by Sara Shepard
“I agree,” Aria said as they reached the Prius. “Ali could be there. Or there could be a clue that leads us to where she might have gone. We should do it.”
They all turned to Spencer, who looked conflicted. “I don’t know . . .”
Something snapped behind them. Hanna whirled around toward the direction of the sound and canvassed the scene. The parking lot was empty, all the cars lined up in neat rows. The wind shifted again, and her gaze drifted upward. The only thing she saw was a uniformed man standing in the guard tower. He held a huge gun in his hand.
Aria’s throat bobbed, her gaze on the guard, too. Emily pressed her hand to her mouth. Hanna could tell they were thinking the same thing. Pretty soon, if they didn’t act fast, a guard would be watching them.
Spencer made a small, choked noise. “Okay,” she whispered. “We’ll leave for Cape May tomorrow morning.”
4
BEACH TRIP!
Aria Montgomery awoke on Saturday to two strong, warm arms wrapped tightly around her. She breathed in deeply, inhaling her boyfriend Noel Kahn’s slightly sweet, slightly salty morning smell. He’d slept over the past week, sneaking through her window once her mom had gone to bed, and she had to admit it was bliss spooning him all night. I could get used to this, she thought headily, her eyes fluttering closed.
Except she wasn’t going to get used to it. Because soon everything was going to change.
She sat up straight, reality whooshing back. She’d only recently reunited with Noel, and now that was all going to be taken away. Aria stared at his peaceful face on the pillow, wishing she could perfectly preserve this memory for all her future lonely, horrible nights in a prison cell. He has serious bedhead, she chanted silently. He talks in his sleep about lacrosse plays. He looks so cuddly and adorable.
Noel opened one eye. “Why are you staring at me?”
“Just trying to preserve this moment forever,” Aria said breezily, then winced. The last thing she wanted to do was bring up her impending doom first thing in the morning.
But Noel sat up and looked at her with a serious expression. “Whatever happens, Aria, I’m going to wait for you. I mean it.”
Aria pulled away. Yeah, right. It was clear she and Noel were kindred spirits, but she couldn’t ask him to wait thirty years for her to maybe get parole. “I’ll have saggy boobs by the time I get out,” she blurted.
“I like saggy boobs,” Noel answered sleepily. “Especially your saggy boobs.”
Aria felt tears come to her eyes. She flopped back on the pillow and stared at the old glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. “I wish I could just run away.”
“Where would you go?” Noel asked.
Aria thought about the fantasy she’d turned over and over in her mind a thousand times: She had the cash now, thanks to the sale of several of her oil paintings. Couldn’t she withdraw a huge chunk of change and just . . . leave? If Ali could do it, why couldn’t she?
“Not an island,” she said first. Her spring-break trip to Jamaica junior year—and getting into that mess with Tabitha Clark, the girl who had tried to pass herself off as Ali—had ruined her on the Caribbean. So had the senior-year Eco Cruise trip, where Aria had almost been killed by a bomb blast in the boiler room and left at sea to drown.
“What about Norway?” Noel suggested.
Aria stretched. “That would be nice. Holland is cool, too. They’re very lenient there, and I love the Anne Frank museum and all the canals.”
Noel laced his hands behind his head. “You could paint in your spare time. Sell a few works, set us up in style.”
Aria punched him playfully. “Us? Who said you could come along?”
Noel looked like he was going to say something teasing back when Aria’s alarm blared. Suddenly, another reality rushed to the forefront of her mind. She’d told Spencer she’d be waiting outside in a half hour.
She leapt out of bed. “I have to go.”
Noel watched as Aria scuttled around, flinging her closet open, searching for her flip-flops. “You meeting with your lawyer?” he asked.
“Uh . . . no. Just hanging out with the girls.” She tried to smile at him. “I’m sorry. I wanted to make breakfast for you this morning.” Their on-again relationship still felt so new and tenuous. A big stack of pancakes was always the way to Noel’s heart. “Rain check?”
“Can I come along?”
“No!”
Noel recoiled, then frowned. She’d said it too quickly, too harshly. All at once, Aria knew that he knew what she was up to.
“Aria.” He shut his eyes. “You’re not looking for Ali, are you?”
Aria turned away to her dresser and busied herself by shuffling through a stack of T-shirts. “Of course not.”
“You are.” Noel scuttled out from under the quilt. “It’s dangerous.”
It was pointless to lie. Noel was on board with everything Aria told him. He believed Ali had set them up and was still alive. But they both knew how tricky she was.
She shrugged. “It’s just a dumb lead. But we’re going, okay? Please don’t tell anyone.”
Noel looked worried. “Let me come with you, at least.”
Aria dropped the shirt she was holding and grabbed his hands. “Absolutely not.” Ali had hurt Noel once before, leaving him for dead in a sports shed behind the school. Aria wasn’t involving him again.
“But I might be in the unique position to help,” Noel said gently.
Aria felt an old, annoying twinge. A unique position. A few years back, he’d been Ali’s only confidant, visiting her at The Preserve at Addison-Stevens. Noel had kept many secrets for Ali . . . and he hadn’t shared any of them with Aria when they’d started dating. It had seemed like Noel would have done anything for Ali back then. They even had a secret code for when they wanted to get in touch. Aria didn’t like to think about it. It was stupid, she knew, but a teeny part of her still wasn’t sure if she held a candle to Ali. That Noel had briefly dated an Ali-look-alike named Scarlett while he and Aria were broken up didn’t help, either.
She tried to whisk the thoughts out of her mind. “We probably won’t turn up anything, anyway,” she told Noel. “And I’ll be back soon.”
Noel still looked conflicted. “Promise me you’ll stay safe, okay? Text me this afternoon.” He pulled her close. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
Aria kissed the tip of his nose. “You won’t lose me,” she breathed, melting into his arms.
But that was the problem. Soon enough, he was going to lose her—to jail.
Unless they found what they were looking for.
An hour later, the four girls were flying across the bridge out of Philly. It was an overcast day, but the road was still busy, and a bunch of roadside farmers’ stands boasting watermelon, corn, and tomatoes were crowded with families. A huge billboard that read WELCOME TO NEW JERSEY swept past, and Aria sat higher in her seat, eager to get the investigation started.
After another hour, they drove down Cape May’s quaint Main Street and pulled into the first establishment they found, an old, flesh-colored motel called the Atlantic Lighthouse. A large, inground pool, complete with an old-school blue diving board and a couple of rusty-looking outdoor tables and chairs, spanned the length of the building, and there was a falling-apart, bird-poop-infested, decorative lighthouse fixed to the roof. When Aria pushed the door open into the lobby, an icy blast of AC brought goose bumps to her arms. A bleached-blond woman glanced up from the news on a small TV behind the desk and gave them a strange look.
Aria’s heart lurched. Then she looked down and saw something horrifying: There, on the front page of a stack of USA Today newspapers, was a huge picture of Ali, a smaller picture of Ali’s father, and an even smaller picture of Spencer, Emily, Hanna, and herself. Trial Starts Tuesday, the paper said. DiLaurentis Father Weighs In.
She quickly turned the paper over, her breath coming out in short bursts. Did the clerk recognize them? They were all wearing sunglasses, an
d Hanna had on a hat to cover up her easily recognizable auburn hair, but maybe that wasn’t enough. Aria considered bolting out of the room. But that would look even more suspicious, wouldn’t it?
“Um, hi,” Spencer said shakily. “I’m wondering if you could give us directions to Dune Street?” That was where Betty Maxwell’s house was.
The woman nodded and pointed to the left. The girls were about to leave when she cleared her throat and gestured to a plaque on the counter. CAPE MAY WEATHER REPORT, it read, listing information about the days’ temperature and tides. “You hear about the storm?”
Aria relaxed a little. The woman didn’t seem to know who they were.
“Supposed to be a big one, rolling in by late tomorrow morning,” the woman said, then rolled her eyes. “I’m sick of this crazy weather.”
Then she went back to watching her TV. The girls scuttled back onto the street and headed in the direction of Dune Street, though not before Aria snatched up a USA Today. She skimmed the article. Ali’s father was begging for justice to be done for his murdered daughter, saying he would have a front-row seat at their murder trial. Then, she noticed something interesting. “Did you guys know that Ali’s mom isn’t coming to the trial?” she asked in a low voice, reading as she walked. “It says that Mrs. DiLaurentis is way too traumatized to even be in the same room as us.”
Emily scoffed. “That’s proof right there that Ali is still alive. A mother would absolutely be at that trial unless she knew her daughter wasn’t really dead.”
Spencer made a face. “Or else she’s just a complete basket case and can’t go through with it.”
“Personally, I’m glad she’s not going to be there,” Aria said quietly. The last thing she wanted was to come face-to-face with Jessica DiLaurentis. Ali’s mom had been icy on good days.
She folded up the paper, tossed it into the trash, and trotted to catch up with her friends. The sun was already bright and hot. A bunch of kids on their way to the beach, sand pails, boogie boards, and chairs in hand, brushed past them, calling happily to one another. The air smelled like sunscreen and homemade waffle cones.
Hanna looked around pensively. “My dad used to bring me and Our Ali—Courtney—here.” She kicked a pebble on the sidewalk. “We saw Mona one of the last times. Ali was ruthless to her.”
Emily sniffed bitterly. “No surprise there.” Then Emily’s face twisted, like she was in pain.
“You okay?” Aria asked worriedly.
“Uh huh,” Emily said quickly.
Maybe too quickly. Aria watched her carefully. Emily had seemed so . . . troubled from all of this Ali stuff, and it had been so unlike her to almost jump from that bridge a few weeks ago. But every time Aria asked what was wrong, Emily brushed her off.
“I came here with Courtney once, too,” Aria said. “She made fun of me for using SPF 50 sunscreen. She was like, ‘That’s why no guys like you, Aria. Because you look like a pasty freak.’ So I used her baby oil instead. I got burned, and it sucked.”
“And Courtney probably laughed, right?” Hanna muttered.
Aria stepped over a crack in the sidewalk. “She did.” Sure, Courtney wasn’t as diabolical as the Real Ali, but she had still been a manipulative bitch.
They turned onto Dune Street and looked at the numbers on the houses until they reached a two-story, green-shingled house with a front yard full of bleached-white stones. The shutters were closed, there wasn’t a car in the driveway, there wasn’t any porch furniture out, and it was the only house on the block that didn’t have a FOR RENT sign out front.
Hanna frowned. “Did anyone check if Betty Maxwell was still alive?”
“It certainly doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” Spencer agreed.
Emily took a few steps up the front walk. The others followed. Spencer pulled out a pair of plastic gloves from her pocket, slipped them on, and tried the bell. No answer. She turned the doorknob, but it was locked.
Emily pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, then yanked on her own pair of gloves, stepped off the porch, and began trying each of the windows around the house. She disappeared quickly around the side, and suddenly called out, “We’re in!”
Everyone ran to find her. Emily had hefted open a side window enough for her to squeeze through. “I’ll unlock the front door for you.”
“I don’t know, Em.” Aria glanced back at the street. “It’s broad daylight. Someone might see.”
Emily scoffed and boosted herself up onto the windowsill. “Isn’t this why we came?”
She slipped inside without waiting for an answer. Aria’s heart pounded. She waited for an alarm to blare, someone to scream out, a dog to start rabidly barking . . . but there was nothing. A few seconds later, the front door opened, Emily on the other side. Everyone hurried through.
The house was dark and smelled like sand. Aria waited for her eyes to adjust. The room was empty, and the walls bore faded, sea-horse-printed wallpaper. The navy rug was stained and threadbare. A pile of mail sat by the door, all faded circulars from the local grocery store addressed to Current Resident.
Emily wandered into the kitchen. Aria watched as she opened the fridge and peered inside. It was empty, completely cleaned out. She searched cabinets and drawers, but they were all empty, too. She tried the tap, but no water came out. Spencer opened a linen closet. “Nothing,” she called.
Aria tiptoed down the dark hall and poked her head into each of the bedrooms. In every one, she found a neatly made twin bed and little else. She checked under the beds, but there was nothing hiding there. There were no clothes left behind in the closets, either. She poked her head into the bathroom. There was no shower curtain, and the tub smelled of bleach. And yet, it seemed like a presence lingered there. Maybe the last person who’d stayed in the house. Or maybe a ghost.
Aria stared at a small closet at the back of the bathroom she hadn’t noticed at first. Something creaked—maybe from inside. All at once, goose bumps rose on her skin. Was someone in that closet? Ali?
Her hand shook as she reached out for the knob. Her stomach swirled as she slowly turned it. There was a groan as the door opened, and Aria shielded her face with her hand, ready for an onslaught.
Silence. She opened her eyes. The closet was totally empty, the shelves wiped clean.
Sighing, she returned to the living room. Spencer and Hanna were waiting, looking equally freaked out. Then, Emily called out from the door near the garage. “Come here.”
Everyone rushed over. Emily stuck her head into the small, empty garage. “Do you smell that?” she said excitedly.
Aria’s nose twitched. She looked at the others. “Is that . . . vanilla?” It was Ali’s calling card: cloying vanilla soap.
Emily’s eyes were wide. “We should call the police. This is proof she’s still alive.”
Spencer peered back into the empty house. “Em, that’s not enough to get the police here.” She sighed. “Besides, she’s not here now.”
Emily stared at them. “Still. This is a lead.”
“It’s a trick,” Spencer corrected her. “And it’s happened before. Ali gave us a hint that she was at the pool house, but then she wiped the place clean of her prints. That’s what’s happening here, too.”
Emily turned to Aria. “But maybe she just left. We could ask people on this street. People at the Wawa. Someone probably saw her. Aria, what do you think?”
Aria looked down. “Em, I think Spencer’s right.”
Emily smacked the doorjamb. “So we’re going to do nothing?”
Spencer placed her hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Em. Calm down.”
Emily twisted away, letting out a pained keening sound. “I can’t just walk away from this! I’ve got to get her out of my head! She’s killing me!”
Everyone exchanged nervous glances. Aria’s heart began to pound. Did Emily think that Ali was trapped inside her or something? “Em.” She grabbed her shoulders. “Em, please. You’re scaring us.”
She wrapped
her arms around Emily until her friend stopped flailing. When Emily turned to face them again, her face was red and she was still breathing hard, but she didn’t seem as unglued. “This is the end, isn’t it?” she asked in a quiet, stony tone.
Aria nodded sadly. “I think so.”
Emily leaned against Aria heavily. Hanna joined the group, squeezing Emily’s shoulders. Spencer piled on last, her body heaving with sobs.
“I know it’s hard,” Aria murmured. “We all wanted to find her.”
“But it’s going to be okay,” Hanna said bravely. “Whatever happens, we’ll have each other.”
Emily looked at them and tried to smile, but then her face crumpled again.
They hugged for what seemed like ages. When they pulled apart, everyone wiped their eyes. Aria felt empty. It sucked that she wouldn’t return to Noel triumphant and that they’d start the trial without proof Ali was out there. Their future was so bleak. They had little to look forward to.
They filed out the door and started down the sidewalk. In the distance, waves crashed and kids laughed. Someone was playing a radio loudly, and Aria could smell a barbecue. It seemed cruel, really, to witness such happy sights, sounds, and smells right then. And when an ice-cream truck tinkled around the corner, it was almost too much to bear. A teenage boy stuck his head out the window. “Want some?” he asked.
Hanna nudged Emily. “Get a Popsicle. It’ll cheer you up.”
“We’ll all get something.” Spencer’s voice was forcedly cheerful. “In fact, we should stay here the rest of the day, guys. Eat ice cream. Hang out, get a great dinner, leave early tomorrow before the storm comes in. We could check into that motel where we asked for directions. What do you think?”
Aria thought for a moment, then nodded. A day at the beach was like their equivalent of a death-row prisoner’s last meal, but they were already there. They might as well.
