She caught up to Colleen on the little driveway out of the mall to Route 30, then trailed the car down a series of back roads. Strip malls gave way to old Victorian houses and the brick-and-stone school buildings of Hollis. One street was blocked off; there had been a fender-bender between a Jeep and an old Cadillac. Hanna averted her eyes, the old memories of her own car accident from the previous summer swarming back to her. Not that she’d stayed around to see the ambulance lights.
Colleen turned onto a side street and expertly parallel-parked at the curb. Hanna turned her car around in an alley, parked crookedly, and dove into a bush just in time to see Colleen walking up the front steps of an old, grand house on the corner. Colleen rang the bell and stood back, fixing her hair.
The door opened, and a graying man with crow’s feet opened the door. “Great to see you,” he said, giving Colleen an air kiss.
“Thank you so much for seeing me at such short notice,” Colleen said.
“Anything for you, dear.” The guy cupped Colleen’s face in his hands. “You have such good bone structure. You’re a natural.”
Colleen tittered bashfully. “I’m so glad you think so.”
A natural for what? Hanna pushed a branch out of the way. Was Colleen two-timing Mike with this geezer?
When the door slammed, Hanna scampered up to the porch and stared at a plaque next to the doorbell. JEFFREY LABRECQUE, it said. PHOTOGRAPHER.
Hanna snickered. So Colleen was getting professional photos taken. She knew just how that would go—if this Jeffrey character was anything like Patrick, her seedy photographer, he’d butter up Colleen and then convince her to take off her top. Mike’s jealousy of Patrick—and Hanna’s reaction to it—was what had broken them up. It could be just the thing to ruin Mike and Colleen, too.
Hanna peered into the window, watching the photographer set up a bunch of lights around a black screen. He gestured for Colleen to sit on a stool, then perched behind his camera. The flash went off again and again, Colleen twisting her knees this way and that and making faces ranging from ecstatic to intense to brooding to sullen. After a few minutes, Jeffrey Labrecque walked toward Colleen and said something Hanna couldn’t hear. He stepped away, and Colleen slipped off her cardigan sweater. Hanna leaned forward. This was probably the moment she was going to pose in her lacy black bra.
But when Jeffrey stepped away, Colleen was still in a T-shirt. She smiled for the camera, looking wholesome and sweet. Within minutes, the photo session was over, and Colleen rose from the stool, handed the photographer a check, and shook his hand.
“Unbelievable,” Hanna muttered. Everything was so damn pure the whole vignette could have a halo over it.
Colleen headed for the front door, and Hanna skittered off the porch before Colleen saw her. As she rounded the corner, she almost ran smack into a black sedan chugging at the curb. The windows were tinted, but she could see a pair of eyes peering through the slightly open backseat window. Before she could see who it was, the car sped away. Hanna swung around and stared at the receding car, but it was too far away for her to see the license plate.
Beep.
Hanna’s phone glowed at the bottom of her bag. The words of a new text assaulted her as soon as she looked at the screen.
You’re close, Hanna. Keep digging. —A
20
A POT OF GOLD
That same afternoon, Spencer left the seedy Motel 6 on the outskirts of the Princeton University campus, where she’d been staying since the party disaster last night, and started toward the train station. The rain had abated and the sun had come out, making the sidewalks glimmer and the air smell like fresh flowers. People folded up their umbrellas and lowered their raincoat hoods. A couple of Ultimate Frisbee players straggled out of the dorms and resumed their games. On any other day, Spencer would have taken the opportunity to sit on one of the benches and just gaze at the splendor that was Princeton University. But today, she just felt exhausted.
Starting almost immediately after the police had hauled Harper away from the party, Spencer had texted Harper with several profuse apologies, but Harper hadn’t responded. Neither had Quinn or Jessie or anyone else whose numbers she’d gotten before the big drug bust. Spencer knew staying at the Ivy House—or anywhere else on campus—wasn’t an option, so she’d Googled local motels in the area and stumbled into the Motel 6 room at almost midnight. All she wanted to do was get some sleep and forget about everything that had happened, but she’d been kept awake almost all night by the techno music coming from the adult bookstore next to the motel. Her hair was greasy from the motel shampoo, her skin itched from the cheap cotton sheets, and her head was spinning from just how badly she’d ruined her chances at getting into Ivy.
She was ready to go home.
A group of adults in business attire swept past, looking honored and important. Hanna said Gayle had been on the Princeton campus. It was obvious Gayle had spied on her the other night and had called the cops on Harper. Spencer understood this woman was angry about Emily not giving her the baby, but what lunatic went to such extremes to mess with kids half her age?
A blonde sitting on a bench swam into view, and Spencer stopped short. There, reading a D. H. Lawrence novel and nursing a large Starbucks coffee, was Harper.
“Oh,” Spencer blurted. “H-hey!”
Harper looked up, and her features settled into a scowl. She returned to her book without a word.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” Spencer rushed to the bench, dropping her duffel at her feet. “Are you okay?”