Mrs. Colbert whisked past her to the sink and turned on the hot tap. She plunged her hands underneath the stream of water, rubbing so vigorously it was a wonder her skin didn’t peel off in curls. She was blocking the paper towel dispenser, but Emily didn’t dare ask her to move.
“Are you and Mr. Colbert having dinner here?” Emily asked, mustering a smile. “I love their burgers.”
Mrs. Colbert whirled around and glared at her. “Cut the sweet act. It’s insulting.”
Emily sucked in her stomach. Another cheer erupted from the bar. “I’m…sorry?”
Mrs. Colbert turned off the tap and tore off a piece of paper towel violently, wadding it up in her hands. “I didn’t want to say this in front of my son, which is why I tolerated you at dinner the other night. But you’ve disrespected me and my home. As far as I’m concerned, you’re trash. Don’t you dare set foot in my house again.”
Emily paled. All other sounds fell away. Dizzily, she backed out of the room butt-first and sprinted back to her table. She snatched her coat off her chair and darted for the door. “Emily?” Carolyn called, standing halfway up. But Emily didn’t answer. She had to get out of here. She had to get away from Isaac’s mom before she could say anything else.
Bitter wind swept across her cheeks as she walked into the parking lot. Carolyn was right behind her, tugging at her sleeve. “What’s wrong?” her sister asked. “What happened?”
Emily didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she could answer. You’ve disrespected me and my home. Mrs. Colbert had said it all.
She stared at the bright Applebee’s sign, cursing her terrible luck. Why did Mrs. Colbert have to eat at Applebee’s tonight of all nights? And it was 8 P.M., not exactly the normal dinnertime hour. It was bitter cold out, too, a good night to stay indoors.
Then, from deep inside her purse, Emily’s phone chimed. Suddenly, it hit her. Maybe it wasn’t luck or coincidence that Mrs. Colbert was at Applebee’s tonight. Maybe someone had told her to come.
“Just…give me a sec,” she said to her sister. She walked over to the curb near the takeout door and lowered herself down. Her cell phone’s greenish window glowed in the darkness. One new photo message, the screen said.
A picture appeared on the Nokia’s screen. But it had nothing to do with Emily, Isaac, or Isaac’s mom. Instead, it was of a big room with stained-glass windows, glossy wooden pews, and thick red carpeting. Emily frowned. It was Holy Trinity, her family’s church. There was Father Tyson’s confessional, the little wooden alcove near the lobby. Someone was emerging from the confession booth, his head bowed. Emily brought the phone close to her face. The guy in the photo was tall, with short, dark hair. A Rosewood Police Department badge glowed on his jacket, and a pair of handcuffs dangled from his belt.
Wilden?
Then she noticed the text at the bottom of the photo. Even though she wasn’t quite sure what it meant, an uneasy shiver rippled from the top of her head down to the soles of her feet.
I guess we all have stuff to feel guilty about, huh?—A
18
SOMETHING’S ROTTEN IN ROSEWOOD…
Friday morning, as the sky was turning from dark blue to pale purple, Hanna zipped up her green Puma running jacket and did a couple of calf stretches against the big maple tree in her front yard. Then she set off running down her driveway, listening to music on her iPhone. She’d been an idiot not to get an iPhone sooner—armed with a new unlisted phone number, she hadn’t received a single text from New A.
New A was certainly texting Emily up a storm, though—Hanna had received a forward from Emily early this morning, a photo of Darren Wilden skulking around a church. What do you think this means? Emily wrote, as if Hanna really would know. Lots of people went to church. She didn’t buy that A was sending Emily texts as all-important clues. More than likely, A was just messing with poor Emily’s already addled mind.
But Hanna had received quite a few texts from Mike Montgomery. Like the one that came in right now: U awake?
Yes, Hanna typed back quickly. On a run.
Sexy, Mike wrote back. What R U wearing?
Hanna smirked. Spandex. Super tight.
Mike: Run by my house!
You wish, Hanna answered, giggling.
Mike had even texted her last night, presumably after he’d returned from his date with Kate. Hanna considered scolding him about double booking, but then she worried she might sound whiny and insecure. Did Mike think Kate was prettier? Thinner? Did he take her shopping and try and bust into her dressing room, too? What did Kate do? Laugh…or freak?
What time do U want me to pick U up for the Radley party 2morro? Hanna texted.
She was at the bottom of her street before Mike responded. Do U mind if we add a third? Hanna came to an abrupt stop at the corner. It was obvious who the third person Mike wanted to add was—Kate.
She kicked the metal post of the stop sign hard. It made a loud clanging sound, startling a few birds from a nearby tree. Her dad might have relaxed the all-Kate-all-the-time punishment, but he was still trying to coerce Hanna and Kate into being BFFs. Like yesterday, when Kate had returned from her date with Mike, she’d joined Hanna and Mr. Marin in the kitchen, where Hanna was proudly showing her father her decorated Time Capsule flag. Mr. Marin studied it, then Kate, and then gently asked Hanna if Kate could have some of the credit for finding the flag too. Maybe Hanna could let her draw a little decoration in one of the corners?
Hanna’s mouth had dropped open. “It’s my flag,” she cried, astonished her dad could even suggest such a thing. “I found it.” Her father looked at her disappointedly, then walked away. Kate didn’t say a word the whole time, probably figuring that a silent, humble daughter was better than a screechy, bratty one. But Hanna knew Kate was thrilled that Hanna and her father’s relationship was dying a slow, painful death.