“That really was amazing,” Kate agreed, appearing by Hanna’s side. “You’re a natural in front of the camera, Han. I’m so impressed.”
“She gets that from me,” boasted Hanna’s mom. Hanna was pretty sure her mom and Kate had never been together in such a small room, but they seemed to be getting along okay. Isabel, however, was standing in the opposite corner gripping a clipboard so tightly, Hanna was surprised she hadn’t bent it in half by now.
Sidney, Mr. Marin’s top aide, approached. “I’ve been thinking. Let’s spin this so that the bar that served Hanna and Madison is to blame. It will test well with our voters, Tom,” he said. “People will think, If they would have been tougher about carding, this accident never would have happened.”
“Exactly.” Then Mr. Marin’s expression grew serious. “What was the name of that bar that served you? We should shut them down. Make an example of them.”
“The Cabana.” Hanna had thought a lot about the South Street dive she’d ducked into that fateful day. The smell of smoke and the twangy country song washed back to her. So did Madison’s boozy breath and the way the soles of Hanna’s shoes were sticky after walking across the bathroom floor.
“Got it.” Mr. Marin tapped something into his iPhone. “Okay, Han. Ready for Phase Two?”
Hanna shifted uneasily. Phase Two was apologizing to Madison at Immaculata University, where she’d transferred after the accident. Madison had agreed to speak to Hanna, but it still made Hanna feel uneasy. If only they could skip it.
Sensing Hanna’s apprehension, Mr. Marin wrapped his arm around her. “I’ll be with you the whole time, honey, I promise. We’ll do it together.”
Isabel rushed forward. “But Tom, we’ve got that meeting with your new donors today at four.”
Mr. Marin set his jaw. “Reschedule it.”
Isabel’s face clouded. “You lost a huge donation when Gayle Riggs died—we need the cash.” She cleared her throat. “Speaking of Gayle, did you hear the news? There was a break in the case. The police are looking through her house again for new evidence.”
Hanna shifted her weight. Of course there was a break in the case. It was from them.
Mr. Marin started for the door. “I’m sure the donors can wait a day, Iz. I told Hanna I’d do this with her, and I want to honor that.”
“Good for you, Tom,” Hanna’s mom gushed. She shot Isabel a snarky smile. A deep wrinkle appeared between Isabel’s eyes. Hanna had a feeling that if they didn’t get out of here soon, it would devolve into an episode of Real Housewives: Rosewood, PA.
“I’ll be ready in a second,” Hanna said quickly to her father. “I just want to call Mike.” She hadn’t heard from him all day, and she wanted to make sure he was okay. Usually, Mike texted her nonstop, even during school.
She stepped out of her father’s office, stood on the walkway that overlooked a large atrium with a burbling fountain, and dialed Mike’s number. Once again, it went to voicemail. Hanna hung up without leaving a message. Where was he?
When a door slammed shut, Hanna jumped. It echoed so loudly, like it was right behind her. Just being in this building gave her the creeps; a few months ago, A—Ali—trapped Hanna in the elevator. The lights had gone out, the power had died, and when Hanna had gotten free and on solid ground again, she’d found the elevator control box wide open, its levers and switches tampered with. Ali’s telltale vanilla perfume had wafted through the air, taunting her nostrils. If only Hanna had called the cops then.
Hanna peered out the front windows for Bo, her security guy, but she didn’t see his car in the lot. She dialed Agent Fuji. “Do you know where Bo is?” Hanna asked, when she answered. “I don’t see him anywhere.”
The sound of typing echoed in the background. “Just because you can’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not there,” Fuji answered.
“But I haven’t seen him all day.”
“Hanna, I don’t have time to monitor your security detail’s comings and goings. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
“It’s just I heard that the cops are looking into Gayle’s murder,” Hanna said in a small voice. “And I know that probably will make Ali nervous. And I have my boyfriend to worry about, too. I’m afraid Ali might hurt him because he knows so much.”
All at once, just talking about Mike, she remembered a dream she’d had last night. Her phone had buzzed, and a note from A said that Mike was in danger and Hanna had to find him. Hanna had darted into the street and looked around. Incongruously, the DiLaurentis house was next door—and the old hole the workers had dug to build the gazebo was back. Hanna had run to it and peered inside . . . and there was Mike at the bottom, curled up in a fetal position. It was obvious he was dead.
“What if something happens to him?” Hanna said now, horrified she was only just remembering the dream. “Are we sure everyone is safe?”