by Sara Shepard
The priest funneled everyone inside the hall. At the end of the long aisle was a closed mahogany casket covered with huge bouquets of flowers. Mr. Clark stood next to it, his hands folded and his head bowed. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the night they’d seen him at the police station—there were purple circles under his eyes, his skin looked flaky and pale, and his hair badly needed combing. Every so often, he’d flinch, as though startled. And as Aria squinted, she swore she saw his lips moving ever so slightly, as if he were talking to himself.
Hanna leaned into Aria. “My dad told me that the police think Gayle’s killer is a guy who’s been breaking into houses in Gayle’s neighborhood. They have him in for questioning. What if they convict him?”
Spencer shrugged. “Better that guy than us.”
Emily’s eyes popped. “How can you say that? It was awful when they thought we did it, but we can’t just let someone else take the heat.”
Spencer raised an eyebrow as she slid into the pew. “Who knows? Maybe the person who’s breaking into houses is A.”
“Or maybe the person breaking into houses did murder Gayle—maybe it’s unrelated to A,” Aria suggested. But even as she said it, she looked unconvinced. Everyone else did, too.
Spencer crossed her legs, smoothed out her black skirt, and stared straight ahead. After a pause, Aria slid into the pew next to her, and the other girls followed.
The organ music stopped, and the heavy doors closed with a clonk. People shifted in their seats. Aria craned her neck over the heads in front of her. Mr. Clark was stepping to the podium and adjusting the microphone. When he cleared his throat, a screech of feedback rang out through the room, and he winced. Then, there was a horribly long pause. Mr. Clark stared out into the sea of people, his mouth trembling. There were a few polite coughs, then several concerned nudges. All the while, Mr. Clark didn’t move.
Aria’s stomach jumped. It was terrible seeing this man so wrecked, especially over something they might have caused. What if A had killed Gayle only because of them? That meant they’d ruined his life not once, with Tabitha, but twice. And Aria was even more to blame—it had been her hands that had pushed Tabitha off that roof. She stared at them now, horrified at what she’d done all over again. Her fingers started to tremble.
Finally, Mr. Clark cleared his throat. “I never thought I’d have to do this twice in one year,” he said, his voice cracking. He clutched a handkerchief tightly in his fist. “It’s heartbreaking enough when your daughter is taken from you, but when you lose your wife, too, your world starts to crumble.” He sniffled and wiped his nose. “Many of you knew Gayle as an incredibly giving philanthropist. But I knew other parts of her, too. Sides of her so special and unique . . .”
He went on to tell how Gayle rescued every dog she saw, took pity on a poor family they met while on a vacation in Curaçao and paid for them to build a new house, and volunteered at soup kitchens every Thanksgiving. Each of the anecdotes was rambling and often nonsensical, but they made Gayle seem utterly un-A-like. A had so expertly convinced them otherwise.
Mr. Clark continued with his eulogy, every so often pausing to stare off into space or to wipe away a barrage of tears. When Aria heard the words “murder,” she perked up, suddenly alert.
“As much as I don’t want to give my wife’s murderer any attention on her day, I have to say something about it,” Mr. Clark went on in a grave voice. “Whoever you are, for whatever reason you did this, I will find you. Just like I’m going to find the person who killed my daughter.”
The crowd erupted into whispers. Aria blinked hard, the words taking a few seconds to sink in. She looked at her friends. What did he just say? she mouthed. Her head started to spin. This can’t be happening.
Mr. Clark made a waving motion for everyone to calm down. “This is going to come out, so I might as well tell everyone here. I had an autopsy done on Tabitha’s remains. Her cause of death wasn’t alcohol-related. She was murdered.”
Everyone started to talk even louder. The back of Aria’s throat tightened so much that she could hardly breathe. Her friends were staring back at her, just as stunned.
A loud buzz sounded from Aria’s phone. A half-second later, Emily’s phone lit up, as did Hanna’s and Spencer’s. Aria looked at the others in puzzlement, then glanced down at her phone. Her throat closed and her stomach suddenly felt on fire. One new text message, the screen said.
Aria opened it. Her vision momentarily went white.
That’s right, bitches—Daddy’s on to you. How long do you think it’ll take the police to realize you were at both crime scenes? —A
“Oh my God,” Spencer whispered. She whipped her head up and looked around. “Guys, is A . . .”
“. . . here?” Hanna finished.
Aria stared out at the church full of people from school, from town, from her past. A high-pitched giggle spiraled through the air and at that very moment, a figure slipped out the back door, slamming it shut.
WHAT HAPPENS NEXT . . .
Don’t you love a story that ends with a bang? And those aren’t the only fireworks I have in store for the liars. They’re gearing up for a week in the Caribbean with students from all over Pennsylvania—and me! I’ll be manning the periscope, watching Spencer, Aria, Emily, and Hanna get up to no good.
Let’s start with Spencer. She had such
high
hopes for getting into Princeton’s most exclusive club. But after the brownie babyhanalia, it looks like the only Eating Club she’ll be joining is the food line on the eco-cruise ship. Fingers crossed she doesn’t go overboard . . .
Aria’s ready to leave the Kahn-dram in her rearview mirror and cozy up with Noel on the rear deck. But while Aria may look better in a bikini than Mr. Kahn does, at least he wears his heart on his sleeve. Noel forgave her this time, but when he finds out that Aria’s still keeping secrets, will he want to keep her?
As for poor little Emily, now that the cat—or rather,
baby
—is out of the bag, all hell will break loose at Casa Fields. Will the cruise be the perfect getaway from all the baby-mama drama? Or will returning to the scene of the Tabitha crime cause Emily to drown in her sorrows?
And Hanna might have looked like a beached whale in her pole-dancing class, but she did get Mike back. Now if only the rest of the school would forget her stint as Rosewood’s latest—and,
ahem
, lamest—stalker. But some things will never be forgotten—or forgiven. Like, say, the horrible thing she did last summer. The girl can hit and run, but she can’t hide. Especially in open water.
The liars better enjoy the smooth sailing while they can. I hear there are sharks in the Caribbean Sea, and they can always smell blood . . .
Anchors aweigh!
—A
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As usual, I want to thank Lanie Davis, Sara Shandler, Josh Bank, and Les Morgenstein at Alloy for all their efforts on this book. It was a tough one to write—there were lots of distractions—and I’m so happy I can count on you guys. Thanks also to Farrin Jacobs and Kari Sutherland at Harper for your keen insight—and for knowing these characters so well. My best to Aiah Wieder for all of your help, as well as Kristin Marang for the website and online promotions—I love connecting with the fans!
To my family and friends—you know who you are. To Kristian, who is lovable beyond words and such a growing, crazy nut. I also want to thank the booksellers who have been such champions of the Pretty Little Liars series from the very beginning, specifically Shelly at Harleysville Books in Harleysville, Pennsylvania, and Kenny at Books and Greetings in Northvale, New Jersey. I’ve met a lot of other amazing booksellers along the way, too, as well as fantastic librarians, teachers, and—of course—readers! Without any of you guys, the success of this series wouldn’t be possible. I am so grateful to all of you.
Also, this book is dedicated to Caron Crooke, who is lovely and wonderful. We love having you as part of our
family!
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