Pretty Little Liars 14: Deadly

by Sara Shepard

  Fuji widened her eyes. “I see.”

  Spencer launched into an explanation of exactly why they thought A was Ali and how all the pieces fit. “Wait a minute,” Agent Fuji interrupted, when they got to that part about Emily’s baby. “You think Alison killed Gayle Riggs?”

  Spencer nodded.

  Fuji squinted hard. “But in the police notes, you girls said it sounded like A spoke to the person who shot her.”

  “That’s right,” Emily said. “We heard Gayle talking to someone. Kind of like, What are you doing here? And then there was the shot.”

  Fuji’s brow furrowed. “So perhaps Gayle knew Alison?”

  “Maybe,” Spencer said. “Or maybe she knew her helper.”

  “Do you have any idea who her helper might be?”

  The girls looked at one another. “We had a lot of theories,” Spencer said. “Graham Pratt for a while. And then Noel Kahn.”

  “Noel?” Fuji cocked her head. “What does he have to do with this?”

  Spencer opened her mouth to explain, but Aria caught her arm. “It was a false lead,” she said quickly. A look flashed across her face that said, Let’s not rat out Noel right now. Spencer just shrugged.

  “This is really, really serious, girls,” Fuji said. “We’re talking about a serial killer. I’m glad you finally came to me about this—there’s no way you can handle this on your own, and you shouldn’t have to.”

  No one spoke. Spencer held her breath.

  “With your permission, I’d like to keep your phones. I want to look at all of these texts A has sent. There are ways to track which phone they’re being sent from, even from what part of the Philadelphia area. Give me any other evidence you can think of, too. Things these people might have touched. Places they might have been. We need every tip you can get.”

  Spencer brightened. “I think Ali and her helper trashed my stepfather’s model home.”

  Fuji nodded. “Maybe there are fingerprints.”

  “I’m also worried that Ali might have done something to a girl named Iris Taylor,” Emily added, explaining how Ali had known Iris and that Iris had gone missing after Emily asked her questions.

  Fuji wrote Iris’s name on a notepad. “We’ll look into her.”

  Hanna tentatively raised a hand. “We have a lot more texts, but we’ll have to get them off our old phones from home. We switched phones when we figured out A was tracking us.”

  “A lot of notes aren’t on our phones at all,” Spencer added, thinking of the very first missive they’d received from this A. It had been a postcard inside Ali’s mailbox—Jamaica is beautiful this time of year! Too bad you can’t ever go back.

  “That’s fine,” Fuji said. “Collect everything and bring it back to me as soon as you can. And as far as security goes, you have my personal promise for a twenty-four-seven security team on all of you—and your families—until we crack the case. A won’t be able to get to you anymore.”

  Aria blinked hard. “So you’re really letting us go?”

  Fuji nodded. “I’ll talk to my partners and the state police and let them know that your charges are dropped.”

  “So my dad won’t know about this?” Hanna bleated.

  Emily’s hands trembled. “I’m not in trouble with the FBI?”

  “What you gave me is very important. I need to hold up my end of the bargain,” Fuji said as she stood. “However, if you receive another A note, I want you to forward it to me immediately. But I ask that you tell no one about what we’re doing or why you have a security detail. The less people know, the better. Is that clear?”

  “Yes,” everyone said at the same time, though Hanna then raised a hand.

  “My boyfriend knows,” she admitted. “He kind of guessed.”

  Fuji winced. “Well, he’ll be under watch because he’s Aria’s brother.” She glanced around. “A, Alison, whoever it is, this is Tabitha’s killer. Gayle’s killer. Graham’s and Kyla’s killer. Obviously she’s dangerous. I’m going to personally lead this team—and believe me, there will be a team on this. We’re going to work day and night to find out what’s going on. Whoever this is, they’re not smarter than all of us. We’ll get them.”

  Everyone exchanged another glance. “Oh my God,” Hanna bleated. “That sounds . . .”

  “Awesome,” Emily breathed.

  They stared at one another in disbelief. Spencer glanced at Fuji, and the agent gave her a small, genuine smile, the first smile Spencer had ever seen from her. A delicious feeling washed down Spencer’s back. Could it finally, finally be over? Was someone actually going to help them?

  The girls stood up and hugged one another tight. They didn’t have to handle this on their own anymore. They didn’t have to look over their shoulders or freeze when they heard a footstep or a twig crack or cringe when their cell phones chimed. They wouldn’t have to skulk around having secret conversations in dark places, fearing all the while that Ali was listening in.

  Spencer threw back her head and laughed. It felt amazing, suddenly, to have power. If only Spencer knew how to reach Ali now, she’d send an anonymous note of her own: Take that, bitch.

  9

  WELCOME HOME

  About an hour later, an FBI officer drove Emily back to the Philadelphia church where she’d parked her car for Graham’s funeral, leaving Emily to drive the fifteen miles back to Rosewood alone.

  Only, she wasn’t alone. As she pulled onto the expressway toward the suburbs, she peeked in her rearview mirror. A large, black Escalade switched lanes when she did. Fuji had instated the security detail immediately, instructing the bodyguards that they should watch the girls at all times, twenty-four hours a day. Emily’s guard had introduced himself as Clarence, taking her hand in his meaty palms and giving it a good shake, then giving her a business card with his phone number on it. “Me or my partner will be outside day and night,” he said in a New Jersey accent. “But if you get scared, you can always call us, too.”

  A huge smile spread across Emily’s face, and she drummed happily on the steering wheel. If you get scared. How many times had she been terrified and had no idea how to rectify it? She might be able to sleep through a whole night now. She might be able to go for a jog around her neighborhood without fearing an attack by a mysterious assailant.

  Of course, she did feel a twinge of apprehension about everything that had happened. The cat was definitely out of the bag, and Ali would probably know soon. Her potential rage was terrifying—especially given her track record. Rehashing the past brought back memories about seeing Gayle’s dead body in her driveway. And what if Ali had done something to Iris? At least the FBI was looking into it now . . . but what if Iris turned up dead?

  Emily took the Rosewood exit off 76 and sped up the hill toward home. When she pulled into her driveway ten minutes later, her stomach flipped a few times. What if her parents somehow found out that the FBI had escorted her out of the funeral? Fuji insisted that they would keep everything very quiet, but there were all those reporters outside the church—could they have leaked the story? She really didn’t feel like going through the third degree.

  Nervously, she turned on KYW, the area’s news channel. Over the sound of clacking typewriters, the reporter read out the hour’s top story. A robbery on the north side. The mayor arguing over budget cuts. An accident on the Blue Route. Nothing about police activity. She breathed out.

  She got out of the car and crept up the front walk, careful not to tread on her mom’s freshly planted azaleas. The inside of the house was quiet. There were marks on the carpet that indicated it had just been vacuumed, and the dining room table was free of dust. When Emily sniffed, she smelled baked ziti. It was her sister Carolyn’s favorite dish, but they hadn’t had it since she’d left for college.

  “Emily, look who’s here!”

  Her mother stepped into the hall. Next to her, in a Stanford long-sleeved T-shirt and black jeans, was Carolyn herself.

  Emily blinked. The last time she’d se
en her older sister was the day before she’d gone into the hospital for her C-section. Emily had been hunched over the toilet in Carolyn’s dorm room—her morning sickness had lasted all nine months—and her sister had stood in the doorway, glaring at her with disdain. Emily had come clean to her parents about the baby not long ago, and her parents had forgiven her. Although they said Carolyn was going to call and apologize, too, her sister never had. Judging by the ambivalent look on her face, it didn’t seem like she wanted to now, either.

  Mrs. Fields pushed Carolyn closer. “Carolyn came home to see you.”

  Emily carefully dropped her backpack to the wood floor. “Really?”

  Carolyn shrugged, a lock of red-gold hair falling in her face. “Well, all my exams were over. And I had a ticket voucher, so . . .”

  “So, surprise!” Mrs. Fields said hurriedly. “Family needs to stick together, don’t you agree, Carolyn?” She nudged her again. “Give Emily what you brought.”

  Carolyn’s mouth twitched. She grabbed a plastic bag and pushed it in Emily’s direction. Emily’s hand closed on something cotton. It was the same Stanford T-shirt Carolyn was wearing.

  “Thank you,” Emily murmured as she held the shirt up to her chest.

  Carolyn nodded stiffly. “It’s a good color on you. And I figured it would fit now that . . .” She trailed off, but Emily knew what she was going to say. Now that you’re not pregnant.

  “Well!” Mrs. Fields clapped her hands. “I’ll leave you two alone to catch up.” She shot Carolyn an encouraging, hopeful smile, then disappeared into the kitchen. Emily sank into a chair in the living room, her nerves snappy.

  Carolyn remained standing, her mouth twisted. She stared blankly at a picture of a barn that hung in the foyer like she’d never seen it before, even though it had probably hung in that spot for fifteen years. “I like my shirt,” Emily said, patting the Stanford T-shirt in her lap. “Thanks again.”

  Carolyn shot her a look. “You’re welcome.”

  She looked absolutely tortured. Emily crossed and uncrossed her legs. This felt like a disaster. What were they going to talk about? Why had her mom forced this? And seriously, Carolyn was still pissed? She needed to get over it.

  “You can go upstairs if you want,” Emily said. The words came out more bitterly than she intended. “You don’t have to hang out with me.”

  Carolyn’s mouth tightened. “I’m trying to make an effort, Emily. You don’t have to be so mad.”

  “I’m mad?” Emily squeezed the chair’s arms. Then she sighed. “Okay. Maybe I am kind of mad at you. For the millionth time, I’m sorry I forced my secret on you—I shouldn’t have. But I wish you’d handled it differently.”

  Carolyn’s eyes flashed. “I took you in,” she said in a hushed voice. “I slipped you passes to the dining hall. I didn’t tell Mom. What more did you want?”

  Emily’s heart beat faster and faster. “I hated coming home to your room. And I was pregnant—that AeroBed was so uncomfortable.”

  “You never complained,” Carolyn said exasperatedly.

  “I didn’t feel like I could!” Emily exclaimed. “You made me feel so unwelcome!” Suddenly, she felt exhausted. She stood and turned toward the stairs. “Forget it. I’ll go.”

  She curled her hand on the railing, fighting back tears. Just as she stomped on the first riser, Carolyn caught her arm. “Don’t, okay? You’re being silly.”

  Emily’s spine stiffened. She didn’t feel silly. Five more minutes, Emily decided. If her sister continued to be bitchy, she was definitely, definitely shutting herself in her room.

  She sat back down in the same chair. Carolyn sat opposite her. A few seconds passed. Pots clanked in the kitchen. Silverware banged together.

  “You’re right. I just didn’t know how to handle last summer,” Carolyn finally said. “I was scared for you and the baby. I didn’t want to think of it as a baby, either. I couldn’t get attached—it just seemed too hard.”

  Emily bit her lip. “Yeah, well.” It didn’t sound like that great of an excuse.

  Carolyn lowered her chin. “I heard you crying in the middle of the night so many times. . . .”

  Emily stared absently at the Hummel figurines her mother collected in the large curio cabinet in the corner. She remembered crying all too well. At least she’d had Derrick, her friend who worked with her at the seafood restaurant on Penn’s Landing. He’d served as sort of a substitute Carolyn.

  “She’s supposed to be family,” she’d moaned to him once. “But she can’t even look at me. The other night, she was on the phone well past one thirty, with me on the floor next to her. I was so tired, and she knew it, but she didn’t hang up.”

  “Why don’t you stay with me?” Derrick had offered. “I’ll crash on the couch. It’s fine.”

  Emily had looked at him. Derrick was so tall that when he sat on the bench, his long limbs folded up in an awkward, insectlike way. He was looking at her intently and kindly from behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

  She’d considered taking him up on his offer, but then she’d shrugged. “No. I’m probably already making your life miserable by dumping all this on you.” She’d kissed him on the cheek. “You’re sweet, though.”

  Now Carolyn sighed. “The things you were dealing with were over my head.”

  Emily nodded. There was no arguing that. “So why are you here now? Why didn’t you just stay away?”

  Carolyn looked away. “I got a letter. I was afraid if I didn’t come home this time, it might be too late.”

  A shiver danced up Emily’s spine. “What are you talking about? Who wrote you a letter?”

  “I don’t know. It was just signed A Concerned Friend.” Carolyn’s throat bobbed. “It said you seemed really upset and might do something . . . irrational.” Her eyelashes fluttered fast. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

  Emily’s skin prickled. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the suicide rumors, but a letter seemed pretty extreme. “A lot of upsetting things have happened to me, but I’m really okay,” she assured Carolyn.

  Her sister looked unconvinced. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.” Emily’s throat caught, knowing she had to choose the next words very carefully. “I’d like to see the note, though. Do you still have it?”

  Carolyn’s brow crinkled. “I threw it away. I couldn’t stand it being in my room.”

  “Was it handwritten? Did it have a postmark?”

  “No, it was typed. I don’t remember where it was mailed from.” Carolyn gazed at her curiously. “Do you know who might have written it?”

  Emily ran her tongue over her teeth. A Concerned Friend. Ali? Her helper? Who else could it be?

  Mrs. Fields popped her head into the hall. “Dinner’s ready!” she crowed.

  Emily and Carolyn turned toward the kitchen. Emily’s heart was still banging from the argument, but at least it was all finally out in the open. She snuck a look at Carolyn as they walked into the hall. Carolyn shot her a small, tentative smile. When Emily moved toward her and spread out her arms for a hug, Carolyn didn’t dart away. The hug was kind of stiff and awkward, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

  Mrs. Fields passed around plates. Then, something out the window caught Emily’s eye. The black SUV was parked alongside the curb. Clarence sat in the front seat, reading the newspaper. A car drove past, and he lowered the paper and stared hard at it until it rounded the bend.

  None of Emily’s family noticed it there. They would, eventually—Emily would have to tell Clarence to park in a more secluded location. But for now, she appreciated his close range. Stay out, Clarence was telling Ali, who was surely watching. From now on, she’s off-limits.

  That felt like a step in the right direction, too.

  10

  A BRAND-NEW DAY

  When the squad car pulled up to Aria’s mother’s house, the mowing service was just finishing up. Two brawny, college-age boys loaded the lawn mowers onto
the trailer behind their truck. The boys waved to Aria like it was completely normal that she was getting out of a police car on a Tuesday evening.

  “Do you want an escort to your door, Miss Montgomery?” the cop who had driven her asked, looking right and left cautiously.

  “That’s okay,” Aria answered.

  “Well, if you need anything at all, just signal Buzz.” The cop gestured to a minivan parked on the street. Though it had a bumper sticker that read MY CHILD IS A ROSEWOOD ELEMENTARY HONOR STUDENT and a pair of Mickey ears on the antenna, a brawny guy in sunglasses who looked like The Rock’s stunt double sat in the driver’s seat.

  “Got it.” Aria smiled. She felt almost airy as she walked across the front lawn.

  “Aria?”

  Ella stood on the porch. She was wearing the yellow, zigzagged tunic she’d owned since her days in art school, and her silvery-black hair was tied up on top of her head in a bun. There was a horrified expression on her face. “Why did the police just drop you off?” she asked, staring at the cruiser that disappeared down the street.

  “Oh, that.” Aria waved her hand. “It’s nothing. I’m not in trouble.”

  Ella blinked hard. “You had your interview today, right? Did something happen at the college?”

  “Hey, it smells really good in here!” Aria said loudly as she walked into the foyer, hoping to change the subject. “Did you just bake some bread?”

  Ella pushed the door closed. “Aria, tell me what’s going on. Now.”

  Aria let out a long sigh. “It’s a long story, but I’m not in trouble. Really. And I did have the interview . . . but I blew it.”

  Ella cocked her head. “What happened?”

  Aria shrugged. “I wasn’t the right fit.” She slumped down on the couch. “I really wanted to go, too.”

  Ella sat down next to her and gathered Polo, the family’s cat, into her arms. “Why did you want to go, exactly?”

  Aria gave her mom an uh-duh look. “Because art is the field I want to go into. Because I’d get to meet amazing people and help out with cool projects. Because . . .”