“Now, this is more like it.” Mr. Hastings put his hands on his hips, arched his back a little, and stared into the brilliant blue sky.

They unlocked the front door and pulled their bags into the foyer, creating a fort of name-brand luggage. The house smelled like expensive floor wax, a smattering of sand, and lavender laundry detergent. It was utterly silent inside, and Spencer was about to ask where Nana was before she remembered she’d left for Gstaad, Switzerland, with her new boyfriend, Lawrence, yesterday morning. Nana Hastings wasn’t really into interacting with her family—she was rarely around when they visited. She in particular had never taken to Spencer. It must be genetic.

Spencer carried her bags up the sweeping, Southern plantation–style staircase to the bedroom she always stayed in, which was flooded with sunlight, had cheery yellow-and-white-striped wallpaper, a fluffy white rug, and an old brass bed. The room had a closed-up smell to it, as though no one had stayed in here for a long time.

She hoisted up her bag, pulled at the zipper, and began neatly unpacking her Florida wardrobe—bright sundresses, high-waisted sailor pants, and form-fitting polo shirts, which she refolded and placed into empty drawers. She unearthed her felt-lined travel jewelry case as she stood in front of the gleaming white bureau, ready to line up her necklaces and rings in the antique wooden jewelry box her grandmother had long ago cast off. She opened it, noticing a pair of chandelier-style earrings glistening from the top shelf. She gasped as she lifted them up, recognizing them instantly. She’d left them here the last time she’d visited, which had been over Memorial Day weekend in seventh grade. But the earrings weren’t hers—they were Ali’s.

Ali’s family also had a place down here, just across the man-made lake, and she and Spencer had divided their time between the two houses, lying out on the sand, swapping clothes, sneaking slugs from Spencer’s parents’ Dewar’s bottle, and flirting with boys downtown.

Ali had lent Spencer the earrings the night they had been invited to a house party a few streets over from Nana Hastings’s. Spencer had struck up a conversation with a guy named Chad who’d dated Melissa one holiday break; after a while, she’d felt Ali’s eyes on her. “You’re acting really slutty,” Ali had whispered nastily when Chad turned away. “Isn’t it bad enough you already hooked up with one of your sister’s boyfriends?”

Ali was referring to how Spencer had kissed Ian Thomas behind Melissa’s back a few weeks earlier. But Spencer hadn’t wanted to hook up with Chad—she was just talking to him. She and Ali had gotten into a huge, blowout fight; they didn’t speak for the rest of the vacation. Ali hung out with some older girls from town, always laughing exaggeratedly when Spencer passed by. And Spencer wandered around alone, too proud to apologize.

Now she sank down on the bed and cradled the earrings in her hands. She should have apologized. If only she’d known that Ali had been seeing Ian—that that was why she was being so weird about Spencer kissing him. Maybe she could have somehow steered Ali away from Ian. Maybe she could have prevented Ali’s murder.

Placing the earrings on her nightstand, Spencer stood back up, changed into a pair of shorts, a soft American Apparel top, and a pair of Havaianas flip-flops, and walked downstairs. A warm, sweet-smelling scent wafted from the white-tiled kitchen.

“Hello?” Spencer called out, looking around. Her voice echoed throughout the empty first floor.

She heard loud voices on the patio and peeked out the sliding-glass door. Her family was sitting at the teak table that overlooked the pool and the ocean; there were bowls of chips and nuts, a marble slab containing several cheeses, and an open bottle of white wine on the table. Spencer’s mouth watered.

The ocean roared loudly as she opened the patio door, right in the middle of a wild gesture her mother was making. Melissa looked like she’d eaten a sour plum, but Melissa always looked like she’d eaten a sour plum. Spencer glanced at her father, who was tapping on the iPad they’d given him for Christmas, probably playing Angry Birds. He’d only had it for a day and already he was obsessed.

She dragged another chair to the table just as Melissa popped a slice of aged cheddar in her mouth.

“Mom, do you want some cheese? It’s really good,” Melissa asked.

“What I want, Melissa, is for your father to put down his little toy and actually talk to us for once,” her mother snapped.

Spencer froze. Melissa looked like she’d been slapped. Their mother usually reserved that tone for Spencer. Their father only sighed and continued tapping on his screen.

“Hey, how about we rent a movie tonight?” Spencer suggested, trying to ease the tension.

“A movie might be nice,” Melissa offered. “Good idea, Spencer.”

Spencer stared at Melissa with wide eyes, unsure how to respond. When had Melissa ever used the word good in any kind of relation to Spencer?

But then their mother snorted, as if the notion of a family movie night was outlandish, and that Spencer was an idiot for having suggested it. The family lapsed back into silence, and her parents, armed behind their invisible fortresses, stewed in their own private anger.

Spencer stifled a sigh. After everything that had happened this fall—Ali, Ian, even A—Spencer had hoped to spend the next few days sunning, getting spa treatments, and winning over her family. And then when she returned to Rosewood for second semester, she’d feel restored and rejuvenated.

But with World War III brewing in Nana Hastings’s beach house, she’d be lucky to get any peace at all.

Chapter 2

Cute Boys Make Everything Better

The following morning, Spencer emerged from the ocean, staggered to her towel, and squeezed out her wet hair. She lay back and closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her shoulders, wondering what she should do next. She supposed she could get a head start on The Sun Also Rises, which she would have to write a paper on in English. Or she could go for a run—jogging on the beach always gave her calves great definition.

A shadow passed over her, and she opened her eyes.

“Hey.” Melissa stood next to Spencer, her hand shading her eyes to the sun.

“Hey,” Spencer said warily. Sure they’d shared a look at the table last night, but Spencer couldn’t remember the last time Melissa had voluntarily spoken to her.

“So Mom and Dad are kind of out of control, huh?” Melissa said, plopping down next to Spencer. She scooped up a handful of sand and poured it over her toes.

“Aren’t they always?” Spencer asked, taking a sip of water from her Nalgene bottle. It was only 10 A.M., and it was already eighty degrees and humid.

“Well, they don’t usually snap at me,” Melissa pointed out.

Spencer rolled her eyes, but she had to admit it was true. Her parents thought Melissa was perfect in every way.

“I was thinking,” Melissa said, toying with a pearly pink conch shell, “that if we’re going to have any fun on this vacation, it will have to be with each other.”

Spencer sat up straight, stunned. “You want to hang out?” she asked skeptically. “With me?”

“Don’t look so shocked. Who else am I going to hang out with here?” Melissa asked.

A wave crashed so far up on the shore that the water rushed up to the edge of Spencer’s towel. She pushed her sunglasses up on her forehead and studied her sister. “I thought you hated me for turning Ian in?”

“Look, I don’t think you’re right . . .” She opened her mouth like she was about to say more, then changed her mind. “Whatever. The point is, I need a distraction from thinking about it, and you’re all I’ve got.”

“Gee, thanks,” Spencer said wryly.

Melissa elbowed her in the side. “Don’t be so sensitive. You know you’re bored, too,” she said, getting to her feet and dusting the sand off her legs. “Want to walk up to the club with me? We could do a spa day.”

Spencer hesitated. A man with a yellow Lab jogged by, and down the shore two grade-school girls were hard at work on a sand castle. Melissa was right. Spencer was lonely. And if Melissa was ready to bury the hatchet—for a few hours at least—maybe Spencer should give her a chance.

“Um, okay.” Spencer threw on her cover-up and stuffed her towel in her canvas tote. Together they started up the sand, deciding to walk along the main route to the club.

There were a bunch of people out and about, and all the store doors were flung open, air-conditioning on full blast. Each shop was a trip down memory lane: There was Samantha’s, the boutique where Spencer had bought a dress for her fifth-grade birthday party. Melissa pointed out the fudge shop where the sisters had had a fudge-eating contest when Spencer was eight—Melissa had won, of course. There was the store in which Spencer’s dad had bought a long board and tried to teach himself how to surf. He’d spent the week paddling fruitlessly in the waves, too afraid to catch any.

She was looking at the Quiksilver T-shirts and Billabong hats through the window of a surf shop, when suddenly a shape shifted behind her. When she turned, someone ducked around a corner. Her stomach flipped.

“You okay?” Melissa asked, a concerned look on her face.

“Yeah,” Spencer said, forcing her voice to remain steady. It was hard to shake the feeling that someone was following her. Taking a few deep fire-breaths, she reminded herself that Mona was dead. A was gone.

After accepting a sample from Ye Olde Saltwater Taffy Emporium and buying iced lattes at the Blue Dog Pancake House, Spencer and Melissa strolled to the Longboat Key clubhouse, a gorgeous white building at the edge of the bay. Twenty golf carts were parked in the front spots. Guys in polo shirts and khaki shorts shouldered golf bags, and women in visors gossiped in clumps.

The sisters followed the loud thwocks of balls hitting rackets on the tennis courts. Posters announcing an upcoming tournament on New Year’s Day were tacked to the fences, and two guys were involved in a heated game. Both were dressed in white shirts and shorts—the club was as strict as Wimbledon, shunning colorful tennis gear—and looked to be in their early twenties. A dark-haired guy with an angular face, taut limbs, and a tight, squeezable butt was clearly the more talented of the two, making impressive drop shots and cross-court volleys. A crowd of girls had gathered on the perimeter of the court, their heads swiveling back and forth in time with the fluorescent-yellow ball.

“Did you know Colin’s ranked ninety-second in the world?” a girl wearing a terry-cloth Lacoste dress and grosgrain-ribbon flip-flops whispered to her friend, who had on an equally short sundress and sky-high wedge heels. “He told me.”

“He told me he’s playing in the New Year’s tournament,” Wedge Heels said back.

Lacoste Dress rolled her eyes. “Of course he’s playing in the tournament! He’s totally going to kick ass!”

Spencer settled against the chain-link fence next to Melissa, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Groupies were so lame.

But Colin, the guy with the cute butt, was fun to watch, especially as he decimated his opponent. His serve was blisteringly fast, whipping past the other player’s face before he even had a chance to react. Every time he scored a point, he twirled his tennis racket and pretended not to be pleased with himself, but Spencer totally caught him smiling into his chest.