Page 53 of Murder on the Upper East Side

TheUpperEdgeHearts, chocolate, bright red roses. What’s not to love about Valentine’s Day? If you’re in love, that is.

@Alice_in_the_CityStill can’t believe Theo dumped Elle. Valentine’s seems all wrong without them together.

@CarinRutherfordNah, T’s a dirtbag. First Gemma, then some girl in Paris?

@Alice_in_the_CityThe Paris thing probably wasn’t even real. Do you believe everything you read on here?

196–11 February 2017

In the weeks following the party at Orchard & Vine, Hannah found herself treading carefully around Madison and Elle yet again. After Ami’s fall down the stairs, Madison took Hannah’s side, admonishing Ami even though the incident had been at least half Hannah’s fault.Fuck – more than half.Hannah was the big sister. She was supposed to be the responsible one, yet she’d been too busy partying to notice her little sis pairing off with Bash Beaumont of all people. And then she’d handled it in the worst possible way, losing her temper and literally dragging Ami away from him. True, she hadn’t meant for Ami to fall. The complete opposite! She’d been trying to steer her back inside. Towards hot food, ice water, sanity. Away from Bash. But all she’d done was make matters worse.

Thankfully, Ami hadn’t been seriously hurt. She’d had some bruises, and her wrist sustained a mild sprain, but she was already out of the brace. Nevertheless, Ami had remained chilly since the party, blaming Hannah for their parents’ decision to groundAmi from all Prescott social events for the rest of the year. Hannah had escaped much of their wrath, perhaps unfairly, but she had every intention of laying low herself. Once again, she swore she was done – done! – with Prescott drama.

It came for her, nevertheless. On Monday, the week before Valentine’s Day, Bruno found her in the restroom once again.

‘We need to stop meeting like this,’ Hannah deadpanned, drying her hands on a pillowy paper towel from a small wicker basket at the sinks.

Bruno laughed. ‘You’re always here before fifth. And’ – he grimaced – ‘only one invite this time. Thought I’d keep this on the down low, for Ami’s sake.’

She held out her hand for the blood red envelope, then slipped her finger beneath the seal.

The Less the Merrier

You’re invited to a V-Day singles bash, thrown by Madison DuPont.

Bring yourself – and only yourself.

No exceptions.

Saturday, 11 February

The DuPont home, Madison’s wing, 9:00 pm till late

‘You going?’ she asked.

Bruno shook his head. ‘Singles only. Not invited.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t be. Ethan and I have plans.’

‘And if Madison had asked you to break them, saying no wouldn’t have been an option.’

‘You said it, not me.’ He stepped to the door. ‘You going to go?’

She shook her head. ‘Probably not. Ami might never speak to me again.’

‘You should think about it,’ he said. ‘Madison really wants you there.’

Bruno held the door, and they both stepped out. Pembroke Dining Hall was directly across the way; beside it was the student lounge. Both rooms were visible to passersby through large glass windows lined in gleaming oak. A few minutes remained in fourth period lunch; the dining hall bustled with students driven in from the courtyard during the winter months.

In the lounge, Ami was reclined on a deep Chesterfield sofa, upholstered in bright polo green leather. The décor in the lounge was a bit louder and more modern than elsewhere at Prescott. Most of the furnishings had been recently donated by an alum famous for curating wildly successful experimental art shows at a gallery downtown. Mixed in with the leather sofas were modern Eames lounge chairs and fabric pouffes in bright jewel tones. The wide-plank oak floors were laid with area rugs in bold geometric patterns, and abstract onyx sculptures decorated the fireplace’s polished marble mantel, which was original to the building. Ms Caldwell had hemmed and hawedabout accepting the donation, replacing the worn but traditional furnishings, but she’d ultimately consented – as long as the renovation was limited to the student space.

Beside Ami on the couch was Beatrice Whitmore. Ami’s boots were on the floor; her stocking feet rested on Beatrice’s lap. To their right, perched on a sapphire blue pouffe with his back against the wall, was Bash. Hannah tucked the red envelope deep into her backpack and zipped it up.

‘They’ve gotten chummy,’ Bruno observed.

Hannah frowned. Ever since the party upstate, Ami had been avoiding her at school, spending her time instead with Beatrice and Bash. Even if there was nothing romantic going on between Bash and Ami – and Ami swore up and down there was not – Hannah could still see the writing on the wall: while she had managed to stay largely out of the Madison–Elle crossfire these past weeks, Ami was the latest pawn in their never-ending chess match. Any minute now, Elle would sweep into the lounge and offer to escort Ami to fifth period. In the days following the party, she’d more than once overheard Elle reassuring Ami that Madison’s upstate takedown had beeninappropriateandin poor taste. Ami should spend time with whomever at Prescott she pleased. Madison was all bark and no bite, and Ami shouldn’t let herself be bossed around.