Page 3 of Murder on the Upper East Side

‘The kids may be rich, but you’ll all be dressed the same.’ Obviously, things had changed since Ms Hiroto-Miller had attended private school in the ’80s.

‘After today, we’ll be split into our seminar groups for first period,’ Madison explained, placing four fingertips on Hannah’s unadorned wrist and snapping her from her thoughts. ‘But the first morning back, they herd us together, the flock returning to the master.’

With her chin, Madison motioned to the front of the hall, where a teacher stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked too young to be the master of anything.

‘That’s Mr Harris, AP English and head counsellor for the senior class,’ said a girl with unblemished light brown skin and relaxed brown hair pulled into a high, glossy ponytail. She stepped between Hannah and Madison. Hannah had met Elle Harrington briefly outside, at the fountain, but the introductions had been a bit of a blur. For the first time, she really took Elle in. She wore her pleated skirt at regulation length – two inches above the knee. Her blouse was pressed, and she wore a grosgrain ribbon tie at the collar. Her high ponytail had been neatly pinned in place with two gold clasps. Whereas Madison’s beauty was ethereal, effortless, Elle’s was polished to perfection – not a single hair or pleat out of place.

Madison gestured to the teacher, Mr Harris. ‘Some of the girls think he’s cute, but don’t let his boyish looks fool you. He’s a real stickler for the rules, and he does not hand out As. If you ask me, he’s a bore.’

Elle giggled. ‘Besides, he’s short. And needs a shave.’

‘He can’t shave.’ Sebastian Beaumont, who everyone called Bash, apparently, was beside them now, adjusting a vintage Rolex around his thick wrist. ‘Otherwise Ms Caldwell – our Head of School – might mistake him for one of the students.’ His lips curled into a sneer.

Bash, to the contrary, looked older than his years – toned, athletic and ready to take Wall Street by storm. His nearly black hair was cropped short, and his shoes were shiny as mirror glass. A burgundy pocket square peeked from his blazer. Frequent sessions with a private trainer had sculpted chiselled abs and pecs beneath his shirt, and biceps the envy of high school boys everywhere strained the sleeves.

His dark eyes locked with hers. ‘You’re beautiful, but a bit rough around the edges.’ His eyes trailed up and down Hannah’s body, sending a shiver up her spine.Ew.‘I imagine Prescott will polish you up in no time.’

Hannah swallowed. Bash Beaumont was undeniably stylish, fit and darkly handsome, but he gave her the ick.

‘Bash, Bash, Bash.’ Theodore Fitzgerald, known to all of Prescott as Theo and as Teddie to Elle alone, placed a heavy hand on his best friend’s shoulder. ‘Hannah just got here. Call off your dogs before you scare her away.’

Madison snorted, a surprisingly ungraceful sound for such a lovely girl. She could behave absolutelyany way she pleased and it would only make the others envy her more. ‘Bashisthe dog, dear Theo. Woof!’

Elle linked her arm through Theo’s. He was tall and classically handsome; if you saw him on the street, you might mistake him for a movie star. White blond hair dusted his pale brows; his cheekbones were high; his lashes enviably long. Delicate freckles dotted the bridge of his nose, and he wore a timeless pair of Oliver Peoples frames that made him look more distinguished than any seventeen-year-old had the right to be. Hannah bit back a smile. He was gorgeous, but also very taken. There was no mistake: Elle and Theo were the Queen and King of Prescott Academy. Which made Theo squarely off-limits.

Hannah wrenched her gaze back to Madison. She was in her own category altogether. A golden goddess, immortal.

Elle turned to Bash. ‘Speaking of dogs, how many of our lovely classmates did you take to bed this summer?’

A sly grin spread across his face. ‘A gentleman never tells.’

Madison scoffed, and his grin widened.

‘Fortunately for you, I am not a gentleman. While Elle and Theo summered in Paris and Madison was the envy of Nice, it was a summer of pleasure for Sebastian Beaumont right here on the Upper East Side. As of last night, the tally has reached fourteen. That’s only the women of Prescott, of course.’

‘Disgusting.’ Elle’s grip tightened around Theo’s arm, and something flickered across Bash’s face.

Then the grin reappeared, as if it had never left. Across the Kingsley Room, leaning against an aisle seat near the back, was a petite, curvy girl with a blonde pixie cut. Layers of Van Cleef Alhambra pendants and chains hung from her neck and spilled into her cleavage. Her skirt was rolled at the waist displaying several inches of smooth, tanned leg between the tops of her knee socks and the hem of her skirt. She raised her hand and gave Bash a four-fingered wave.

‘Gemma Phipps,really, Bash?’ Elle sneered.

Bash chuckled and returned Gemma’s wave. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘But the year is young, and I’m on the market for lucky number fifteen.’

Bile rose in Hannah’s throat. She was overcome by a wave of protectiveness for this girl she didn’t know – Gemma Phipps. Sure, she was dressed to call attention to her curves, but Bash struck her as the worst kind of playboy. Surely, Gemma deserved better than that.

‘Seats!’ At the front of the hall, Mr Harris stepped behind a large mahogany podium and clapped his hands together, three tight raps.

‘The Class Czar has spoken,’ Theo quipped. ‘Better get in line.’

Hannah turned to follow her new classmates – calling them friends seemed premature – to an empty row of seats near the front of the hall. But before shecould sit, a hand brushed the small of her back, and she spun around.

‘Hannah Miller!’ a bright voice exclaimed. ‘I thought that was you.’

‘Oliver?’ Hannah grinned, overwhelmed by the relief of seeing a familiar face in this strange new world. Before she’d received her acceptance to Prescott, Oliver Morgan had been her classmate at a summer pre-college programme in Pittsburgh. He’d mentioned attending a prep school in New York, but the city had private schools aplenty, and if he had said it was Prescott – the best of the best – she’d forgotten.

‘Seats!’ Mr Harris boomed again. He removed a pair of thin tortoiseshell frames and placed them on the podium, peering out at the crowd of seniors.

‘Here.’ Oliver motioned to a pair of empty chairs several rows back. ‘Sit with me.’