DOOMED
By Thursday, Hanna had begun to notice that the judge who was presiding over their trial, the Honorable Judge Pierrot, secretly picked his nose when he thought no one was looking. And that the bailiff played Candy Crush Saga during breaks, and that Juror #4, an older woman who wore square, dark-framed glasses and seemed utterly oblivious to current events—which was probably why they had chosen her—tapped her fingers on the desk to the rhythm of “Ding, Dong! The Witch Is Dead.” Hanna began to make a little superstitious game out of it: If Judge Pierrot dug around in his nose five times before lunch, she got ten points. If Juror #10 spun her engagement ring around her finger ten times in the day, she got twenty. It was easier to focus on that stuff than what was actually happening during the trial.
The testimony this morning was all about various witnesses who’d seen Hanna and the others skulking around Ashland before Ali’s alleged death. Apparently they’d been much less sneaky than they all thought, because the prosecution had found seven people to come forward. Most of them were just random citizens who didn’t have much to say, but the last woman, who wore a navy-blue suit and heels, was someone Hanna remembered. It was the lady Emily had accosted near the Maxwells’ property. Emily had been so worked up, in fact, that they’d had to practically pull her off the woman to calm her down.
Which, of course, was what the woman told them. “The girl who sadly took her life seemed very troubled,” she said in a dramatic voice. “I truly feared for my safety.”
Hanna wrinkled her nose. It hadn’t been that bad.
The DA called another witness, a well-dressed woman with bright-red lipstick. When she stated her name for the court, she said in a clear voice, “Sharon Ridge.”
Hanna gasped. It was the woman who’d organized the Rosewood Rallies function at the Rosewood Country Club. What was she doing up there, testifying against them?
“Tell us about the Rosewood Rallies event,” the DA said.
Sharon Ridge rolled back her shoulders, then described the event as a gala at the country club to support disadvantaged youth in the Rosewood area. “It was a very special night,” she said. “A lot of people from the community came out, and we raised a lot of money.”
“And you had distinguished guests, correct?” the DA asked.
Ridge gazed into the courtroom. “Yes, Ms. Marin.” She pointed to Hanna. “And Ms. Hastings. As well as Ms. Fields and Ms. Montgomery, who are not here.”
“And did those girls seem grateful to be there?”
She adjusted her collar. “Well, not exactly. They seemed quite distracted all night. I wanted to introduce them to people, but all of them just looked right through me. And we wanted to have a little ceremony for the girls—they’d been through so much, or so we’d thought. But when we called them to the stage, they weren’t there.”
“Not a single one?”
The woman shook her head. “The cameras at the main entrance show them leaving the premises around 9 PM.”
“And when you say the girls were distracted, what do you mean?”
Ridge pushed a flyaway hair out of her face. “Well, I noticed Aria Montgomery flee into the ladies’ lounge. Emily Fields was positively catatonic, as was Hanna Marin. And Spencer Hastings, well . . .” She trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
“What?” the DA goaded.
“I’m not sure if this has anything to do with anything, but a few people said that Ms. Hastings had a very heated fight with the boy she brought as her date. They heard the name Alison mentioned.”
The DA put his hands on his hips. “You have this young man’s name, correct?”
She nodded. “It’s Greg Messner.”
He looked at the jury. “I may mention that Greg Messner ended up dead later that night.” Everyone gasped. “Found in a creek bed in Ashland, Pennsylvania. And you know who else was in Ashland that same evening? Spencer Hastings. And her three friends.”
Rubens shot up. “This isn’t a trial for Mr. Messner’s death. And Ms. Hastings had nothing to do with that.”
“Sustained,” the judge said.
Spencer poked Rubens as he sat down. “Greg was an Ali Cat,” she whispered. “He targeted me through my anti-bullying site. He’d been working with Ali—she’d given him instructions to get close to me and get info. Can’t you tell them that?”
“You should totally tell him that,” Hanna piped up, just trying to be helpful. But Spencer just shot her an I-don’t-need-your-help look. Hanna slumped back down in her seat. So much for trying to be civil.
Rubens glanced at the girls worriedly. “Let’s just drop it, okay? We’ll concentrate on our own witnesses. That starts this afternoon.”