“What’s this all about?” Ms. Marin asked, looking longingly back at her cell phone. “Why are you interrupting us at dinner?”
“We received a call from Tiffany’s,” Wilden said. “They have you on tape shoplifting some items from their store. Tapes from various other mall security cameras tracked you out of the mall and to your car. We traced the license plate.”
Hanna started pinching the inside of her palm with her fingernails, something she always did when she felt out of control.
“Hanna wouldn’t do that,” Ms. Marin barked. “Would you, Hanna?”
Hanna opened her mouth to respond but no words came out. Her heart was banging against her ribs.
“Look.” Wilden crossed his arms over his chest.
Hanna noticed the gun on his belt. It looked like a toy. “I just need you to come to the station. Maybe it’s nothing.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing!” Ms. Marin said. Then she took her Fendi wallet out of its matching purse. “What will it take for you to leave us alone to have our dinner?”
“Ma’am.” Wilden sounded exasperated. “You should just come down with me. All right? It won’t take all night. I promise.” He smiled that sexy Darren Wilden smile that had probably kept him from getting expelled from Rosewood.
“Well,” Hanna’s mother said. She and Wilden looked at each other for a long moment. “Let me get my bag.”
Wilden turned to Hanna. “I’m gonna have to cuff you.”
Hanna gasped. “Cuff me?” Okay, now that was silly. It sounded fake, like something the six-year-old twins next door would say to each other. But Wilden pulled out real steel handcuffs and gently put them around her wrists. Hanna hoped he didn’t notice that her hands were shaking.
If only this were the moment when Wilden tied her to a chair, put on that old ’70s song “Hot Stuff,” and stripped off all his clothes. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
The police station smelled like burned coffee and very old wood, because, like most of Rosewood’s municipal buildings, it was a former railroad baron’s mansion. Cops fluttered around her, taking phone calls, filling out forms, and sliding around on their little castor-wheel chairs. Hanna half expected to see Mona here, too, with her mom’s Dior stole thrown over her wrists. But from the look of the empty bench, it seemed Mona hadn’t been caught.
Ms. Marin sat very stiffly next to her. Hanna felt squirmy; her mom was usually really lenient, but then, Hanna had never been taken downtown and had the book thrown at her or whatever.
And then, very quietly, her mom leaned over. “What was it that you took?”
“Huh?” Hanna asked.
“That bracelet you’re wearing?”
Hanna looked down. Perfect. She’d forgotten to take it off; the bracelet was circling her wrist in full view. She shoved it farther up her sleeve. She felt her ears for the earrings; yep, she’d worn them today too. Talk about stupid!
“Give it to me,” her mother whispered.
“Huh?” Hanna squeaked.
Ms. Marin held out her palm. “Give it here. I can handle this.”
Reluctantly, Hanna let her mom unfasten the bracelet from her wrist. Then, Hanna reached up and took off the earrings and handed them over too. Ms. Marin didn’t even flinch. She simply dropped the jewelry in her purse and folded her hands over the metal clasp.
The blond Tiffany’s girl who’d helped Hanna with the charm bracelet strode into the room. As soon as she saw Hanna, sitting dejectedly on the bench with the cuffs still on her hands, she nodded. “Yeah. That’s her.”
Darren Wilden glared at Hanna, and her mom stood up. “I think there’s been a mistake.” She walked over to Wilden’s desk. “I misunderstood you at the house. I was with Hanna that day. We bought that stuff. I have a receipt for it at home.”
The Tiffany’s girl narrowed her eyes in disbelief. “Are you suggesting I’m lying?”
“No,” Ms. Marin said sweetly, “I just think you’re confused.”
What was she doing? A gooey, uncomfortable, almost-guilty feeling washed over Hanna.
“How do you explain the surveillance tapes?” Wilden asked.
Her mom paused. Hanna saw a tiny muscle in her neck quiver. Then, before Hanna could stop her, she reached into her purse and took out the loot. “This was all my fault,” she said. “Not Hanna’s.”
Ms. Marin turned back to Wilden. “Hanna and I had a fight about these items. I said she couldn’t have them—I drove her to this. She’ll never do it again. I’ll make sure of it.”
Hanna stared, stunned. She and her mom had never once discussed Tiffany’s, let alone something she could or couldn’t have.
Wilden shook his head. “Ma’am, I think your daughter may need to do some community service. That’s usually the penalty.”
Ms. Marin blinked, innocently. “Can’t we let this slide? Please?”
Wilden looked at her for a long time, one corner of his mouth turned up almost devilishly. “Sit down,” he said finally. “Let me see what I can do.”
Hanna looked everywhere but in her mom’s direction. Wilden hunched over his desk. He had a Chief Wiggum figurine from The Simpsons and a metal Slinky. He licked his pointer finger to turn the pages of the papers he was filling out. Hanna flinched. What sort of papers were they? Didn’t the local newspapers report crimes? This was bad. Very bad.
Hanna jiggled her foot nervously, having a sudden urge for some Junior Mints. Or maybe cashews. Even the Slim Jims on Wilden’s desk would do.