by Sara Shepard
Except the text wasn’t from A. It had been from a regular cell phone number—a number Hanna knew well.
Hanna let out a muffled shriek. The faces looking down at her blurred and shimmered, as if they were holograms. “Hanna…what is it?” Emily shrieked.
“Oh. My. God,” Hanna whispered, her head reeling. “It’s…Mona.”
Emily frowned. “What’s Mona?”
Hanna pulled off her mask. The air felt cool and liberating. Her scar pulsed, as if it was a separate entity from her chin. She didn’t even look around to see how many people were staring at her bruised, ugly face, because right now, it didn’t matter. “I remember what I was going to tell you guys that night, when I wanted to meet you at Rosewood Day,” Hanna said, tears brimming in her eyes. “A is Mona.”
Emily and Aria stared at her so blankly that Hanna wondered if they’d even heard her. Finally, Aria said, “Are you sure?”
Hanna nodded.
“But Mona’s with…Spencer,” Emily said slowly.
“I know,” Hanna whispered. She tossed her mask on the couch and stood up. “We have to find her. Now.”
34
I’LL GET YOU, MY PRETTIES…
It had taken Spencer and Mona almost ten minutes to cross the country club lawn to the parking lot, climb into Mona’s enormous taxicab-yellow Hummer, and roar out of the parking lot. Spencer glanced at Hanna’s receding party tent. It was lit up like a birthday cake, and the vibrations from the music were almost visible.
“That was a really awesome thing you did, setting up Justin Timberlake for Hanna,” Spencer murmured.
“Hanna’s my best friend,” Mona answered. “She’s been through a lot. I wanted to make it really special.”
“She used to talk about Justin all the time when we were younger,” Spencer went on, gazing out the window as an old farmhouse, which used to belong to one of the DuPonts but was now a restaurant, flew past. A few people who had finished dinner were standing out on the porch, happily chatting. “I didn’t know she still liked him so much.”
Mona smiled halfway. “I know lots of things about Hanna. Sometimes I think I know Hanna better than Hanna knows herself.” She glanced at Spencer briefly. “You have to do good things for people you care about, you know?”
Spencer nodded faintly, biting at her cuticles. Mona slowed for a stop sign and rooted around in her purse, pulling out a pack of gum. The car immediately smelled like artificial bananas. “Want a piece?” she asked Spencer, unwrapping a stick and pushing it into her mouth. “I’m obsessed with this stuff. Apparently you can only get it in Europe, but this girl in my history class gave me a whole pack.” She chewed thoughtfully. Spencer waved the open pack away. She wasn’t much in a gum-chewing mood right now.
As Mona passed the Fairview Riding Academy, Spencer smacked her thighs hard. “I can’t do this,” she wailed. “We should turn around, Mona. I can’t turn Melissa in.”
Mona glanced at her, then turned into the riding academy’s parking lot. They pulled into the handicapped space and Mona shifted the Hummer into park. “Okay…”
“She’s my sister.” Spencer stared blankly forward. It was pitch-black out, and the air smelled like hay. She heard a whinnying in the distance. “If Melissa did it, shouldn’t I be trying to protect her?”
Mona reached into her clutch and pulled out a Marlboro Light. She offered one to Spencer, but Spencer shook her head. As Mona lit up, Spencer watched the orange butt glow and the smoke curl, first around the Hummer’s cabin, then out the slight crack at the top of the driver’s side window.
“What did Melissa mean in the bathroom?” Mona asked quietly. “She said, after what you told her at the beach, she thought you guys had an understanding. What did you tell her?”
Spencer dug her nails into the heels of her hands. “This memory had come back to me about the night Ali went missing,” she admitted. “Ali and I had this fight…and I shoved her. Her head smacked against the stone wall. But I’d blocked it out for years.” She glanced at Mona, gauging her reaction, but Mona’s face was blank. “I blurted it out to Melissa the other day. I had to tell someone.”
“Whoa,” Mona whispered, glancing at Spencer carefully. “You think you did it?”
Spencer pressed her palms into her forehead. “I was definitely mad at her.”
Mona twisted in her seat, breathing smoke out her nose. “A put that photo of Ali and Ian in your purse, right? What if A fed Melissa some sort of clue, too, convincing her to tell on you? Melissa could be going to the cops right now.”
Spencer’s eyes widened. She remembered what Melissa said about them no longer having an “understanding.” “Shit,” she whispered. “Do you think?”
“I don’t know.” Mona grabbed Spencer’s hand. “I think you’re doing the right thing. But if you want me to turn around and go back to the party, I will.”
Spencer ran her fingers against the rough beads on her clutch. Was it the right thing? She wished she hadn’t been the one to discover Melissa was the killer. She wished someone else could’ve found out instead. Then, she thought about how she’d torn around the country club tent, looking frantically for Melissa. Where had she gone? What was she doing right now?
“You’re right,” she whispered in a dry voice. “This is the right thing.”
Mona nodded, then shifted gears again and backed out of the riding school lot. She tossed her cigarette butt out the window, and Spencer watched it as they drove away, a tiny flicker of light among the dry blades of grass.
When they were farther down the road, Spencer’s Sidekick beeped. Spencer unzipped her bag. “Maybe that’s Wilden,” she murmured. Only, it was a text from Emily.
Hanna remembered. Mona is A! Reply if you get this.
Spencer’s phone slipped from her hands to her lap. She read the text again. And again. The words might as well have been written in Arabic—Spencer couldn’t process them at all. R U sure? she texted back. Yes, Emily wrote. Get out of there. NOW.
Spencer stared at a billboard for Wawa coffee, a stone sign for a housing development, then an enormous, triangular-shaped church. She tried to breathe as steadily as possible, counting from one to one hundred by fives, hoping it would calm her down. Mona was watching the road carefully and dutifully. Her halter dress didn’t quite fit her in the chest. She had a scar on her right shoulder, probably from the chicken pox. It didn’t seem possible that she could have done this.
“So was it Wilden?” Mona chirped.
“Um, no.” Spencer’s voice came out squawky and muffled, like she was talking through a can. “It was…it was my mom.”
Mona nodded slightly, keeping the same speed. Spencer’s phone lit up again. Another text had come in. Then another, then another, then another. Spencer, what’s going on? Spencer, pls txt us back. Spencer, yr in DANGER. Pls tell us if yr okay.
Mona smiled, her canine teeth glowing in the dim light shining off the Hummer’s dashboard console. “You’re certainly popular. What’s going on?”
Spencer tried to laugh. “Um, nothing.”
Mona glanced at Spencer’s main text message window. “Emily, huh? Did Justin show up?”
“Um…” Spencer swallowed audibly, her throat catching.
Mona’s smile evaporated. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“N-nothing’s going on,” Spencer stammered.
Mona scoffed, tossing a lock of hair behind her shoulders. Her pale skin glowed in the darkness. “What, is it a secret? Am I not good enough to know or something?”
“Of course not,” Spencer squeaked. “It’s just…I…”
They rolled to a red light. Spencer looked back and forth, then slowly pressed the Hummer’s UNLOCK button. As she curled her fingers around the door handle, Mona grabbed her other wrist.
“What are you doing?” Mona’s eyes glowed in the traffic light’s red glare. Her head swiveled from Spencer’s phone back to Spencer’s panicked face. Spencer could see the realization floo
ding over Mona—it was like watching black and white turn to color in The Wizard of Oz. Mona’s expression went from confusion to shock to…glee. She pressed the car door’s LOCK button again. When the light turned green, she gunned the engine and made a stomach-churning left through the intersection and veered off onto a bumpy, two-lane country road.
Spencer watched as the odometer climbed from fifty to sixty to seventy. She clutched her door handle tightly. “Where are we going?” she asked in a small, terrified voice.
Mona glanced at Spencer sideways, a sinister smile pasted on her face. “You were never one for patience.” She winked and blew Spencer a kiss. “But this time you’ll just have to wait and see.”
35
THE CHASE IS ON
Since Hanna had arrived at the party in a limo and Emily’s mother had driven her, their only vehicle option was Aria’s clunky, unpredictable Subaru. Aria led the others through the parking lot, her green suede flats slapping against the pavement. She manually unlocked the door and threw herself into the driver’s seat. Hanna sat in the front passenger seat, and Emily pushed aside all of Aria’s books, empty coffee cups, spare clothes, skeins of yarn, and a pair of stacked-heel boots, and climbed into the back. Aria had her cell phone wedged between her chin and her shoulder—she’d called Wilden to see if Spencer and Mona had shown up at the police station. But after the eighth unanswered ring, she hung up in frustration.
“Wilden isn’t at his desk,” she said. “And he’s not answering his cell, either.” They were quiet for a moment, all lost in their own thoughts. How could Mona be A? Aria thought. How could Mona know so much about us? Aria went over everything Mona had done to her—threatened her with that Wicked Queen doll, sent Sean the pictures that got Ezra arrested, sent Ella the letter that splintered her family apart. Mona had hit Hanna with a car, outed Emily to the school, and made them think that Spencer had killed Ali. Mona had had a hand in Toby Cavanaugh’s death…and maybe Ali’s, too.
Hanna was staring straight ahead, her eyes wide and unblinking, as if she was possessed. Aria touched her hand. “Are you sure about this?”
Hanna nodded fitfully. “Yes.” Her face was pale and her lips looked dry.
“Do you think it was a good idea that we texted Spencer?” Emily asked, checking her phone for the billionth time. “She hasn’t written back again.”
“Maybe they’re in the police station now,” Aria answered, trying to stay calm. “Maybe Spencer turned off her phone. And maybe that’s why Wilden isn’t answering.”
Aria looked at Hanna. There was a big, glistening tear rolling down her cheek, past her bruises and her stitches. “It’s my fault if Spencer is hurt,” Hanna whispered. “I should have remembered sooner.”
“It’s absolutely not your fault,” Aria said sternly. “You can’t control when you remember things.” She placed a hand on Hanna’s arm, but Hanna wrenched it away, using her hands to cover her face. Aria had no idea how to console her. What must that feel like, to realize that your best friend was also your worst enemy? Hanna’s best friend had tried to kill her.
Suddenly, Emily gasped too. “That picture,” she whispered.
“What picture?” Aria asked, starting the car and speeding out of the lot.
“That…that picture Spencer showed us of Ali and Ian. The one with the writing on it? I knew I’d seen it before. Now I know where.” Emily let out a laugh of disbelief. “I was in the yearbook room a couple days ago. And there were these pictures of the insides of people’s bags. That’s where I saw that picture.” She raised her eyes, looking around at the others. “In Mona’s bag. But I only saw Ali’s arm. The pink sleeve was frayed and had a tiny rip.”
The police station was only a mile or so away, right next to Hooters. It was amazing that Aria and Mike had been there just hours before. When they pulled into the lot, all three of them leaned forward over the dash. “Shit.” There were eight squad cars in the parking lot, and that was it. “They’re not here!”
“Calm down.” Aria turned off the car’s headlights. They all jumped out quickly, sprinting for the police station entrance. The fluorescent light inside was greenish and harsh. Several cops stopped and stared at them, their mouths hanging open. The little green waiting benches were all empty except for a few random pamphlets about what you should do if you were the victim of a car theft.
Wilden appeared from around a corner, his cell phone in one hand, a mug of coffee in another. When he saw Hanna and Emily in their party dresses with their masks dangling from their wrists, and Aria in her Rosewood Day uniform with a big bruise on her head, he squinted in confusion. “Hi, girls,” he said slowly. “What’s going on?”
“You have to help us,” Aria said. “Spencer is in trouble.”
Wilden stepped forward, gesturing for them to sit on the benches. “How so?”
“The texts we’ve been getting,” Aria explained. “What I was telling you about earlier today. We know who they’re from.”
Wilden stood up, alarmed. “You do?”
“It’s Mona Vanderwaal,” Hanna said, her voice breaking into a sob. “That’s what I remembered. It’s my best frickin’ friend.”
“Mona…Vanderwaal?” Wilden’s eyes traveled from one girl to another. “The girl who planned your party?”
“Spencer Hastings is in the car with Mona now,” Emily said. “They were supposed to be coming here—Spencer had something to tell you. But then I sent her a text, warning her about Mona…and now we don’t know where they are. Spencer’s phone is shut off.”
“Have you tried to reach Mona?” Wilden asked.
Hanna stared at the linoleum floor. Off in the police bullpen, a phone rang, and then another. “I did. She didn’t pick up either.”
Suddenly, Wilden’s cell phone lit up in his hand. Aria caught a glimpse of the number in the preview screen. “That’s Spencer!” she cried.
Wilden flipped it open but didn’t say hello. He pressed the speakerphone button, then looked around at the girls, a finger to his lips. Shhh, he mouthed.
Aria and her old best friends crowded around the little phone. At first, there was only white noise. Then they heard Spencer’s voice. It sounded far away. “I always thought Swedesford Road was so pretty,” she said. “So many trees, especially in this secluded part of town.”
Aria and Emily exchanged a confused glance. And then, Aria understood—she’d seen this once in a TV show she’d watched with her brother. Mona must have figured it out—and Spencer must have managed to secretly call Wilden to give him clues about where Mona was taking her.
“So…why are we turning down Brainard Road?” Spencer asked very loudly and brightly. “This isn’t the way to the police station.”
“Duh, Spencer,” they heard Mona say back.
Wilden flipped open his pad and wrote down Brainard Road. A few other cops had gathered around them. Emily quietly explained what was going on, and one of the cops brought out a large, foldout map of Rosewood, highlighting the intersection of Swedesford and Brainard with a yellow marker.
“Are we going to the stream?” Spencer’s voice rang out again.
“Maybe,” Mona singsonged.
Aria’s eyes widened. The Morrell Stream was more of a gushing river.
“I just love the stream,” Spencer said loudly.
Then there was a gasp and a shriek. They heard a few bumping noises, a squeal of tires, the dissonant tone of a bunch of phone buttons being pressed at once…and then nothing. Wilden’s cell phone screen blinked. Call Lost.
Aria sneaked a look at the others. Hanna had her head buried in her hands. Emily looked like she was going to faint. Wilden stood up, put his phone back in its holster, and pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “We’ll try all the stream entrances in that area.” He pointed to a big burly cop sitting behind a desk. “See if you can do a GPS trace on this phone call.” Then he turned and headed for his car.
“Wait,” Aria said, running after him. Wilden turned. “We’re comi
ng.”
Wilden’s shoulders dropped. “This isn’t—”
“We’re coming,” Hanna said behind Aria, her voice strong and steely.
Wilden raised one shoulder and sighed. He gestured to the back of the squad car. “Fine. Get in.”
36
AN OFFER SPENCER CAN’T REFUSE
Mona grabbed Spencer’s phone out of her hands, hit END, and tossed it out the window, all without changing the Hummer’s speed. She then made an abrupt U-turn, backtracked down bumpy, narrow Brainard Road, and got on the highway heading south. They drove for about five miles and got off the exit near the Bill Beach burn clinic. More horse farms and housing developments flew past, and the road devolved into woods. It wasn’t until they swept by the old, dilapidated Quaker church that Spencer realized where they were really going—the Floating Man Quarry.
Spencer used to play in the big lake at the base of Floating Man Quarry. Kids used to cliff-dive off the upper rocks, but last year, during a drought-filled summer, a public-school boy had dived off the rocks and died, making Floating Man’s name seem eerie and prophetic. These days, there were rumors that the boy’s ghost lived at the quarry’s perimeter, guarding the lake. Spencer had even heard whispers that the Rosewood Stalker had his lair here. She glanced at Mona, feeling a shiver run up her spine. She had a feeling the Rosewood Stalker was driving this Hummer.
Spencer had her fingernails pressed so deeply into the center armrest that she was certain they would leave permanent marks. Calling Wilden and giving her location had been her only plan, and now she was completely trapped.
Mona glanced at Spencer out of the corner of her eye. “So, I guess Hanna remembered, huh?”
Spencer’s nod was barely perceptible.
“She shouldn’t have remembered,” Mona chanted. “She knew remembering would put all of you in danger. Just like Aria shouldn’t have told the cops. I sent her to Hooters as a test to see if she’d really listen to my warnings—the Hooters is so close to the police station, after all. The cops are always there—so it would be tempting to tell them everything. And obviously, she did.” Mona threw her hands up in the air. “Why do you girls continue to do such stupid things?”