An idea crystallized in Emily’s mind. She composed a text to Spencer, Aria, and Hanna. I’m sick and tired of Anderson Cooper ruining everything, she wrote, using the code name they’d come up with for Ali. I’m back on the hunt. Are you in or out?
She sent the text off and waited, taking steady, even breaths. All she could do now was wait. She hoped and prayed they would say yes.
24
A NEW PLAN
That same day, Aria sat in the waiting room of a lawyer’s office. Well, sort of a lawyer’s office—she’d never known a lawyer to set up his business in a strip mall between a Five Below and a Curves, but whatever. Mike sat next to her, staring at a pamphlet about an ongoing class-action drug suit. “Hey,” he whispered. “Have you ever taken Celebrex? Prozac?”
“No,” Aria mumbled.
“Do you have mesothelioma?” Mike asked.
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“Damn.” Mike set down the pamphlet. “If you did, we’d be entitled to a big settlement.”
Aria rolled her eyes, wondering how Mike could be upbeat. She was also beginning to second-guess this meeting—she could hear techno music from Curves thumping through the walls. This morning, Mike had knocked on her door and said, “Get up. We’re talking to Desmond Sturbridge at ten AM. We’ll sneak.” “Who’s that?” Aria had asked, and Mike had explained it was a lawyer who’d called the house yesterday volunteering to take Aria’s case. Aria had tried to tell him that Spencer’s dad was defending them, but Mike just shrugged. “It’s always good to get a second opinion. Besides, we don’t even have to pay this new guy unless we win.”
Now, a door flung open, and a tall, skinny man with a gummy smile and hair so slicked with pomade it actually shone, beamed at them. “Miss Montgomery and friend!” he boomed. “Come in, come in!”
Aria looked nervously at Mike, but he just pulled her to her feet and led her into the office. “It’ll be fine,” he murmured as they followed Sturbridge down the hall. “You have a good case. He’ll present the truth to the judge—how can it go wrong?”
Aria hoped he was right. She entered the lawyer’s office, which was decorated with bobbleheads, signed Eagles jerseys, and a whole lot of empty Arby’s wrappers. There was also a diploma from the University of Michigan on the wall, which made her feel better.
“Thanks for speaking with us,” she said as she sat down.
“Of course, of course!” Sturbridge’s eyes gleamed. “I think you have a very interesting case. And I have some ideas to keep you out of Jamaica.”
Mike raised his eyebrows encouragingly. Aria pulled a notebook out of her bag and slid it across the desk. “We don’t have too much time, since the arraignment is Friday, so I wrote down everything that’s happened so you can look it over at your leisure.” Inside the notebook were also drawings she’d started for Asher Trethewey. Not that she’d need them now.
Sturbridge waved his hand. “That won’t be necessary. I think I’ve got all I need.”
Aria and Mike exchanged a look. “But you haven’t got anything,” Aria said. “Don’t you want to know what really happened that night?”
“Lord, no.” Sturbridge looked abashed. “Miss Montgomery, this is a tricky case. There are eyewitnesses, there’s a video of you on the scene . . . it doesn’t look very good. The way I see it, there’s really only one way to play this case so you come out a winner.”
“What’s that?” Mike asked.
“We plead insanity.”
He looked pleased with himself, like he’d discovered a new law of gravity. Aria blinked hard. “But I’m not insane.”
One eyebrow rose. “Hallucinating that Alison DiLaurentis is alive? Sending bullying notes to yourself?”
“Those notes weren’t from me!” Aria cried.
Sturbridge smiled sadly. “The police say they are.”
Mike’s shoulders drooped. “You’re using information you read about my sister online, stuff the cops came up with. That isn’t her in the video.”
Sturbridge frowned. “It certainly looks like her.”
“It’s not,” Aria said. “I didn’t do it.”
Sturbridge formed an X with his pointer fingers. “Don’t want to hear it!” he singsonged. Then he passed a stapled set of papers across the desk. “If you want to stay out of a Jamaican prison, you’ll sign this insanity plea. It will get you a stay and a psychiatric evaluation. It’s not so bad. Chances are, you’ll end up in one of those cushy mental hospitals around here, all expenses paid by the state.”
“Like the Preserve at Addison-Stevens?” Aria challenged.
Sturbridge’s eyes lit up. “Exactly! I hear the food is amazing there.”
Aria shut her eyes and forced herself to take calming breaths.
Mike flung the papers back at Sturbridge. “Thanks for your time, but you’re nuts, man.” He grabbed the notebook from the lawyer and took Aria’s arm. “C’mon.”
“You’ll regret it!” Sturbridge called out as they fled down the hall.
“Sorry,” Mike said, pushing the door open. He looked miserable. “If I had known that’s what he was going to go for, I would have never put you through that.”
“It’s okay,” Aria mumbled, staring blankly at a bunch of overweight ladies congregating in front of Curves. So much for the lawyer route.
She felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She grabbed it and looked at the message. I’m back on the hunt, Emily had written. Are you in or out? In the same thread, Hanna had responded to count her in. A minute later, Spencer had said yes, too.
“What’s that?” Mike asked, leaning over. Aria was about to cover the screen, but Mike had already seen the text. His face brightened. “Yes. You’re going after Ali again?”
“You’re not getting involved,” Aria said quickly.
Mike slumped. “Why not? I know everything. I can help. You have nothing to lose.”
Aria shut her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just can’t let you help.”
Mike’s face fell. “In the immortal words of that freak-job lawyer, you’ll regret it.”
Aria shoved her phone back in her pocket. No, she’d regret it if she did let him help. She’d lost too much already. She couldn’t lose her brother, too.
It was raining when Aria biked up to the curb behind the local Wawa several hours later, after dark. She spied her old friends standing near the woods that divided the mini-mart from an apartment complex and started toward them. Her shoes immediately sank into the mud. Raindrops pelted her cheeks. She pulled her hoodie over her head and ran.
Spencer inhaled shakily when they had all assembled. “Okay. How are we going to do this? What do we have on Ali that we can look into?”
Everyone was quiet. A milk truck chugged into Wawa and parked around the side. Then Emily cleared her throat. “I got a voicemail from Ali. She was laughing at me. At us.”
Aria’s eyes widened. “Ali called you?”
“Why would she do that?” Spencer whispered, her stomach swirling.
“I don’t know.” Emily placed her hands on her hips. “But she did.”
“Maybe she thought you were the least likely to tell on her,” Spencer suggested.
“Well, she was wrong.” Emily pulled out her phone. They gathered around and listened to the voicemail. When Aria heard the high-pitched giggle, a shiver wriggled up her spine.
“I can’t believe it,” Hanna murmured, turning pale. “Do you think she meant to call you, or did so by accident?”
Emily shut her eyes. “I have no idea.”
“Should we send this to Fuji?” Aria asked after a beat.
Spencer snorted. “She’ll think we made it up. It probably comes from our phones for all we know.”
Aria looked at Emily. “Play it again.”
Emily did as she was told. Aria listened once more as that familiar laugh twirled through the air. “It sounds like she’s in a crowd, don’t you think?”
“And there’s some sort of announcement,” Hanna pointed out. “I can’t tell what the guy’s saying, though.”
“I know, I heard that, too,” Emily said. “If we were able to isolate that part of the message, maybe we could track where Ali was when she called. Maybe it’s somewhere she hangs out a lot.”
“Or maybe it’s another trap,” Aria said sourly.
Hanna glowered at her. “Do you have a better idea?”
“I’m sorry.” Aria threw up her hands. “But even if the message did have a clue, what can we do about it? It’s not like we can stroll into Rosewood PD and say, Hey, can we borrow your forensic equipment?”
Spencer’s eyes lit up. “Actually, I know someone who might know how to use that stuff—and help us.”
Emily cocked her head. “Who?”
“My sister and Wilden.”
Hanna burst out laughing. “Melissa? Seriously?”
“She offered her services. And think about it—of course Melissa wants Ali dead.” Spencer crossed her arms over her chest. “We can take SEPTA into the city. It’s so late—no one will notice us on the train. The worst thing that happens is Melissa slams the door in our faces . . . or calls the cops.”
Aria stared blankly at Wawa, considering this. The wind gusted, sending the sweet smell of the convenience store’s homemade donuts into her nostrils. “I’m in if you guys are in.”
“Me, too,” Hanna said.
“Me, three,” Emily said, her eyes blazing. “Let’s go.”
25
SOUND BITES
“Uh, hello?” Melissa Hastings said as she opened the red door of her Victorian town house on Rittenhouse Square for Spencer and the others. It was almost midnight, and she had lavender-smelling night cream all over her face and was dressed in a frayed Rosewood Day Debate Team T-shirt and boxers printed with mini golden retrievers. Spencer had a feeling they were Wilden’s.
“Can we come in?” she asked her sister. “It’s important.”
Melissa glanced at the other girls on the porch, then nodded solidly. “Come on.”
She directed them into the house, asking them to drop their things and leave their shoes in a small coatroom off the vestibule. They walked into the living room, which was a calming yellow and had gleaming walnut floors. The furniture, knickknacks, and throw rugs matched perfectly. The room seemed familiar, and Spencer suddenly knew why. It was decorated exactly like her house in Rosewood. The TV in the living room was tuned to CNN. As usual, the reporters were talking about Tabitha’s murder. Liars’ Arraignment in Seven Days, read the banner at the bottom of the screen. Even the crawl was all about it. Melissa switched it off.
“Spencer? Hanna?” Wilden appeared at the top of the stairs, also dressed in boxers and a T-shirt. He looked nervous.
