by Sara Shepard
“And I guess Ali put those pictures on Billy’s laptop,” Spencer continued, wincing as something else inside the house popped and crackled. She checked on Melissa, who held her face in her hands, quietly sobbing. “She was also the one who’d called the cops and tipped them off, saying Billy killed Jenna.”
“But she killed Jenna,” Aria said.
Everyone fell silent. Spencer shut her eyes, trying to imagine Ali taking beautiful, shy, blind Jenna Cavanaugh and throwing her into that ditch. It was too horrible to comprehend.
“Remember that picture A sent Emily of Ali, Courtney, and Jenna together?” Spencer said after a moment. “Jenna was the only person besides Ali’s family and Wilden who knew there were twins. Maybe Jenna suspected the first switch. She met Courtney the same weekend it happened.” She cocked her head. “But why would Ali send us that photo if she didn’t want us to know what Jenna knew?”
“Because she could,” Hanna answered. “Maybe she banked on Jenna never saying anything. And then when it seemed like Jenna might, she…” She trailed off, burying her face in her hands. “You know.”
Melissa lifted up her face with a groan. It was covered with thick stripes of ash and dirt. There was a gash on her shoulder and rope burns on her hands and feet. She smelled like Ian’s rotting flesh. Queasiness roiled in Spencer’s gut.
Spencer reached out to clean a streak of ash from her sister’s hair. Her eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t believe how wrong she’d been about Melissa. How wrong they’d all been. “Why did Ali want to hurt you?”
Melissa propped herself up, shielding her eyes from the bright flames. She coughed, then cleared her throat. “When Jason told me about the twins years ago, he said that Ali and Courtney had no contact whatsoever—that they hated each other.” She gingerly stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders. “So when you told me that Courtney said Ali told her lots of stuff about you guys, I got suspicious.”
There was a crack from inside the house, and the girls instinctively turned away. Part of the second floor collapsed to the ground with a groan. “I talked to Wilden,” Melissa said over the noise. “He said they were a little worried about Courtney when she first came home from the hospital, especially after you guys said you saw Ian’s body. Jason wondered if Courtney had killed Ian in revenge for him killing Ali.”
“She did murder him.” Aria pushed a twig into the soggy dirt. “Though not for revenge.”
The big glass windowpanes in the DiLaurentises’ sunroom popped and shattered. Glass rained onto the lawn, and the girls covered their heads.
“But Courtney had an alibi for that night,” Melissa went on, brushing a piece of blood-soaked hair from her eyes. “And then Billy came along, and suddenly everything seemed to make sense.”
Aria huddled closer to Hanna.
“But when Courtney showed up,” Melissa said, pulling the sleeves of her filthy cashmere sweater over her hands, “I couldn’t stop thinking about all the inconsistencies in Billy’s case.”
The fire crackled for a few moments. Something crashed from behind the house. Emily flinched, and Spencer grabbed her hand.
“I followed Courtney…Ali…a lot,” Melissa admitted. “It wasn’t until I went to the Preserve that I knew for sure what had happened.”
Spencer’s mouth dropped open. The pamphlet of the Preserve she’d seen in Melissa’s room. The appointment with the therapist. “So that’s why you went there?”
A stream of sparks erupted from the top of the house, into the air. “I talked to Ali’s old roommate, Iris,” Melissa said. “And she knew everything—even that you were going to be her roommate, Hanna.”
“Oh God,” Hanna moaned, her shoulders going limp.
Spencer placed her palms on the top of her head. They’d missed so many clues. Ali had set a brilliant trap…and they’d walked right into it. She looked at her sister. “Why didn’t you tell me this stuff about the Preserve earlier?”
“I only went there this morning.” White steam emerged from Melissa’s mouth. It was getting colder out by the second. “I was on my way to the police station afterward, but someone jumped me in the parking lot. When I woke up, I was in the trunk. I recognized Ali’s voice.”
Spencer stared blankly as the old teak swing set behind the house caught fire. Ali must have grabbed Melissa after she came over to Spencer’s to get ready for the dance. She never should have told Ali that Melissa had warned Spencer to keep her distance….
Then another thought struck her. “Did you say Ali threw you into the trunk of her car?”
Melissa nodded, loosening a dry, charred leaf from her matted blond hair.
“You were there on our drive up here,” Spencer gasped, the knobs of her spine pressing into the rough trunk of the tree. “You were with us the whole time.”
“I knew I heard something,” Aria whispered.
They were silent for a few moments, staring dazedly at the house. The fire crackled and hissed. Far off, another sound emerged. It sounded like sirens.
Melissa struggled to stand, still leaning against the big tree. “Can I see the note she wrote you?”
Spencer reached into her hoodie, searching for the letter, but the pockets were empty. She looked at Emily. “Do you have it?”
Emily shook her head. Aria and Hanna looked clueless, too.
Everyone turned to the ruined house. If the note had slipped out of Spencer’s hands, it was nothing but ash now.
Just then, a fire truck screamed up the driveway. Three firemen jumped out and began to unroll the hoses into the lake. A fourth fireman ran to the girls. “Are you okay?” He immediately radioed for an ambulance and the police. “How did this happen?”
Spencer looked at the others. “Someone tried to kill us,” she said. And then she burst into tears.
“Spence,” Emily said, touching Spencer’s shoulder.
“It’s okay,” Aria cooed. Hanna hugged her, too, and so did Melissa.
But Spencer couldn’t stop crying. How had they not suspected Ali was behind this? How had they been so blind? Ali had said a lot of the right things, too—exactly what they all wanted to hear: I missed you guys. I’m so sorry. I want things to change. She’d told Spencer you’re the sister I’ve always wanted. Spencer was putty in her hands. They all were…and they’d all almost died for it.
The fireman slid his walkie-talkie back into his pocket, and the girls broke apart. “The ambulance is on its way,” he said, and beckoned for the girls to follow him.
As they climbed the slope, moving farther from the house, Spencer poked her sister’s arm. “You had to figure this out before me, didn’t you?” she teased, wiping away tears. Leave it to Melissa to one-up her even with this.
Melissa blushed. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Spencer said back.
The smoldering house loomed in the distance. Beds and chairs and dressers crashed through the brittle flooring to the first level, sending up fiery plumes. Emily stared hard at the flames as if searching for something. Spencer touched her arm. “You okay?”
Emily pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. She glanced at the fireman. “There was someone in the house when it exploded. Is there any chance she’s…?”
The fireman stared at the remains of the house and scratched his stubbly chin. He shook his head gravely. “No one could have survived that fire. I’m sorry, girls, but she’s gone.”
32 HANNA MARIN, TRULY FABULOUS
“Here we go.” Hanna plunked down a stiff cardboard holder of four hot coffees on the café table. “One skim cappuccino, one regular latte, and one café au lait with soy milk.”
“Sweet,” Aria said, grabbing a packet of Sugar In The Raw. She tore it open with her neon-yellow-painted nails. Aria kept telling Hanna and the others that neon yellow was the hottest color in Europe, but no one had been brave enough to try it yet.
“It’s about time,” Spencer grumbled, taking a greedy sip of her cappuccino. Sh
e’d been cramming for the big AP econ pre-exam all week and had just pulled an all-nighter.
“Thanks, Hanna.” Emily adjusted her pleated Free People top. Hanna had finally gotten her to stop wearing swimming tees under her Rosewood Day blazer.
Hanna sat down and gazed around the table at Spencer’s stacks of AP econ textbooks and notes, Aria’s iPod, probably full of weird Scandinavian yodeling bands, and Emily’s palmistry book, which promised to teach anyone how to tell fortunes. It was just like old times…only better.
A news bulletin flashed on the plasma TV on Steam’s back wall. A familiar reporter stood in front of an even more familiar pile of rubble. Police still searching through DiLaurentis rubble, the caption said. Hanna touched Aria’s arm.
“Recovery workers are still sifting through the burned wreckage of the house that once belonged to Alison DiLaurentis’s family, searching for the real Alison’s remains,” the blond reporter shouted over the sound of heavy machinery. “But they’re saying it’ll be weeks before they can be sure Alison died in the fire.”
The fireman who’d rescued them the night of the fire appeared on the screen. “I was there moments after the house exploded,” he said. “It’s very possible Alison’s body incinerated instantly.”
“As usual, the DiLaurentis family cannot be reached for comment,” the reporter added.
The broadcast cut to a commercial for All That Jazz, the Broadway musical–themed restaurant at the King James Mall. Hanna and her friends sipped in silence, staring out at the lawn. The snow had finally melted, and a couple of overeager daffodils had sprouted in the beds near the flagpole.
Five weeks had passed since Ali almost killed them. As soon as they got home from the Poconos, Wilden and the other Rosewood PD detectives had opened an official investigation into Ali. Her house of cards collapsed ridiculously fast: Police found copies of A’s notes to the girls on a cell phone underneath the deck behind the DiLaurentises’ new house. They’d discovered that the laptop found in Billy’s truck had been tampered with. They analyzed the Polaroids Aria had found in the woods and determined that the reflection in the windows was one of the DiLaurentis sisters. It was unclear why Ali had taken the photos—except that she was obsessed with the life her sister had stolen from her—but she must have buried the photos shortly after pushing her sister in the hole, ridding herself of the evidence.
There was some talk of arresting the DiLaurentis family as accessories to Ali’s crimes, but Mr. and Mrs. DiLaurentis and even Jason had fled the area without a trace. Hanna took another sip of her coffee, letting the hot liquid wash over her tongue. Had they suspected all along that one sister had killed the other? Was that why they’d quickly whisked her back to the mental hospital after the girl everyone thought was Ali went missing? Or had Mr. and Mrs. DiLaurentis vanished simply out of shame and horror that their beautiful, perfect daughter had done such barbaric things?
As for Hanna and the others, the Ali aftermath had been insane. Reporters banged on their doors at all hours of the night. The girls traveled to New York for an interview on the Today show and did a photo shoot in People. They attended a society-studded gala concert sponsored by the Philadelphia Orchestra to raise money for Jenna’s Seeing Eye Dogs Fund and a new scholarship set up in Ian Thomas’s name. But things had just begun to calm down, and life had almost returned to semi-normal.
Hanna tried not to think about what had happened with Ali, but that was like asking her to go a whole day not counting calories—pointless. All this time, Hanna had thought Ali had chosen her because she’d seen some special spark in Hanna that simply needed to be nurtured and encouraged. But she’d befriended her for the exact opposite reasons. Hanna had been unspecial. A joke. A ploy for revenge. The only saving grace was that Ali had done this to all of them, not only her. And now that Hanna knew both sisters were crazy, would she really have wanted to be singled out by either of them?
Aria tipped back her coffee cup so far that Hanna could see the recycled paper mark on the bottom. “So when are the movers coming?”
Hanna straightened up. “Tomorrow.”
“You must be thrilled.” Spencer tied her hair back in a loose ponytail.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
That was the other big news: A few days after Ali nearly killed them, Hanna had received a call while she was lounging in bed watching Oprah. “I’m at the Philadelphia airport,” her mother barked on the other end. “I’ll see you in about an hour.”
“What?” Hanna squawked, startling Dot from his Burberry doggie bed. “Why?”
Ms. Marin had asked for a transfer back to the ad agency’s Philadelphia office. “Ever since you called me about those fashion show tickets, I’ve been worried about you,” she explained. “So I spoke to your father. Why didn’t you tell me he sent you to a mental hospital, Hanna?”
Hanna hadn’t known how to answer—it wasn’t exactly something she could’ve written in an e-mail or on the back of a Greetings from Rosewood! postcard. And anyway, she’d figured her mom already knew. Didn’t they get People in Singapore?
“It’s absolutely deplorable!” Ms. Marin ranted. “What was he thinking? Or maybe he wasn’t thinking at all. All he cares about is that woman and her daughter.”
Hanna sniffed and there was static on the line. Ms. Marin said, “I’m moving back in, but things need to change between us. No more relaxed rules. No more me looking the other way. You need to have a curfew and boundaries, and we need to talk about things. Like if someone tries to institutionalize you. Or if a crazy friend tries to kill you. Okay?”
A lump formed in Hanna’s throat. “Okay.” For once in her life, her mom had said exactly what Hanna needed her to say.
Everything after that happened so fast. There were arguments, bartering, and crying—on Kate’s and Isabel’s parts—but Hanna’s mom was firm. She was staying, Hanna was staying, and Tom, Isabel, and Kate had to go. The house-hunting started that weekend, but apparently Kate went total diva and thumbs-downed every property they looked at. Because the process was taking so long, they were going to have to move into a townhouse in East Hollis, the most hippie-ish, unkempt district of Rosewood while they continued to look.
A flash of blond hair caught Hanna’s eye across the café. Naomi, Riley, and Kate strutted in, settled into one of the tables nearest the door, and gave Hanna a nasty smirk. Loser, Naomi mouthed. Bitch, Riley seconded.
Not that Hanna really cared. More than a month had passed since Hanna lost her queen bee status, and all the things she’d most feared hadn’t happened. She hadn’t spontaneously gained back the weight she’d lost. She hadn’t sprouted volcanic zits. She hadn’t woken up to find her teeth were snaggled and crooked. In fact, she’d lost a couple pounds, not having to binge fretfully whenever some other girl stole away a bit of her power. Her skin glowed, and her hair shone. Guys from other prep schools still ogled her at Rive Gauche, and Sasha at Otter still held clothes for her. Cheesy as it was, Hanna had begun to wonder if it wasn’t popularity that made her truly beautiful but something much deeper. Maybe she really was fabulous Hanna Marin, after all.
The end-of-the-day bell rang, and everyone emerged from the classrooms. Hanna’s stomach clenched as she noticed a tall, black-haired boy walking by himself toward the art wing. Mike.
She rolled her half-empty coffee cup between her hands, stood, and started across the café.
“Going to see the school counselor, Psycho?” Kate teased as she passed.
Mike watched Hanna as she approached. His black hair was mussed, and there was a cute, uncertain smile on his face. Before he could say a word, Hanna marched right up to him and kissed him on the mouth. She wrapped her arms around him, and Mike quickly did the same. Someone hooted.
Hanna and Mike broke apart, breathing hard. Mike looked into her eyes. “Uh…hi!”
“Hi, yourself,” Hanna whispered.
The day Hanna returned to Rosewood from the Poconos, she’d driven straight to the Mon
tgomery home and begged Mike to take her back. Thankfully, Mike forgave Hanna for dumping him—although he’d added, “You have to make it up to me. I think I deserve a couple of stripteases, right?”
She leaned in to kiss Mike again when his cell phone bleated in his pocket. “Hold that thought,” he said, putting the phone to his ear without saying hello. “Okay,” he said a couple of times. When he hung up, his face was pale.
“What is it?” Hanna asked.
Mike glanced across the café to Aria. “That was Dad,” he called to her. “Meredith’s in labor.”
33 ARIA MONTGOMERY, TYPICAL ROSEWOOD KOOK
Aria had begged her old friends to come with her to Rosewood Memorial Hospital, and now the four of them and Mike sat in the waiting room outside Labor and Delivery. An hour had passed since they’d heard anything, and they’d read the waiting room’s entire stash of Glamour, Vogue, Car & Driver, and Good Housekeeping, and had downloaded about a hundred iPhone apps. Byron was holed up in the delivery room, doing his I’m-going-to-be-a-father-again thing. It was beyond bizarre to see her dad so gung-ho about the birthing. Apparently, when both Aria and Mike were born, Byron had fainted at the first sight of blood and had to spend the rest of the evening in the ER getting IV fluids to keep his blood pressure up.
Aria stared across the room at a nondescript painting of a desert vista and sighed.
“You okay?” Emily asked.
“Yeah,” Aria answered. “Except I think my butt’s asleep.”
Emily gave Aria a concerned look. But Aria was pretty sure she was okay about all of this, unconventional as it was. The day after Ali had tried to kill them, Aria had gotten a call on her cell phone from her mom. Ella was in tears, devastated that something awful had almost happened to Aria.
Aria had admitted why she’d stayed away, that she’d wanted to give Ella a chance to be happy with Xavier. Ella had breathed out and cried, “That scumbag! Aria, you should have told me immediately.”
