Page 54 of Hunting Pretty

I would uncover their secrets, no matter the danger.

“Tell them I went to the bathroom.” I pulled my arm from Lisa’s grasp and raced to the door that led to the rest of the house.

“What? Ava!” Lisa hissed, but I was already ducking around the corner toward the stairs.

I’d buy her a drink later to apologize. Two if she was extra upset.

I didn’t know if I’d get another chance to look around.

I took the wide, shallow stairs of the grand staircase two at a time, wincing as my heels resounded down the darkened halls.

I aimed straight for Liath’s bedroom, knowing exactly where it was, having spent many evenings getting ready for various college parties here.

God, those carefree nights of last semester seemed so far away.

At the very end of the hallway, I tested Liath’s bedroom door.

It was unlocked.

I glanced around once more to make sure no one was watching before I slipped inside.

Her curtains were mostly drawn, casting the dark wood and deep purple room in silhouettes.

It still smelled like Liath’s favorite perfume, Twelfth Night, the notes of black violet and cashmeran sending a wave of sadness through me. God, I missed her.

I took a moment to listen for noise coming down thehallway. I didn’t have much time. The Byrnes’ butler would come after me soon enough.

I had to hurry.

The flash of my phone camera illuminated bits and pieces of Liath’s bedroom as I snapped as many pictures as I could.

Liath’s life was in that bedroom the way mine wasn’t in mine. Evidence of herself everywhere whereas I didn’t have a single picture. I could trace her past across those four walls.

If I disappeared next and if someone stood in my room to look for evidence, what would they see? What would they find to prove I existed?

With my past a black void, did I have life enough for them to say later that it was taken from me?

The purple-painted wall opposite her bed was covered in Polaroids hanging between fairy lights of mostly her and Aisling, a few of me and Lisa, too.

But there were places among the mural where some had been taken, leaving stark empty spaces and empty pegs.

I frowned as I traced a finger across one of the spaces and racked my memory for what photos were missing.

But I drew a blank. Dammit.

Had Liath taken them?

Or had her stalker?

Andwhy?

I rifled through her wooden writing desk but only found textbooks covered in girly stickers and her collection of purple ink pens along with an engraved Mont Blanc fountain pen that was still in the box.

I swore she kept a diary. I’d seen her writing in thepurple leather journal, snapping it shut with a coy smile when I asked what secrets she was revealing to it.

So where was it?

Her walk-in closet was an eclectic mix of designer brands and thrifted jeans torn at the knees. In one corner was her pair of well-worn lavender ski boots and a matching Givenchy ski jacket for her yearly winter family holidays in St. Moritz.

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