by Sara Shepard
“We’re going to search Mona’s house,” Wilden interrupted, placing a hand on Spencer’s knee. “Don’t worry.” He turned away and spoke into his walkie-talkie, radioing other cops to locate Ian to bring him in for questioning. Spencer listened, staring numbly at the dirt caked under her fingernails.
Her friends stood around for a long time, stunned. “God,” Emily whispered. “Ian Thomas? That just sounds…crazy. But I guess it makes sense. He was so much older, and if she ever told anyone, well…”
Spencer pulled her arms around herself, feeling goose bumps rising on her skin. To her, Ian didn’t make sense. Spencer believed that Ali had threatened him, and she believed that Ian might’ve gotten angry, but angry enough to kill her? It was eerie, too, that in all the time Spencer had spent with him, she hadn’t suspected Ian one bit. He hadn’t seemed nervous or remorseful or pensive whenever Ali’s murder came up.
But perhaps she’d misinterpreted the signs—she’d missed plenty of others. She’d gotten into the car with Mona, after all. Who knew what else was right in front of her face that she didn’t see?
A beep came over Wilden’s walkie-talkie. “The suspect isn’t at his residence,” a female cop’s voice called. “What do you want us to do?”
“Shit.” Wilden looked at Spencer. “Can you think where else Ian might be?”
Spencer shook her head, her brain feeling like it was plodding through a swamp. Wilden threw himself in the front seat. “I’ll drive you home,” he said. “Your parents are on their way home from the country club, too.”
“We want to go to Spencer’s with you.” Aria indicated for Spencer to move over, then she, Hanna, and Emily all crammed into the backseat. “We don’t want to leave her alone.”
“You guys, you don’t have to,” Spencer said softly. “And anyway, Aria, your car.” She motioned to Aria’s Subaru, which looked like it was sinking into the mud.
“I can leave it overnight.” Aria smirked. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and someone will steal it.”
Spencer folded her hands in her lap, too weak to protest. The car was silent as Wilden rolled past the Floating Man Quarry sign, then along the narrow trail that led to the main road. It was hard to believe that just an hour and a half had passed since Spencer left the party. Things were so different now.
“Mona was there the night we hurt Jenna,” Spencer mumbled absently.
Aria nodded. “It’s a long story, but I actually talked to Jenna tonight. Jenna knows what we did. Only, get this—she and Ali set it up together.”
Spencer sat up straighter. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. “What? Why?”
“She said that she and Ali both had sibling issues or something,” Aria explained, not sounding very confident in the answer.
“I just don’t understand that,” Emily whispered. “I saw Jason DiLaurentis on the news the other day. He said he doesn’t even speak to his parents anymore, and that his family was really messed up. Why would he say that?”
“There’s a lot you can’t tell about people, looking in from the outside,” Hanna murmured tearfully.
Spencer covered her face with her hands. There was so much she didn’t understand, so much that didn’t make sense. She knew that things should at least feel resolved now—A was really gone, Ali’s killer would soon be apprehended—but she felt more lost than ever. She took her hands away, staring at the sliver of moon in the sky. “You guys,” Spencer broke the silence, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Something else?” Hanna wailed.
“Something…about the night Ali went missing.” Spencer slid her silver charm bracelet up and down her arm, keeping her voice to a whisper. “You know how I ran out of the barn after Ali? And how I said I didn’t see where she was going? Well…I did see. She went right down the path. I went up to her and…and we fought. It was about Ian. I…I’d kissed Ian not long before, and Ali had told me that he only kissed me because she told him to. And she said that she and Ian were really in love, and she teased me for caring.”
Spencer felt her friends’ eyes on her. She gathered up strength to go on.
“I got so mad…I shoved her. She fell against the rocks. There was this awful crack noise.” A tear wobbled out of the corner of her eye and spilled down her cheek. She hung her head. “I’m sorry, guys. I should’ve told you. I just…I didn’t remember. And then when I did, I was so scared.”
When she looked up, her friends were aghast. Even Wilden’s head tilted toward the back, as if he were trying to listen. If they wanted to, they could throw the Ian theory out the window. They could make Wilden stop the car and make Spencer repeat exactly what she’d said. Things could go in a horrible direction from here.
Emily was the first to take Spencer’s hand. Then Hanna placed hers on top of Emily’s, and then Aria laid hers on top of Hanna’s. It reminded Spencer of when they used to all touch the photo of the five of them that hung in Ali’s foyer. “We know it wasn’t you,” Emily whispered.
“It was Ian. It all makes sense,” Aria said forcefully, gazing into Spencer’s eyes. It seemed like she believed Spencer wholly and completely.
They reached Spencer’s street, and Wilden pulled into her family’s long, circular driveway. Spencer’s parents weren’t home yet, and the house was dark. “Do you want me to stay with you guys until your folks get home?” Wilden asked as the girls got out.
“It’s okay.” Spencer glanced around at the others, suddenly relieved that they were here.
Wilden backed out of the driveway and turned slowly around the cul-de-sac, first passing the DiLaurentises’ old house, then the Cavanaughs’, and then the Vanderwaals’, the big monstrosity with the detached garage down the street. There was no one home at Mona’s, obviously. Spencer shuddered.
A flash of light in the backyard caught her eye. Spencer cocked her head, her heart speeding up. She walked down the stone path that led to her backyard and curled her hands along the stone wall surrounding their property. There, past the deck, the rock-lined pool, the burbling hot tub, the expansive yard, and even the renovated barn, at the very back of the property near where Ali had fallen, Spencer saw two figures, lit only by moonlight. They reminded her of something.
The wind picked up, tiptoeing up and down Spencer’s back. Even though it wasn’t the right season, the air briefly smelled like honeysuckle, just as it had that horrible night four and a half years ago. All at once, her memory broke free. She saw Ali fall backward into the stone wall. A crack rang out through the air, as loud as church bells. When Spencer heard the girlish gasp in her ear, she turned. No one was behind her. No one was anywhere. And when she turned back, Ali was still slumped against the stone wall, but her eyes were open. And then, Ali grunted and pushed herself to her feet.
She was fine.
Ali glared at Spencer, about to speak, but something down the path distracted her. She took off fast, disappearing into a thicket of trees. In seconds, Spencer heard Ali’s signature giggle. There was rustling, and then two distinct shapes. One was Ali’s. Spencer couldn’t tell who the other person was, but it didn’t look like Melissa. It was hard to believe that, only moments after this, Ian would push Ali into the DiLaurentises’ half-dug gazebo hole. Ali might’ve been a bitch, but she didn’t deserve anything like that.
“Spencer?” Hanna said softly, her voice sounding far away. “What’s wrong?”
Spencer opened her eyes and shuddered. “I didn’t do it,” she whispered.
The figures near the barn stepped into the light. Melissa’s posture was stiff and Ian’s fists clenched. The wind carried their voices to the front yard, and it sounded like they were fighting.
Spencer’s nerves felt ignited. She wheeled around and looked down her street. Wilden’s car was gone. Frantically, she fumbled in her pocket for her phone, but remembered—Mona had thrown it out the window.
“I got it,” Hanna said, pulling out her own BlackBerry and dialing a number. She handed the phone to Spencer. Callin
g WILDEN, the screen said.
Spencer had to hold the phone with two hands, her fingers were trembling so badly. Wilden answered after two rings. “Hanna?” He sounded confused. “What is it?”
“It’s Spencer,” Spencer bleated. “You have to turn around. Ian’s here.”
39
THE ALL-NEW MONTGOMERYS, DISTURBING AS EVER
The following afternoon, Aria sat on Meredith’s living room futon, absently flicking the William Shakespeare bobblehead Ezra had given her. Byron and Meredith sat next to her, and they were all staring at Meredith’s television. There was a press conference about Ali’s murder on TV. Ian Thomas arrested, said a big banner at the bottom of the screen.
“Mr. Thomas’s arraignment is set for Tuesday,” a newscaster said, standing in front of the grand stone steps of the Rosewood County Courthouse. “No one in this community ever expected that a quiet, polite boy like Ian Thomas could be behind this.”
Aria pulled her knees into her chest. The cops had gone to the Vanderwaal residence this morning and had found Ali’s diary underneath Mona’s bed. Mona had been telling Spencer the truth about the last entry—it was about how Ali had given Ian an ultimatum that he either break up with Melissa Hastings or she would tell the world about them. The news showed the police leading Ian to the station in handcuffs. When asked to make a statement, all Ian said was “I’m innocent. This is a mistake.”
Byron scoffed in disbelief. He reached over and grabbed Aria’s hand. Then, predictably, the news flashed to the next story—Mona’s death. The screen showed the string of yellow police tape around the Floating Man Quarry, then a shot of the Vanderwaal house. A random BlackBerry phone icon appeared in the corner. “Miss Vanderwaal had been stalking four Rosewood Day girls for over a month now, and the threats had turned deadly,” the newscaster said. “There was a scuffle between Miss Vanderwaal and an unnamed minor last night at the edge of the quarry, which is notoriously dangerous. Miss Vanderwaal slipped off the edge, breaking her neck in the fall. Police found Miss Vanderwaal’s personal BlackBerry in her purse at the bottom of the Quarry, but they’re still looking for a second phone—the one she used to send most of the troubling messages.”
Aria gave Shakespeare’s head another bobble. Her head felt like an overstuffed suitcase. Too much had happened in the last day for her to process things. And her emotions were all mixed up. She felt terrible that Mona had died. She felt freaked out and weirdly wounded that Jenna’s accident hadn’t really been an accident—that Jenna and Ali had set it up all along. And after all this time, the killer was Ian…. The newscaster made a sympathetic, relieved face and said, “Finally, the whole community of Rosewood can put this horrible story behind them”—something everyone had been saying all morning. Aria burst into tears. She didn’t feel resolved at all.
Byron looked over at her. “What is it?”
Aria shook her head, unable to explain. She cupped the bobblehead in her hands, letting the tears drip on top of Shakespeare’s plastic head.
Byron let out a frustrated sigh. “I realize this is overwhelming. You had a stalker. And you never talked about it to us. You should have. We should talk about it now.”
“I’m sorry.” Aria shook her head. “I can’t.”
“But we need to,” Byron urged. “It’s important you get this out.”
“Byron!” Meredith hissed sharply. “Jesus!”
“What?” Byron asked, raising his arms in surrender.
Meredith jumped up, placing herself between Aria and her father. “You and your discussions,” Meredith scolded. “Hasn’t Aria been through enough these last few weeks? Just give her some space!”
Byron shrugged, looking cowed. Aria’s mouth fell open. She met Meredith’s eyes, and Meredith smiled. There was an understanding glimmer in her eye that seemed to say, I get what you’re going through. And I know it’s not easy. Aria stared at the pink spiderweb tattoo on Meredith’s wrist. She thought about how eager she had been to find out something damaging about Meredith, and here Meredith was, sticking up for her.
Byron’s cell phone vibrated, scooting across the scuffed coffee table. He stared at the screen, frowning, then picked it up. “Ella?” His voice cracked.
Aria tensed. Byron’s eyebrows knitted together. “Yes…she’s here.” He passed the phone to Aria. “Your mother wants to talk to you.”
Meredith cleared her throat awkwardly, standing up and drifting toward the bathroom. Aria stared at the phone as if it were a piece of putrefied shark, which someone in Iceland had once dared her to eat. After all, the Vikings used to eat it. She put the phone tentatively to her ear. “Ella?”
“Aria, are you all right?” Ella’s voice cried from the other end.
“I’m…fine,” Aria said. “I don’t know. I guess. I’m not hurt or anything.”
There was a long silence. Aria pulled out her father’s little antenna and pushed it back in again.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” Ella gushed. “I had no idea you were going through this. Why didn’t you tell us someone was threatening you?”
“Because…” Aria wandered into her tiny bedroom off Meredith’s studio and picked up Pigtunia, her pig puppet. Explaining A to Mike had been hard. But now that it was over, and Aria didn’t have to worry about A’s retaliation, she realized the real reason didn’t matter. “Because you guys were caught up in your own stuff.” She sank onto her lumpy twin bed, and the bedsprings let out a mooing groan. “But…I’m sorry, Ella. For everything. It was terrible of me not to say anything about Byron for all that time.”
Ella paused. Aria snapped on the tiny TV that sat in the windowsill. The same press conference images emerged on the screen. “I get why you didn’t,” Ella finally said. “I should’ve understood that. I was just angry, that’s all.” She sighed. “My relationship with your dad hadn’t been good for a long time. Iceland stalled the inevitable—we both knew this was coming.”
“Okay,” Aria said softly, running her hands up and down Pigtunia’s pink fur.
Ella sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetie, and I miss you.”
An enormous, egg-shaped lump formed in Aria’s throat. She stared up at the cockroaches Meredith had painted on the ceiling. “I miss you too.”
“Your room is here if you want it,” her mother said.
Aria hugged Pigtunia to her chest. “Thanks,” she whispered, and clapped the phone shut. How long had she been waiting to hear that? What a relief it would be to sleep in her own bed again, with its normal mattress and soft, downy pillows. To be among all her knitting projects and books and her brother and Ella. But what about Byron? Aria listened to him coughing in the other room. “Do you need a Kleenex?” Meredith called from the bathroom, sounding concerned. She thought about the card Meredith had made for Byron and pinned up on the fridge. It was a cartoon elephant saying, Just stamping by to say I hope you have a great day! It seemed the kind of thing that Byron—or Aria—would do.
Maybe Aria had been overreacting. Maybe Aria could convince Byron to buy a comfier bed for this little room. Maybe she could sleep here every once in a while.
Maybe.
Aria glanced at the TV screen. The press conference on Ian had just ended, and everyone stood to leave. As the camera swung wide, Aria noticed a blond girl with a familiar heart-shaped face. Ali? Aria sat up. She rubbed her eyes until they hurt. The camera panned over the crowd again, and she realized the blond woman was at least thirty. Aria was obviously hallucinating from lack of sleep.
She wandered back into the living room, Pigtunia still in her hand. Byron opened his arms and Aria slid into them. Her dad patted Pigtunia absentmindedly on the head as they sat there, watching the press conference aftermath on TV.
Meredith emerged from the bathroom, her face a bit green. Byron slid his arm from Aria’s shoulders. “You still feeling sick?”
Meredith nodded. “I am.” There was an anxious look on her face, as if she had a secret she needed to spill. She raised her eyes to both of the
m, the corners of her lips spreading into a tiny smile. “But it’s okay. Because…I’m pregnant.”
40
ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT A GOLDEN ORCHID
Later that evening, after the police had finished raiding the Vanderwaal mansion, Wilden arrived at the Hastingses’ house to ask Melissa a few final questions. He was sitting on their leather living room couch now, his eyes puffy and tired. Everyone looked tired, actually—except for Spencer’s mother, who wore a crisp Marc Jacobs shirtdress. She and Spencer’s father were standing on the far side of the room, as if their daughters were covered in bacteria.
Melissa’s voice was monotone. “I didn’t tell you the truth about that night,” she admitted. “Ian and I had been drinking, and I fell asleep. When I woke up, he wasn’t there. Then I fell asleep again and he was there when I woke.”
“Why didn’t you say anything about this before?” Spencer’s father demanded.
Melissa shook her head. “I went to Prague that next morning. At that point, I’m not sure anyone really knew Alison was missing. When I got back and everyone was frantic…well, I just never thought Ian would be capable of something like that.” She picked at the hem on her pale yellow Juicy hoodie. “I suspected they’d hooked up all those years ago, but I didn’t think it was serious. I didn’t think Alison had given him an ultimatum.” Like everyone else, Melissa had learned of Ian’s motives. “I mean, she was in seventh grade.”
Melissa glanced at Wilden. “When you started asking questions this week about where Ian and I were, I started to wonder if maybe I should’ve said something years ago. But I still didn’t think it was possible. And I didn’t say anything then because…because I thought I’d somehow get in trouble for concealing the truth. And, I mean, I couldn’t have that. What would people think of me?”
