Perfect (Book Three)

Seven: Nothing Like An Old-Fashioned Interrogation.

Monday evening, Hanna parked her Prius in her side driveway and hopped out. All she had to do was change clothes, and then she was off to meet Mona for their dinner. Showing up in her Rosewood Day blazer and pleated skirt would be an insult to the institution of Frenniversaries. She had to get out of these long sleeves—she'd been sweating all day. Hanna had spritzed herself with her Evian mineral water spray bottle about a hundred times on the drive home, but she still felt overheated.

When she rounded the corner, she noticed her mother's champagne-colored Lexus next to the garage and stopped short. What was her mom doing home? Ms. Marin usually worked uber-long hours at McManus & Tate, her Philadelphia advertising firm. She often didn't get back until after 10 P.M.

Then Hanna noticed the four cars, stuffed one after the other against the garage: the silver Mercedes coupe was definitely Spencer's, the white Volvo Emily's, and the clunky green Subaru Aria's. The last car was a white Ford with the words Rosewood Police Department emblazoned on the side.

What the hell?

"Hanna."

Hanna's mother stood on the side porch. She still had on her sleek black pantsuit and high snakeskin heels.

"What's going on?" Hanna demanded, annoyed. "Why are my old friends here?"

"I tried calling you. You didn't pick up," her mother said. "Officer Wilden wanted to ask you girls some questions about Alison. They're out back."

Hanna pulled her BlackBerry out of her pocket. Sure enough, she had three missed calls, all from her mom.

Her mother turned. Hanna followed her into the house and through the kitchen. She paused by the granite-topped telephone table. "Do I have any messages?"

"Yes, one." Hanna's heart leapt, but then her mother added, "Mr. Ackard. They're doing some reorganization at the burn clinic, and they won't need your help anymore."

Hanna blinked. That was a nice surprise. "Anyone...else?"

The corners of Ms. Marin's eyes turned down, understanding. "No." She gently touched Hanna's arm. "I'm sorry, Han. He hasn't called."

Despite Hanna's otherwise back-to-perfect life, the silence from her father made her ache. How could he so easily cut Hanna out of his life? Didn't he realize she'd had a very good reason to ditch their dinner and go to Foxy? Didn't he know he shouldn't have invited his fiancee, Isabel, and her perfect daughter, Kate, to their special weekend? But then, Hanna's father would be marrying plain, squirrelly Isabel soon—and Kate would officially be his stepdaughter. Maybe he hadn't called Hanna back because Hanna was one daughter too many.

Whatever, Hanna told herself, taking off her blazer and straightening her sheer pink Rebecca Taylor camisole. Kate was a prissy bitch—if her father chose Kate over her, then they deserved each other.

When she looked through the French doors to the back porch, Spencer, Aria, and Emily were indeed sitting around the giant teak patio table, the light from the stained-glass window sparkling against their cheeks. Officer Wilden, the newest member of Rosewood's police force and Ms. Marin's newest boyfriend, stood near the Weber grill.

It was surreal to see her three ex-best friends here. The last time they'd sat on Hanna's back porch had been at the end of seventh grade—and Hanna had been the dorkiest and ugliest of the group. But now, Emily's shoulder had broadened and her hair had a slight greenish-tint. Spencer looked stressed and constipated. And Aria was a zombie, with her black hair and pale skin. If Hanna was a couture Proenza Schouler, then Aria was a pilly, ill-fitting sweatshirt dress from the Target line.