Toxic

  She found a dark hall at the back of the country club and turned down it. Then she leaned against the wall and took heaving breaths. Get a grip, she told herself, but her mind felt like it was careening down a long, steep hill into a deep ravine. Even glancing at Melodie’s expectant expression had just made her think, Why bother? Ali would ruin that, too.

  Then Ali’s red furious face looming above her in the natatorium flooded her thoughts, pumping her with so much anger she whipped around and smacked the wall hard. Why couldn’t they find her? Why wouldn’t she just die?

  Spikes of laughter drifted down the hall, along with the beginning notes of Lorde’s “Royals.” Emily slid to the floor and looked hard at the surveillance feed. There had to be something there. But it was the same birds landing on the same branches brushing across the window. The same flicker-and-pop in the fourth-quadrant image, the one that showed the only view of the main room. The same fluttering of leaves.

  Until she realized.

  The leaves kept fluttering against the window in exactly the same way. It was uncanny: One maple leaf would flatten completely against the window for a second, then droop. Was it that windy up there? Did the wind keep gusting in the same direction?

  Then she noticed the same fizzle and pop from that same camera angle. There seemed to be a pattern: fizzle-pop, then gust of wind, then flattened leaf, then a long stretch of nothing. Emily looked at her watch. Five minutes passed, but the sequence repeated. She counted off another five minutes again. There was the fizzle-pop and flattened leaf again.

  Her hands started to shake. It seemed like the video was on a loop. She’d seen it in movies: Burglars would use loops to fool security guards so they could sneak in unseen and steal the jewels. Had Ali done the same thing? That camera angle showed the inside of the house, unlike the others. When had this started?

  “Emily!” Spencer ran down the hall, her hair streaming behind her and her breathing hard. “I don’t even know how to say this. The guy I’ve been seeing? He’s an Ali Cat. And I told him everything. About the cameras. About how we know where Ali is.” She winced. “So now he knows. Which means Ali knows, too.”

  Emily held up the phone. “I know,” she said shakily. “And I think Ali’s already done something about it.”

  29

  A LIGHT IN THE ATTIC

  Ten minutes later, Hanna had swung into the driver’s seat of the Prius and started the engine. Her friends piled in next to her, looking bare in their skimpy party dresses. Their faces glowed in the dim, greenish interior lights.

  “Okay, what does all this mean?” Hanna demanded.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Spencer asked, her eyes wild. “When I told Greg about the camera, he was totally surprised. He must have told Ali, and she must have just made the loop to throw us off. Which means she had to be at the pool house to access the camera to make the loop. And the only reason she might want to make the loop is if she’s there, right now, doing something in the pool house. We have to get her before she leaves again!”

  Hanna glanced over her shoulder at the bunch of balloons and the ROSEWOOD RALLIES banner across the front entrance. She felt a guilty pang. It felt weird to leave the party, even if it sucked. What if Mike showed up? She’d texted him a thousand times, apologizing again and again and begging him to come to the party so they could reconcile. Mike hadn’t replied, but Hanna hated to think that he might change his mind and she wouldn’t even be here.

  “What if it’s a trap?” she said quietly. “What if Ali’s not there at all? Maybe she just made that loop to get us up there.”

  Spencer’s brow furrowed. She looked at Aria worriedly. But Emily shook her head. “We won’t know until we actually check it out. We’re going to get her tonight, you guys. I can feel it.”

  “But there’s only one camera on a loop, right?” Hanna asked. “Wouldn’t the other cameras show Ali on the porch? Coming through the door?”

  “She could have come in a back window,” Emily said. “For all we know, she could have scaled a wall and climbed in through the second floor.”

  “Shouldn’t we call the police?” Hanna asked, her last-ditch effort.

  Everyone was silent for a moment. Spencer licked her lips. “And tell them . . . what?”

  “We could have them come to the pool house,” Hanna suggested, feeling desperate. “Or we could tell them about Greg—that he knows Ali.”

  Aria spun a silver ring on her finger around and around. “If they drive up to the property, Ali will see the cop cars and bolt. She’ll probably never go to that place again. And the police will be furious that we trespassed and put up cameras.”

  “And I don’t know what we could say about Greg,” Spencer said. “Even if they found him and asked him questions, he’d lie. He’d say he’d never talked to Ali. I doubt he’s kept any evidence that he’s been in touch with her.”

  “That’s why we have to go ourselves,” Emily said determinedly.

  Hanna ran her fingers on the surface of her clutch. “I just hate that we’re doing this alone,” she said in a small voice.

  Spencer grabbed her hand. “We’re not alone—we’re together. And this time, we’re really going to finish this.”

  Hanna didn’t know what else to do except drive to Ashland. No one spoke as she steered up the silent suburban streets. Huge houses on the golf course whisked past, shimmering majestically in the setting sun. Then she turned past the studio lot where Burn It Down was being filmed. She felt another regretful twinge. She should be euphoric today—she’d scored a huge role in a movie. But without Mike to celebrate with, the whole thing felt . . . hollow.

  The sky darkened as she turned onto the highway to Ashland. The drive felt strangely calm and peaceful, like a cloudless sky before a storm. Before long, the familiar Turkey Hill mini-mart swam into view. Hanna took the left that led to a smaller, twisty road. The dusk cast long shadows across the pavement. She spotted the red mailbox and signaled.

  “Wait!” Emily cried, grabbing the wheel. “Maybe we should park on the street. We’ll attract less attention.”

  “Good idea.” Hanna pulled about a quarter-mile down the road to a large spot on the shoulder. When she cut the engine, darkness enveloped them. It was a new moon, too; Hanna could hardly see a few inches in front of her face. She grabbed her phone and turned on the flashlight app. Aria did the same. Emily was still using hers to look at the cameras.

  “Okay,” Hanna whispered, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

  The only sounds were their heels crunching unsteadily on the gravel and an occasional owl’s hoot from the woods. They reached the red mailbox and made the turn up the steep hill. Hanna cursed under her breath as her ankle twisted in a pothole. The Maxwells’ estate rose above them, its porch light lit.

  “Come on,” Spencer said, forging ahead.

  Hanna’s phone made a zigzagging beam across the side yard. The light bounced on the plastic pool cover, then reflected against the walls of the pool house. Emily held her arm across Hanna’s body to halt her. “That light wasn’t on before, was it?”

  Sure enough, a single bulb burned on the second floor. Hanna’s heart pounded faster. Ali could be here. This could really be the end of it.

  Holding hands, they made their way slowly toward the pool house. When they were about ten feet away, everyone hesitated. Spencer swallowed hard. “So do we go in, or what?”

  Aria shifted her weight. Hanna was too afraid to move. Then Emily broke her grip and tiptoed onto the porch. She shifted her weight, a floorboard squeaking. Hanna winced, frightened that the loud sound might attract attention.

  Emily eyes were wide as she peered through the window. Hanna’s heart banged hard. “What do you see?” she hissed. “Is someone in there?”

  Emily looked at the others, a haunted expression on her face. “It’s not Ali,” she said in a wobbly voice that terrified Hanna. “But it’s something.”

  30

  CLEANUP JOB

  Ari
a rushed to the window and peered through. At first, all she saw were long, dark shadows in an empty room. But as her eyes adjusted, she realized that the room was very different from when she’d last seen it—and not at all what was on the looped footage of the surveillance camera. There was another table inside. And a second chair, upturned. Newspapers scattered on the floor. A mop was propped against the wall, and a bucket sat next to it. And there was something on the floorboards. Something thick and viscous, seeping into the wood.

  “I’m going in,” Emily insisted.

  “No!” Hanna grabbed her sleeve. “What if she’s still in there?”

  “I’m ready for her,” Emily said, pulling away. “And if she’s not, there still might be evidence inside. Something the cops could really use. All we need to do is find a hair or a fingerprint. Then we call them.”

  Aria let out a note of protest. This felt really wrong. All she wanted, suddenly, was to be back at the Rosewood Rallies party. She hadn’t even told her dad she was leaving. And Harrison? After her kiss with Noel, she hadn’t been able to find him in the banquet room. She’d even asked Hanna, but Hanna had said she hadn’t noticed him leaving. Had Harrison somehow known about Noel? Had he heard the news about her fraudulent painting sale and bolted?

  Spencer touched her arm. “Em’s right,” she said. “We’re here. We might as well go in.”

  Emily turned the knob. It gave way easily, and the door swung open with a loud groan. The same pungent vanilla scent washed into her nostrils, turning Aria’s stomach. Did Ali bathe in the stuff?

  They walked inside. Spencer felt around the wall and found a light switch, but none of the bulbs brightened. Aria teetered toward the table and stared at its wooden surface. It was covered with the same thick substance as the floor. Her nose twitched, filling with the smell of something sour and familiar. All at once, she knew what it was. She glanced at the others, seeing the horror of the realization reflected on their faces.

  “Is that blood?” Aria cried.

  “Oh my God.” Emily curled her hands into her chest as though afraid to touch it.

  Hanna tiptoed into the small kitchen area. “There’s more blood here.”

  “And here,” Spencer called out from a back closet.

  “Whose blood is it?” Emily cried.

  An ominous silence followed. It was clear everyone was thinking the same thing. Maybe a murder had happened here.

  Maybe Ali had killed someone.

  Aria peered up the stairs to the second level, then took a deep breath and began to climb them. She gripped the rail hard, feeling unsteady. As she reached the top of the stairs, she noticed another light shining from the back room. Her heart stopped. Was Ali still here, hiding?

  She pushed forward, ignoring the frenzied fear pulsing through her. More floorboards creaked as she peeked around the corner. When she saw lumpy shapes in the middle of the room, she let out a tiny scream—but as she moved closer, she realized that it was only a dead rat . . . and a crumpled-up dress.

  She ran to the dress and picked it up, holding it away from her body. The fabric smelled powerfully of vanilla, and it, too, was covered in blood. Parts of it were still damp, maybe with blood.

  “Guys,” she called, holding the dress by two fingers. “Come here.”

  Everyone thundered up the steps and gathered in the room. “Look,” Aria whispered, shaking the dress side to side.

  Emily clapped a hand over her mouth. “Was that Ali’s?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Aria said. “Maybe she had it on while she . . . you know . . . did whatever she did down there.” She pointed to the floor. “This could have all kinds of DNA on it. Hair, skin cells, maybe even Ali’s blood, too. Everything the cops need, right?”

  “Great,” Hanna whispered excitedly. “Let’s take it to the cops and get the hell out of here.”

  Creak.

  Aria’s heart jumped into her throat, and she reached for Emily’s hand. It sounded like a window opening. Please let it be the wind, she willed. But then she heard footsteps across the floor.

  Everyone skittered to the back of the room and huddled together. Aria fumbled for her phone in her pocket. The surveillance cameras were on the screen, but the images showed nothing on the porch and no figures in the yard. The last view, the one that would show whoever was downstairs, still displayed that maddening loop.

  A glugging sound followed. Aria stared at the others. Gasoline? she mouthed. Was Ali going to torch this place with them in it, like she’d meant to do in the Poconos? But then a scent filled her nostrils. It smelled nothing like gasoline at all.

  It smelled like bleach.

  Another creak sounded, then a small pffft of a window closing. Everyone remained very still for what seemed like hours. Finally, Aria tiptoed to the doorway and peered over the railing. The room was empty, but the stench of bleach was overpowering.

  Someone had moved around the furniture in the room. The blood on the floor and the table had disappeared. The mop and the bucket were gone, too. It looked like someone had come in, dumped a bunch of bleach everywhere, and tried to clean up.

  But clean up what?

  She turned back to her friends, her instincts urging her to run, now. “We have to get out of here.”

  Everyone scrambled into action. Aria grabbed the soggy dress, sidestepped the rat, and thundered down the stairs as quickly as she could. Emily lunged for the front door, pulling it open and tumbling outside. As Aria and the others followed, no explosions sounded behind them. No figures shot out from the trees to attack them.

  They sprinted toward the road as fast as they could. Aria had never been so grateful to see Hanna’s car on the shoulder. They hurried inside, and Hanna locked the doors and started the engine. When Aria breathed in, all she could smell was bleach. It had soaked into their skin and clothes. She could taste it, even, on her tongue.

  As they pulled away, Aria swiveled around and stared out the back window. The road was dark and desolate. Even if someone was there, she wouldn’t be able to see who it might be.

  Beep. Aria looked at her phone. Byron was calling, but she let it go to voice mail. How could she answer and not sound completely freaked?

  Then she looked at her texts. There were four from Byron. Several from Harrison, too, replying that he was going to leave the party since he couldn’t find her anywhere. Then one from Ella, who hadn’t even attended the party: Your father called me. Where are you? Call me as soon as you get this.

  When she looked around, the other girls were looking at their phones, too. “Shit,” Spencer whispered. “My mom’s pissed.” Hanna chewed on her bottom lip, glancing at her screen as she drove. Only Emily stared straight ahead, her hands folded in her lap. Tears were rolling silently down her cheeks.

  “What just happened?” she whispered. “Was that Ali? Why didn’t we ambush her? I should have done something.”

  Aria patted her hand. “No, you shouldn’t have. We had no idea what she was doing down there. And she could have had a gun, Em. We did the right thing by staying put.”

  “But what was she doing?” Emily cried. “What was with all the bleach?” She looked around at the others. “Did she kill someone in that house?”

  “Someone killed someone,” Aria said slowly. She stared at the dress in her hands. Maybe she was imagining things, but it still seemed sort of warm, as if the heat from Ali’s body hadn’t left it yet.

  She swallowed hard, suddenly realizing what they needed to do. She pulled out her phone and unlocked the screen. Emily watched her carefully, then breathed in. “What are you doing?”

  “I think we need to call the police,” Aria said.

  Emily held Aria’s gaze, but she didn’t protest. It was the right thing to do. Whatever they’d witnessed was beyond their control. And even if it wasn’t Ali who’d killed someone in there—which Aria highly doubted—someone had.

  31

  THE WAITING GAME

  Emily suggested the girls all sl
eep together at her place, since no one wanted to go home alone. They scampered into her garage as Emily opened the door to the house. The room was silent and dark, the lights and the TV off. The faint scent of a blown-out candle lingered in the air.

  “You have some explaining to do.”

  Everyone screamed. A light flicked on. Emily’s parents sat in the loveseat in the corner. Her dad was still in a suit, her mom still in her flowered dress and heels from the Rosewood Rallies party. Mrs. Fields’s nose and eyes were red, like she’d been crying.

  Emily lowered her eyes. Her friends had all handled their situations with their families on the drive home. Emily knew that calling her parents would have been the right thing to do, too, but somehow she couldn’t will her finger muscles to dial their number. Her mind was too distracted, her thoughts still on Ali and the pool house and whatever had happened.

  Mrs. Fields rushed over to her and took Emily by the shoulders. “Where have you been?”

  “We . . .” Emily shrugged and shook her head. She had no idea what to say. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just left the party without telling you.”

  “Sorry?” Mrs. Fields’s eyes boggled. “You disappear, and all you can say is you’re sorry? You weren’t picking up your phone, you weren’t here. . . . We feared the worst.”

  Emily’s father frowned deeply. “We were considering calling the police.”

  “It’s my fault,” Spencer piped up, her voice cracking. “I gathered everyone together and asked that we get away for a few moments. We all felt kind of traumatized being at that front table, everyone looking at us—it brought back some tough memories. We grabbed a bite to eat. That’s it.”

  Emily lookd at Spencer gratefully. It was the same story the other girls had told their parents, but she was astonished at how Spencer could lie so expertly to her mom’s face. It was kind of the truth, except for the eating part. They had been traumatized. Just for different reasons.

  Mr. and Mrs. Fields exchanged a glance. Mrs. Fields looked like she was going to start crying again. “We’re just so concerned,” she scolded Emily. “You’ve been so . . . troubled lately. All those things you said about causing those bruises on your neck yourself. And you’ve been spending so much time in your room. I know you’ve been sleeping in your closet instead of your bed. And I’ve heard you crying. . . .”