Page 77 of Murder on the Upper East Side

‘Columbia. MFA in Writing, class of 2013.’

Slowly, Hannah raised her mug to her lips. ‘I’ve heard that’s a great programme. I’ll look into it.’

She had, honestly, considered getting a master’s at some point. She’d done enough casual research to know that creative writing programme faculty typically taught both graduate and undergraduate courses. And in 2016, Mr Harris had been a recent Columbia graduate – and Madison an applicant to a school for which she was academically unqualified. But somehow, she’d gotten in.

Maybe she’d been asking the wrong questions – not that she expected Mr Harris to confess if she askedthe right ones. The question wasn’t if he and Madison had kept up a relationship after graduation, but rather if he and Madisonhad been in a relationship while she was a student at Prescott. She drew in a sharp breath. Had all Madison’s flirting and casual mockery been covering up something very real? Had he failed to discipline herbecause they were sleeping together?

Madison never dated. She’d made it well known that she was only interested in older men. And it had always remained a mystery how she’d gotten into the elite creative writing programme at Columbia – where Mr Harris would have known everyone on faculty. Her pulse spiked. This wasn’t exactly motive for murder, but it could be something. She needed to—

‘I’ve read a few of your articles,’ he said. ‘MFA or not, you’ll do well.’ Then he stood abruptly, attention shifting across the room. ‘Excuse me.’

‘I—’ Hannah began to say, but his back was to her. He headed swiftly towards the restrooms. Gone.

Shit.Almost certainly, she’d been onto something. If she could have just kept him talking… But – Mr Harris despised Madison. Maybe despise was too strong a word, but without a doubt he’d been embarrassed by her, frustrated on more than one occasion. She’d witnessed it. Was it possible that it had all been a ruse, hiding the fact that he was sleeping with her? Or was it exactly as it had appeared ten years ago, and anything more salacious had been the work of her thoughts running wild? Suddenly her shiny theory lost some of its lustre.

She knocked back the rest of her coffee.Focus, Hannah.The truth was there, just out of reach. If there had been anything going on between Madison and Mr Harris at school, Elle was the person most likely to know about it. Slowly, Hannah surveyed the room. Where are you, Elle Harrington? Ah – sitting at the bar, finally alone.

She rose. This time, she wouldn’t stand down. Elle Harrington was going to have to get over herself and talk to her.

25 May 2017

Instagram

Image: Madison DuPont exiting the back seat of a sleek private car outside her family’s Carnegie Hill home, carrying two large flower arrangements.

TheUpperEdgeMiss DuPont said she would buy the flowers herself, or so it seems. Just twenty-four hours to go-go until prom night, but everyone knows the real action happens after hours. Prescott’s upperclassmen are set to celebrate at the home of Madison DuPont – our girl does have her own wing, after all. Plenty of rooms where this year’s crop of rising seniors and soon-to-be graduates can stop and smell the roses… just watch out for those prickly thorns.

2925–27 May 2017

On the Thursday evening before prom night, Hannah sat at the small desk in her bedroom, clicking through pages on the NYU website for the third or fourth or eighty-fifth time. Displayed on the wall above her desk, where her college pros and cons list had once hung, was a large format wall calendar, counting down the days until graduation. Beside it was a framed photo of little Hannah with her dad and stepmom at the winery where they’d held their wedding reception, a smaller framed photo of Hannah visiting her mother in Big Sur last summer, a photo collage of Hannah with her friends from home, and a signed Hozier concert poster. Outside her window, three storeys down, traffic was backed up on Spring Street. Someone, then several someones, laid on their horns. She rose and slid the window shut, fastening the latch.

Her phone buzzed. Hoping it was Grace, finally ready to forgive her, she rushed to open her messages.

Oliver.

Sure I can’t persuade you to come out tomorrow?

She sat again. Gut check. Nope, she felt no regrets about skipping prom, a lavish, black-tie affair to be thrown at the Metropolitan Club just off Central Park. In fact, if she could speed up time, hurry things right along to graduation, she would. With her future glistening bright before her, she was more than ready to leave Prescott, and everyone who went there, behind.

Thx but my mind’s made up. See you in seminar on Monday!

True, she wasn’t the only member of the senior class to be staying in the area. A few of her classmates would even be joining her as first years at NYU. But it was a big school, its open campus smack dab in the middle of the Village, and she wasn’t worried about avoiding anyone she didn’t want to see. Summer was mere weeks away, and then the rest of her life would begin.

A quick knock on Hannah’s door. Before she could respond, Yoko stuck her head in.

Hannah looked up from her laptop to give her stepmom a small smile. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey, you. Your dad and I are just about to start the latest Ken Burns. Join us?’

Hannah shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’

‘It’s on the Nazis.’

‘Yoko. You’re really selling this.’

She laughed. ‘Okay, fine. I went to Trader Joe’s this afternoon. Snacks in the pantry.’

Hannah grinned. ‘Thatis worth getting up for.’