Page 18 of Murder on the Upper East Side

@WhoIsElizabeth@Ty_Mars You’re disgusting.

@Alice_in_the_City@WhoIsElizabeth Theo wasn’t even in the city that week, remember? The Fitzgeralds were in Hudson?

@SebastianBCalm the eff down, people. We don’t even know when this photo is from. @TheUpperEdge says maybe ‘mid-August’. Doesn’t prove anything.

6Friday, 12 June 2026

9:27pm

Hannah stood at the base of the stairs, taking in the scene in the Lenox Club lounge. Dozens of suspicious faces peered back from their posts at the bar, by the fireplace and in the extra chairs that had been pulled out by the staff, creating additional seating. Peggy Walton Hale, class of ’87 and renowned book publisher at one of the major NYC houses, narrowed her eyes at Hannah before resuming her conversation with Lillian Cho, class of 2014, founder of a wildly successful fintech startup and the first Prescott Fellow to become a multi-millionaire. Everyone was drinking, and the mood had visibly soured. Shoes lay discarded beneath tables, and two staff members circulated with baskets of cosy cashmere shawls.

The initial shock of Madison’s death had worn off, replaced by the realisation that no one was going home anytime soon. The glares on the faces of her fellow alumni said that Hannah was to blame. She’dbeen the first called up for an interview. And if anyone here hadn’t known about her article, they did now. While she was upstairs, word had spread. The detectives suspected her. And now so did everyone else.

There was only one way out of this. Before she was arrested for Madison’s murder, Hannah was going to have to find the real killer.

She was hardly an investigative reporter, but her journalism training had taught her to pay attention, listen closely and ask good questions. She could do this, right?

She took two steps forward, then two more, past the reception desk and into the lounge. Her former classmates and fellow alumni adjusted their positions, turning their chairs subtly away from her, or seized by the sudden urge to reread the bar list.Killer Hannah Miller.What choice did she have? While the club was on lockdown, she would conduct her own investigation.

A hand came down on her shoulder. She spun, expecting to find Edward Beaumont glowering at her again.

‘Oliver. You scared the shit out of me.’

‘Sorry, looked like you needed rescuing. Come on.’ He gestured across the lounge, to the open library doors, and gratefully, she followed.

‘What happened up there?’ he asked when they’d settled on a velvet-cushioned window seat in a vacant corner of the library. On the wall to their right hung backlit framed maps of old Manhattan, rendered in warm sepia tones. ‘Are you okay?’

Hannah drew in a long breath. The room smelled of mild cedarwood, old books and faintly sweet beeswax polish. After the packed lounge, the half-empty library was a relief. But she could hardly relax. ‘They’ve already made up their minds. The detectives know the DuPonts, the Winslows, the Beaumonts… every powerful family represented here.’ She gestured broadly around the club. ‘They are not going to take most of tonight’s guests seriously as suspects in Madison’s murder. And I very recently and very publicly denounced the people who fund their precinct. Besides, I had the bad luck to be seen speaking to Madison moments before she died – she waved her martini glass and told me to get lost.’

Oliver grimaced. ‘That is bad luck.’

‘They won’t confirm how she died, since we’re all obviously suspects, but Madison took her drink into the ladies’ room. I watched her carry it down the hall. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that someone followed her and slipped poison into her glass. It just wasn’t me.’

‘Ofcoursenot.’ Oliver gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Hannah sighed. ‘Thank you for believing me. It means a lot.’

‘Hannah. I’ve got you.’

She smiled. ‘Anyway, they’re talking to Ms Caldwell now, surely salivating over all the high school gossip she’s willing to impart. Which isentirely irrelevant, but it’s going to make me look guilty as sin.’

‘Fuck.’ Oliver downed the rest of his Empire Mule and set the sweating copper glass directly on top of an ancient-looking tome resting on a nearby end table.

‘It’s fine,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I didn’t kill Madison, but someone here did. While the detectives run their investigation, I’ll run my own. I’m going to figure this out.’

Oliver wrapped his arm around Hannah and drew her in close. She breathed in the spicy cologne clinging to his very loud, very green tux. Beneath the jacket, his dress shirt remained unbuttoned at the collar, displaying a neatly waxed chest and an iced-out gold chain. ‘You can definitely do this. You know I’m also persona non grata around here, but I’ll help, in whatever way I can. Justice for Hannah.’

‘Thank you. Again.’ For a moment, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink into her friend’s support.

To their left, two men and a woman Hannah vaguely recognised as members of Alex DuPont’s class huddled together on a sofa. Directly above them hung a sign written in assured calligraphy:The Library is a space for quietude and intellectual pursuit.Their exaggerated whispers carried easily to Hannah’s ears.

‘Did she even have any real friends?’ The woman grasped at a strand of natural pearls in a gesture so apt it almost had to be intentional. Although perhaps that was giving her too much credit. ‘Everyone’s acting so sad, but it’s just for show.’

‘Well, no one wants to look guilty, do they?’ asked the man with tight brown curls.

‘Madison was a bitch,’ said the man with a trim blond moustache. ‘I said it. She acted like fucking royalty at school, and we let her walk all over us. But the worst part is, it didn’t stop at graduation.’

‘Exactly,’ the woman agreed, vibrating like a plucked tuning fork. ‘Acting like she earned her spot at Columbia when you just know Mummy and Daddy bought her way in. Either that or she bribed the Dean of Admissions.’