“Do you think Melissa could’ve killed Ian, too?” Ali whispered, her face ashen. “And…Jenna?”
“I don’t know.” Spencer thought of the time Ian broke house arrest and met her on her porch. What if I told you there’s something you don’t know? It’s something big. Something that will turn your life upside down. Ian had told Spencer that he’d seen two blondes that night. In Spencer’s disjointed memories of the evening, she remembered seeing two blondes, too. After Billy was arrested, she’d assumed it was him. But maybe it had been Melissa.
“Maybe Ian and Jenna found out the truth,” Spencer said, hugging a pillow to her chest.
Hanna cleared her throat. “I’ve seen Melissa skulking around lately. I think I saw her at the mall yesterday.”
Ali gaped at Hanna. “That person by the fountain?”
Hanna nodded.
Spencer’s heart thumped faster and faster. “Do you remember that awful look she gave you at the press conference, Ali? What if Melissa knows you’re not Courtney? What if she realizes she got the wrong girl years ago?”
Ali bit her lip. She spun a black Stila eye pencil around and around in her hands. “I don’t know. This all sounds crazy. We’re talking about your sister. Is she really that unhinged?”
“I have no idea anymore,” Spencer admitted.
“Maybe we should just ask her. Maybe there’s an explanation for all this.” Ali stood up.
“Ali, no.” Spencer tried to grab Ali’s arm. Was Ali insane? What if Melissa was the killer and tried to hurt them?
Ali was already at the door. “Strength in numbers,” she insisted. “C’mon. We have to end this craziness right now.”
Ali marched into the hall, made a left, and knocked on Melissa’s bedroom door. No answer. She leaned against it lightly, and it swung open with a long creak. The room was in disarray—clothes all over the floor, the bed unmade. Spencer picked Melissa’s makeup caddy off the floor. Most of the brushes were dirty, there was loose eye shadow everywhere, and a bottle of moisturizer-with-SPF had leaked onto the bottom of the drawer, making everything smell like the beach.
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.
22
TAKE THAT, BITCHES