Jordan signed the message with an XO. Emily exited out of the Twitter program and tucked her phone back into her backpack. She felt like she did whenever she had a bite of her mom’s macaroni and cheese—she could never have just a little. If only she and Jordan could talk for hours instead of seconds. If only she knew where Jordan was.
Her phone beeped. It was a Google Alert e-mail for The Preserve at Addison-Stevens, Ali’s mental hospital—Emily had set up the alerts a while ago, just in case any pertinent news popped up about escaped patients who could potentially be Ali’s secret boyfriend. This e-mail was a press release about a new therapy pool that had been built on the grounds. A picture had been included. Emily stared hard at the patients in the pool, their faces blurred. None of them had white-blond hair like Iris Taylor, the girl she’d busted out of The Preserve last week, chauffeuring her around Rosewood and asking her about Ali, who’d been Iris’s old roommate. As far as Emily knew, Iris had returned to The Preserve after the prom. The Preserve didn’t allow e-mail, texts, or phone calls, though, so Emily didn’t know how she’d settled back in.
Emily paused. Hanna had known Iris during a short stint at The Preserve, and she’d seemed incredibly creepy—maybe even on Ali’s team. But Emily had seen a different side of her—she was just a sad, insecure girl who needed someone to pay attention to her. In a world where nearly everyone Emily knew ended up not being what they seemed, it was nice that Iris had turned out to be not so bad. Suddenly, Emily kind of missed her.
A thought took shape in her mind. Maybe we could go to The Preserve, Hanna had suggested at the hospital. Figure out if there was a guy patient whose name started with N. Maybe Iris knew who that was. Delving back into the investigation scared Emily to death, but what if there was a vital clue sitting right under her nose?
She pulled out of the parking lot, charged with purpose. Instead of turning right, toward her family’s development, she took a left that led her down a winding back road, past the farmhouses and the ice-cream stand, and up the long hill. Traffic was light, and she arrived at The Preserve at Addison-Stevens sooner than she’d estimated. As her car climbed the steep hill to the fortlike hospital, all stone and brick and pointy turrets, an ambulance passed, going the other direction. Emily shivered, wondering who was inside—and why.
She parked and strolled into the lobby, glancing at the familiar planters and fountains. A man standing at the front desk smiled at her. “Good afternoon.”
Emily nodded shakily. “I’m here to see Iris Taylor. I’m a friend. Emily Fields.”
The man glanced at something on his screen, then frowned. “Iris is no longer a patient here.”
Emily cocked her head. “What does that mean?” Had Iris’s cruel parents checked her out? Had she been transferred to another hospital?
The man looked back and forth, then leaned toward her. “Since you’re a friend, you should know. She’s been missing from her bed since yesterday morning.”
Emily blinked hard. Missing? Iris had been miserable here—maybe she’d escaped, just like she’d escaped with Emily last week. But something on the man’s face seemed tense, as if he’d left something out. “I-is she okay?”
Another nurse came through the door just then, and the man clammed up. “It’s a private matter,” he said, glancing shiftily at the second nurse. “I’m sorry.”
Emily hitched forward. “Can you tell me if there was a male patient in the teenage wing a few years ago whose name started with N? He was friends with, um, Courtney DiLaurentis.”
The man’s lips twitched. He glanced at Emily for a split second and then at the nurse who was standing close by. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“You can’t just let me look at a patient list for a second?” Emily pleaded. “It’s important.”
The second nurse cleared her throat loudly. The man gave her a helpless shrug.
Emily turned away, her mind spinning. Iris had seemed so optimistic about returning to The Preserve to recover for good. Why would she have left so soon?
A horrible thought struck her. Iris had given Emily and the others vital information about Ali. Did Ali know?
The automatic doors swished open, and Emily walked into the brick courtyard that led to the parking lot, her head spinning. Just as she passed the bench that bore the IN MEMORY OF TABITHA CLARK plaque, her phone beeped. She pulled it out of her pocket, hoping that somehow it was Iris, letting her know she was okay. But the text was from a jumble of letters and numbers. Emily’s heart fell.
Are you done sniffing around, Scooby-Doo? Everyone you involve in this will get hurt. Including YOU. —A
5
A SECRET UNEARTHED