanna laughed nervously. “I don’t really think there are going to be bars on the doors.”

Mike put a finger to his lips. “You never know.”

Denise reappeared and placed her arm on Hanna’s shoulder, telling her it was time to go. Mike gave her a long kiss, gestured suggestively at her red suitcase, and then walked backward toward the entrance. One of his shoes was untied; the lace flapped against the marble floor. His Rosewood Day lacrosse bracelet flopped around his wrist. Tears blurred Hanna’s eyes. They’d only been an official couple for three days. This wasn’t fair.