Eighteen: Something’s Rotten In Rosewood…

Friday morning, as the sky was turning 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.

There was a swish behind her, and Hanna whirled around, suddenly struck with the distinct feeling that someone was on her tail. Only the narrow road was empty. She let out a long sigh and decided not to answer Mike at all, sliding her iPhone into her pocket and cranking up the music. She ran down the hill from her neighborhood, cut across the a narrow footbridge between two yards, and found herself at a familiar intersection. There was an old gray farmhouse on the corner, set back from the street. Two cinnamon-colored horses and one spotted Shetland pony calmly next to the wood fence. This was the turn to Ali's.

The first time Hanna stood at the crossroads was the day she'd tried to steal Ali's piece of the Time Capsule flag. Hanna remembered gazing into the pony's big, soft eyes, wishing she could ask its opinion about what she was about to do. Who did she think she was, assuming she could march in and snatch Ali's flag? What if Naomi and Riley were there and they all laughed in Hanna's face? Maybe I should face the fact that I'll never be popular, she'd almost said out loud to the pony. But then a car had passed, and she'd squared her shoulders and biked on.

Now she jogged into Ali's neighborhood, breathing hard. Mona's house was one of the first houses on the street. It's grand circular driveway and gabbed six-car garage painfully familiar. Hanna looked away. Next came Jenna's house, the red colonial with the big tree off to the side, the one that had once held Toby's tree house. Then Spencer's estate, which sat aloofly behind a large wrought-iron gate. Hints of the KILLER graffiti were visible through the repainted barn garage doors. Ali's old house was last, looming at the end of the cul-de-sac.

Hanna ran up to the Ali shrine, which was still assembled at the curb. A few of the candles had been replaced, and one was lit, dancing in the wind. There were a few hand-lettered signs on poster board that said things like, We'll Find Him, Ali and Ian Will Pay For This!

She crouched down and looked at the photograph that had been part of the shrine ever since it was first assembled, back when Ali's body had been recovered. The photo was wrapped and faded from months of rain and snow. It was a picture of sixth-grade Ali, wearing a blue Von Dutch T-shirt and Seven jeans, standing in Spencer's grand foyer. The photo had been taken the night Melissa and Ian were going to the Rosewood Day Winter Ball—Ali had been vehement about spying on them, giggling hysterically when Melissa tripped on the stairs during her grand entrance. Who knew, maybe Ali had something going on with Ian even back then.

Hanna frowned, looking closer at the photo. Behind Ali, the Hastingses' front door was slightly open, offering a partial view of Spencer's front yard. Standing in Spencer's driveway next to Ian and Melissa's Hummer limo was a lone figure in a down jacket and jeans. Hanna couldn't really make out who it was, his face a blur. Still, there was something intrusive and voyeuristic about the person's posture, as if whoever it was wanted to spy on Ian and Melissa too.

A door slammed. Hanna jumped, looking up. For a moment, she couldn't locate where the noise had come from. Then she saw Darren Wilden standing at the bottom of the Cavanaughs' driveway. When he saw Hanna, he did a double take.

"Hanna," Wilden said. "What are you…doing?"

Hanna's heart started to beat faster, like she'd just been caught shoplifting. "Running. What are you doing?"

Wilden looked shaken. He turned halfway, gesturing across the street to the woods behind Spencer's house. "I was, um, just, you know. Checking things out back there."

Hanna crossed her arms. The cops had abandoned the search in the woods a few days ago. And Wilden had come from Jenna's house, which was across the street from the woods, not in the right direction at all. "Did you find something?"

Wilden rubbed his gloved hands together. "You shouldn't be here," he blurted.

Hanna stared at him.

"It's cold out," Wilden fumbled.

Hanna extended her left leg. "That's what running tights are for. And mittens and hats."

"Still." Wilden slapped his right fist into his left palm. "I'd rather you were running somewhere safer. Like the Marwyn trail."

Hanna squirmed. Was Wilden truly concerned for her…or did he just want her to leave? He glanced over his shoulder again toward Spencer's woods. Hanna craned her neck too. Was there something there? Something he didn't want her to see? But hadn't he told the press that he'd never believed anything was back there? Didn't he think Hanna and others made it up?

A's text about Wilden at confession flashed through her mind. We all have stuff to feel guilty about, huh?

"Do you need a ride somewhere?" Wilden asked loudly, making Hanna jump. "I'm finished here."

Truthfully, Hanna's toes were going numb. "Okay," she stammered, trying to stay calm. She gave the Ali shrine a final look, then followed Wilden to a car covered in a dirty layer of caked-on snow and ice. "That's your car?" Hanna asked. There was something familiar about it.

Wilden nodded. "My cruiser's in the shop, so I had to resort to this old beater." He opened the passenger door. The inside of the car smelled like old McDonald's hamburger wrappers. He quickly tossed a bunch of file folders, shoe boxes, CDs, empty packs of cigarettes, unopened mail, and an extra pair of gloves to the backseat. "Sorry for the mess."

An oval-shaped sticker in the front-seat foot well caught Hanna's eye. There was a drawing of a fish on it, with a few initials and words Day Pass. The sticker hadn't been pulled off the shiny backing, and the ink seemed bright and new.

"Did you recently go ice fishing?" Hanna teased, pointing at it. Back when her dad was Hanna's friend instead of the soulless drone who only wanted to make Princess Kate happy, they used to go fishing at Keuka Lake in upstate New York. They always had to buy a similar-looking fishing pass at the local bait shop in order to use the lake without getting fined.

Wilden glanced at the sticker, an odd expression flickering over his face. He tweezed it between his fingers and tossed it quickly to the back. "I haven't cleaned out this car in years." His words tumbled out in a rush. "That thing's old."

The motor started up, and Wilden shifted into reverse so forcefully Hanna was knocked back. He swung around the curl-de-sac, nearly running over the Ali shrine, then whipped past Spencer's house, Jenna's and Mona's. Hanna grasped the little handle above the window. "This isn't a race," she joked shakily, growing more and more weirded out.

Wilden looked at her out of the corner of her eye, saying nothing. Hanna noticed he didn't have his Rosewood PD jacket on, but instead wore a simple, oversize gray hoodie and black jeans. An oversize hoodie, in fact, that looked a lot like one the Grim Reaperish person who'd stood over her in the woods Saturday night had worn. But that was just a coincidence…right?

Hanna ran her hand over the back of her neck and cleared her throat. "So, um, how's the Ian investigation?"

Wilden looked at her, his foot pressed firmly on the gas pedal. They took the turn at the top of the hill fast, and the car's tired made a screeching noise. "We have a pretty good lead that Ian's in California."

Hanna opened her mouth, then closed it fast. The IP address from Ian's IMs had said that he was still in Rosewood. "Uh, how did you find out that?" she asked.

"A tip," Wilden growled.

"From who?"

He shot her a frozen glare. "You know I can't tell you that."

A gray Nissan Pathfinder was in front of them, slowly ascending the hill. Wilden revved the engine and veered into the lane of oncoming traffic, speeding to get around. The Pathfinder honked. Two hazy lights appeared in the distance, heading the opposite direction. "What are you doing?" Hanna screamed, growing nervous. Wilden didn't move back into the right lane. "Stop!" Hanna screamed. All at once, she was catapulted back to the night she'd stood in the Rosewood Day parking lot, Mona's SUV heading straight for her. By the time she'd realized the SUV wasn't going to swerve, she couldn't move, petrified and helpless. It had felt as if there was nothing she could have done to stop what had happened.

Hanna shut her eyes, anxiety overpowering her. There was a loud, blaring horn, and Wilden's car swerved. When Hanna opened her eyes again, they were back in their own lane.

"What is wrong with you?" Hanna demanded, her whole body trembling.

Wilden glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He looked…amused. "Calm down."

Calm down? Hanna ran her hand down the length of her face, about to throw up. The incident flashed through her mind again and again, on rapid fast-forward. Ever since her accident, she'd tried very, very hard not to think about that night, and here Wilden was, laughing at her for being scared. Maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to discount A's texts about Wilden after all.

Hanna was about to tell him to pull over and let her out when she realized Wilden was zooming up her winding driveway. When they reached the top, she quickly unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the car, never so grateful to see her house.

She slammed the door anyway, but Wilden didn't seem to notice. He just sped in reverse down the driveway, not even bothering to make the three-point turn. Some of the snow had fallen off the nose of the car. Hanna could see that it had pointed end and mean-looking headlights.

A sense of deja vu suddenly nagged at her. Something about what had just happened had happened—and not just the night of her accident. She had the same feeling as when she couldn't remember a vocabulary word in French class, the term on the tip of her tongue. Usually, the word came to her later at the weirdest time, like when she was surfing on iTunes or walking Dot. Soon enough, this would come back to her too.

But she wasn't exactly looking forward to finding it.