On cue, Melissa pulled the ring from the box. The huge, square-cut diamond sparkled magically around the room, throwing prismatic shapes on the walls. Spencer almost burst out laughing again. “That was your old engagement ring from Dad, wasn’t it?” she asked her mom.
“Yes,” Mrs. Hastings said, a defensive edge to her voice. “Your father is a jerk, but he has exquisite taste in jewels.”
Melissa tilted her hand back and forth. “It was so nice of you to let us have this, Mom.”
Mrs. Hastings sliced at her meat. “Oh, you girls are set to inherit a treasure trove of things from your father. None of it means anything to me anymore.” Then she looked up sharply at Spencer. “Well, you won’t get anything. You’ll be in jail—it’ll be no use to you there. Amelia can take your half.”
Spencer’s mouth fell open. It felt as though her mother had just kicked her in the stomach. She’d always known her mom could be tactless, but come on.
There was an awkward pause; it was clear no one knew what to say. Then Melissa touched Spencer’s hand. “How does it feel, knowing you’re going to be an aunt?”
Spencer tried to smile and shift gears. “Great. I’m so excited for you. And I’ll try to be the best aunt ever.”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d be more than an aunt,” Melissa said cautiously, twisting her new ring around her finger. “Maybe a godmother, too?”
“Me?” Spencer touched her chest. “Are you sure?” She might very well be a godmother in jail, after all.
“Of course.” Melissa squeezed Spencer’s thigh. “I want you in our baby’s life, Spence. You’re the strongest person I know, especially given all you’ve been through.” She glanced at her mother, who had jumped up from her seat and was rushing into the kitchen. “Don’t pay attention to Mom, okay?” she whispered. “I’ll give you half the jewels I inherit. But only the ugly ones.” She nudged her playfully.
Spencer wiped away a tear, overwhelmed by her sister’s kindness. “Thanks,” she mustered. “I’ll take the ugliest ones you get.”
Melissa dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “I heard you’re back in touch with Wren.”
Even though Spencer had been forewarned, she still felt her cheeks burn. “It’s just because he’s my doctor,” she said quickly. “We’re not, like, you know.”
“Even if you were, that would be okay.”
Spencer stared at her, surprised. “Really?”
Melissa nodded. “Wren used to talk about you all the time. And what happened at the end there . . . well, I can’t say I didn’t sort of orchestrate it, you know?” She looked down at the ultrasound picture next to her plate. “I just want you to be as happy as I am.”
“Thanks,” Spencer bleated.
As she said it, she realized she kind of was happy. Not with the predicament she was in, obviously, but in this moment. She thought of a baby coming into their lives and how much joy that would bring. She thought of how pleasant it was to have a real, true, precious relationship with Melissa. And then she thought of Wren. Leaning toward her. Kissing her lightly. That contented look on his face afterward, as he’d stared at the trees.
She grabbed her phone, suddenly charged with purpose. Wren’s text from the other day was still in her inbox; she hit a button and composed a reply. Thanks for coming over today, she typed quickly. I hope I can see you again.
She hoped he hoped so, too.
16
DOOMED
By Thursday, Hanna had begun to notice that the judge who was presiding over their trial, the Honorable Judge Pierrot, secretly picked his nose when he thought no one was looking. And that the bailiff played Candy Crush Saga during breaks, and that Juror #4, an older woman who wore square, dark-framed glasses and seemed utterly oblivious to current events—which was probably why they had chosen her—tapped her fingers on the desk to the rhythm of “Ding, Dong! The Witch Is Dead.” Hanna began to make a little superstitious game out of it: If Judge Pierrot dug around in his nose five times before lunch, she got ten points. If Juror #10 spun her engagement ring around her finger ten times in the day, she got twenty. It was easier to focus on that stuff than what was actually happening during the trial.
The testimony this morning was all about various witnesses who’d seen Hanna and the others skulking around Ashland before Ali’s alleged death. Apparently they’d been much less sneaky than they all thought, because the prosecution had found seven people to come forward. Most of them were just random citizens who didn’t have much to say, but the last woman, who wore a navy-blue suit and heels, was someone Hanna remembered. It was the lady Emily had accosted near the Maxwells’ property. Emily had been so worked up, in fact, that they’d had to practically pull her off the woman to calm her down.
Which, of course, was what the woman told them. “The girl who sadly took her life seemed very troubled,” she said in a dramatic voice. “I truly feared for my safety.”
Hanna wrinkled her nose. It hadn’t been that bad.
The DA called another witness, a well-dressed woman with bright-red lipstick. When she stated her name for the court, she said in a clear voice, “Sharon Ridge.”
Hanna gasped. It was the woman who’d organized the Rosewood Rallies function at the Rosewood Country Club. What was she doing up there, testifying against them?
“Tell us about the Rosewood Rallies event,” the DA said.
Sharon Ridge rolled back her shoulders, then described the event as a gala at the country club to support disadvantaged youth in the Rosewood area. “It was a very special night,” she said. “A lot of people from the community came out, and we raised a lot of money.”