Pretty Little Liars #11: Stunning

by Sara Shepard

  Spencer exchanged a covert, startled look with Emily and the others. Stepmother? That would explain why she was never on the news and had a different last name.

  Mr. Clark put his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t have given into Gayle’s pressure to send Tabitha away. And I made so many mistakes with Gayle, too. I shouldn’t have nagged her about all the boards she was on, all the money she spent on parties. I shouldn’t have yelled at her for that money that went missing last summer. I just want her back. I need her back.”

  He let out a low moan. Lowry stood and shooed the girls out of the room, following them out. Once they were far enough away, he put his hands in his pockets and jingled loose change. “I don’t think we need to ask him any more questions about whether he kidnapped your baby, Ms. Fields. I just got a text that the police are done with their search of the house, too. They didn’t find any clues, and they certainly didn’t find any children.”

  Emily’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Okay,” she said quietly.

  Lowry frowned. “Do you know who might have sent you to Ms. Riggs’s house, even as a joke?”

  Emily shot a nervous look at the others, then shook her head. “I don’t. But I don’t think whoever sent it meant anything by it—or had anything to do with Gayle’s murder. We’re the Pretty Little Liars. People send us fake notes all the time, and this was all just a terrible coincidence.”

  Her lips trembled. Spencer could tell she hated lying. She almost jumped in to tell the cop everything about A, but then restrained herself.

  Lowry let out a frustrated, why are you wasting my time sigh. “You girls are free to go. But don’t think you’re off the hook. You were still on someone’s property without permission, and you were still witnesses to a murder. If there’s anything you aren’t telling me—like about who sent this text—you’d better come forward. And those of you who are under eighteen, I’m going to have to call your parents about this.”

  Emily flinched. “And tell them what?”

  Lowry stared at her. “That you were trespassing. That you witnessed a murder. Personally, Ms. Fields, I think you should tell them the whole truth. But I can’t make that decision for you.”

  With that, he opened the front door and let Spencer and the others out. The digital clock outside the bank across the street said it was almost three in the morning. Not a car was on Lancaster Avenue. Spencer pulled her coat around her and stared long and hard at her friends. “Okay. Did I just hear what I thought I heard?”

  “I’m having a hard time believing it, too,” Hanna whispered.

  “That was why I saw her at Babies “R” Us,” Aria murmured. “I thought it was to get ready for your baby, Em, but she must have been shopping for her own.”

  “But she threatened me,” Hanna said in a small voice.

  Spencer tapped her lips thoughtfully. “What exactly did she say?”

  “That she wanted what she was owed. Meaning the baby.”

  “What if Gayle wasn’t talking about the baby? What if she was talking about the money?” Spencer gestured in the direction of the police station. “Mr. Clark just said he was really hard on Gayle for losing some money over the summer. What if it was the money that she gave to Emily for the baby?”

  “I gave that money back,” Hanna protested.

  “You put it in Gayle’s mailbox. Someone could have easily stolen it,” Spencer pointed out. “What if Gayle thought Emily scammed her? What if she’s been pissed all this time because she thought you took her money and ran?” She blinked hard, the puzzle pieces suddenly snapping together in a different way. “It could make sense. What if A stole the cash from Gayle’s mailbox to make her angry, which would make her look like she was out to get us? What if A took advantage of the situation and cast suspicion on someone innocent, just like what happened with Kelsey?”

  “But . . .” Aria bit her fingernail. “Gayle’s Tabitha’s mom.”

  “Stepmom,” Spencer corrected. “It sounded like there wasn’t any love lost between them, either.”

  “A could have lured us to Gayle’s house, trying to trap us, just like you said, Spence,” Emily said. “Maybe A hadn’t expected Gayle to be there tonight—she was supposed to be at the gala. But then she was. Maybe she took A by surprise. So A killed her.”

  Spencer nodded, thinking the same thing. Had Gayle inadvertently saved their lives? If she hadn’t been at the house, would A have killed them instead?

  Aria and Hanna shifted, but didn’t say anything. A long silence followed. A lone Honda Civic rolled through a stop light without waiting for the light to turn green. A neon sign blinked across the avenue.

  “Do you think it’s true?” Hanna’s skin was pale. “Do you think we were wrong again?”

  Spencer shivered, staring into the distance. “Maybe,” she whispered.

  And someone else was dead because of it.

  33

  ARIA’S CONFIDANTE

  The next morning, Aria sat cross-legged on the living room floor at her dad’s house, trying to meditate. Let go of all of your stress, a soothing voice said through her headphones. Breathe in and out and picture it all slowly floating away . . .

  It was easier said than done, though, because the image of Gayle’s ashen, bloodless face kept leaping into Aria’s mind. The news had talked about nothing but Gayle’s murder all morning, and everyone was hysterical that another Rosewood killer might be on the loose. Miraculously, Aria and the others weren’t mentioned in the story. Last night, when Spencer’s dad found out the girls had been taken to the police station for questioning about Gayle’s murder, he’d immediately left his apartment in Philadelphia, driven to Rosewood, and had a long talk with Lieutenant Lowry, who happened to be the son of one of his best friends. Because there was no evidence that the girls had actually done anything, because the girls had been through so much media scrutiny the previous year, and because Mr. Clark wasn’t pressing charges for trespassing, the cops had agreed not to release the girls’ names to the press.

  There was a lot of speculation in the press about who Gayle’s killer might be—someone after Gayle’s money, or an enemy of her husband’s, or a partner from a business deal gone sour. No one had guessed that the Pretty Little Liars were involved.

  The idea that Gayle wasn’t A and that A had set a trap for them at Gayle’s house terrified Aria—whoever they were dealing with was diabolical and brilliant. And they still didn’t know what had happened to Emily’s baby, if anything. None of them had received a message from A since the one that appeared in Emily’s inbox at the benefit, so maybe the whole thing—including the crying baby sounds—was a bluff. One good thing had happened: Early that morning, Aria received a text from Hanna saying she’d finally tracked down the address of the family who had adopted Violet, using her dad’s voter records. They live in Chestnut Hill, the text said. Em wants to drive by the house, and she wants us to go with her. They arranged to drive there later that night. Hanna had added that she’d asked to borrow Kate’s car—it might be good to take one that people didn’t associate with any of them. Aria understood why without Hanna having to explain: An unrecognizable car meant A was less likely to follow them. If A was on the loose—and had no trouble killing people—they couldn’t run the risk of leading A straight to Violet.

  Now move into downward-facing dog, said the lilting voice in Aria’s headphones.

  Aria placed her hands on the carpet and pointed her butt in the air. She heard footsteps and looked up. Meredith leaned against the doorjamb, her fingers worrying an apron around her waist. “I thought you said you weren’t into yoga.”

  Aria sat up quickly, feeling caught. “Uh . . .” She trailed off, not able to find an appropriate excuse.

  Meredith sat down on the edge of the couch and flicked the tassels on one of the pillows. “It was really nice to talk to you about that stuff between me and your dad the other day.”

  Aria’s mouth twitched. “Um, yeah,” she mumbled, not sure if she meant
it.

  “I’ve never been able to tell anyone about how hard things were,” Meredith went on. “I realize you weren’t the right person, and I understand that you probably don’t care if things were difficult for me or not. But I do know that I hurt you. And I want you to know that I never meant to. I didn’t want to break up your family. I feel terrible about that every day.”

  “Think about how I felt,” Aria said, feeling a rush of anger. “I felt like I would break up my family if I didn’t keep the secret. But I also felt like I was betraying my mom for not saying anything.”

  “I know,” Meredith said earnestly. “And I’m sorry about that. But after things were out in the open, did you feel better?”

  Aria arched her back, examining the wooden pendant light hanging from the ceiling. “It was awful hiding it. The anticipation of getting found out was even worse than people knowing the truth. I guess I did feel better eventually.”

  Meredith twisted the promise ring Byron had given her around her finger. “Can I ask you something? Did you ask me all that stuff because you were curious about me, or because you were dealing with a secret of your own? Something you didn’t want to tell anyone?”

  Aria’s head shot up, and for a moment, she feared A had sent Meredith a message, telling her everything. But Meredith’s expression was innocent—caring, even. Like it mattered to her what happened to Aria. For a moment, she almost felt like—well, not a mother, exactly, but family.

  “Something like that,” Aria mumbled into her chest.

  “Are you okay?”

  Aria shrugged, not answering.

  Meredith sighed, then touched Aria’s knee. “I’m really sorry. Secrets can eat you alive. They break down your soul. It’s always better to have things out in the open.”

  Aria nodded, wishing Meredith would have told her that a few days ago instead of blathering on about how keeping secrets was sometimes in one’s best interest. No more secrets, Noel had said to Aria last week. Of course he had a right to be furious with her—she’d kept something huge from him, something he deserved to know. How could she expect to have a real relationship with him if she didn’t share her most intimate feelings, those things that either made or broke a couple? It was what Noel wanted. It was what Aria wanted, too—with him.

  All of a sudden, a door opened in her mind. She checked her watch. Noel probably hadn’t left for school yet. With any luck, she could catch him . . . and try to fix things.

  Noel’s telltale stomping footsteps sounded from the other side of his front door. “What are you doing here?” he said gruffly when he opened it and saw Aria.

  Aria fiddled with the mohair scarf wound around her neck. “I came to apologize and explain.”

  Noel turned away. “Save your breath.”

  He was about to shut the door on her, but Aria caught it. “Hear me out, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what happened with your dad. I was afraid of what it would do to your family. I hated the idea of us being together with me knowing a secret about you, so I thought it would be better if we were apart.”

  The Kahns’ phone rang inside the house, letting out a couple of shrill peals. “Noel, can you get that?” Mrs. Kahn called. But Noel’s gaze remained on Aria. He didn’t say anything, just stared.

  “I was trying to protect you.” Aria went on, filling the silence. “I had already hurt my family because of a secret. I didn’t want to do that to your family, too. I care more about you than I do about us, if that makes any sense. And I knew family means everything to you. That’s why I did it.”

  She closed her mouth, her heart racing. Even though it wasn’t the whole truth, it was as close as she could come without telling him about A. Because there was no way she could do that—not with A on the loose, not with A so willing to murder people. Aria loved Noel too much to put him in danger.

  There was a long pause. Noel stared at his feet, seemingly weighing his emotions. Aria sucked in her stomach nervously. What if he slammed the door in her face? What if he didn’t care?

  But suddenly, Noel stretched his arms wide. “The thing is, Aria, I care more about us than I do about me. No matter what you have to tell me, you just have to say it, okay?”

  Aria fell into him, and they held each other for a long time. By the way his arms circled tightly around her, as if he never wanted to let her go, it was clear he’d forgiven her.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his ear.

  “I know,” Noel said. “I’m sorry, too. I should have told you about my dad instead of letting you discover it for yourself. I kept something from you, too.” He pulled away and touched the tip of her nose. “Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course,” Aria said, hugging him even tighter. She’d never felt so connected to Noel, to anyone, in her whole life. But as she nuzzled her nose into his chest, she heard something across the yard and looked up. It sounded like someone was clearing her throat. She scanned the trees for a sign of life. The guesthouse windows were shuttered. A bird sat on the fence, raising and lowering its tail.

  No one’s here, she told herself, and tried to swallow the fear as best she could. But it got stuck in her throat, leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

  A was still out there, after all. And it was very possible A was close, listening. But A had taken so much from her. A wasn’t getting Noel, too.

  34

  A SURPRISE STALKING SIDE EFFECT

  Later that Monday morning, Hanna steered into the parking lot of Rosewood Day. The clouds hung heavy and low in the sky, matching her mood. Kate, who was riding next to her, had set the radio to WKYW news. The local newscaster was recapping Gayle’s tragic murder. “Ms. Riggs was a great benefactor to the Philadelphia Art Museum, the Camden Aquarium, and Big Brothers Big Sisters of New Jersey,” the reporter said, the news ticker clacking in the background. “She will be greatly missed. The funeral is tomorrow morning, and record crowds are expected to attend. Ms. Riggs is survived by her husband, though she recently lost a stepdaughter, Tabitha—”

  Hanna switched the radio off abruptly. “This is so horrible,” Kate murmured, picking at her manicure. “You really didn’t see who killed her?”

  “Shh,” Hanna hissed, even though they were the only people in the car. When she’d left the police station last night, she’d called her dad and told him as much of the story as she was willing to explain—that she’d gone on a wild goose chase with Emily, that she hadn’t known it was Gayle’s house, and that she was stunned to find Gayle dead in the driveway. Naturally, her father had been horrified, and he called his campaign manager and press secretary for advice on how best to spin the news. Kate had been privy to the conversation, but instead of looking at Hanna like she was a freak of nature—or a crazy killer—she’d been sympathetic. “That must have been awful,” she’d said, a concerned look on her face.

  Luckily, Spencer’s dad had finagled a way to keep the Rosewood PD from telling the press that the girls were on Gayle’s property, and everyone else who knew swore not to talk, too. But Hanna’s father still gave her a stern lecture in the privacy of her bedroom. “Those photos you told me about were bad enough,” he said through clenched teeth. “What were you doing trespassing? You could have gotten killed!”

  Hanna hated to see her dad disappointed in her and more or less promised not to leave the house until the elections were over. But when her dad pressed her about what she was doing on Gayle’s property to begin with, she fumbled for an excuse. There was no way she could tell him about Emily’s baby or A.

  Hanna pulled into a parking space and climbed out of the car. She trudged toward the side entrance, and Kate headed for the art wing, where she had homeroom. A few kids paused to look at Hanna as though she were on fire. “Loser,” muttered Devon Arliss, pulling ski team gear from the back of her car. Kirsten Cullen stopped texting on her phone and burst out laughing. Phi Templeton and Chassey Bledsoe nudged each another by the knoll where all the smokers hung out, and Lanie Iler and Mason Byers stoppe
d making out long enough to whisper “Psycho stalker” in voices just loud enough for her to hear. Hanna would have thought a local murder would have trumped that stupid video of her, but she guessed wrong.

  The torture didn’t stop when she reached the halls, either. Everyone sitting at Steam, the school’s coffee shop, raised their heads and whispered about the video they’d all received last night. Even a few teachers glanced at her with raised eyebrows. Hanna put her head down and darted for her locker as fast as she could, but the nasty laughter felt like barbs in her skin. Her nose began to twitch, but she could not let anyone see her cry. Being the loser of the school was bad enough.

  She yanked open her locker and took out a handful of books without looking to see if they were the right ones for her classes. Then, a familiar figure at the end of the hall caught her eye. Mike was standing next to Colleen, his hand on her shoulder. Hanna turned away, willing them to disappear. She couldn’t deal with seeing their smiling faces right now.

  She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then checked the hallway again. They were still standing there. But when Hanna looked closer, she saw tears in Colleen’s eyes. Mike was holding out his palms. Then he lowered his head, patted Colleen’s arm, and headed down the hall. Straight. Toward. Hanna.

  Shit. Hanna slammed her locker shut and shoved her books into her bag as fast as she could. Mike’s gaze was on her as he zigzagged around a bunch of freshmen horsing around in front of one of the chemistry rooms. It was clear he was going to chew her out for spying on Colleen and stealing her photos. On one hand, Hanna really didn’t want to face him, but on the other, she knew she deserved it. Wouldn’t she want to scream at New A if they ever came face-to-face?

  “Hanna,” Mike said when he got close.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I’m the biggest jerk ever, and I should never have followed Colleen around. I have her photos. She can have them back, and I’ll even pay for them.”