by Sara Shepard
They drove for almost a half hour. The sky was pitch-black, all of the stars twinkling brightly, everyone’s porch lights blazing. When Spencer closed her eyes, she saw that awful night Ali went missing. Last week, her foggy memory had conjured an image of Ali standing at the edge of the woods with Jason. But that vision shifted again, and the person she thought was Jason morphed into someone smaller, slighter, more feminine.
When had her mother finally come back to the house? Had she confronted Mr. Hastings about what he’d done—and revealed what she’d done? Maybe that was why he’d wired an exorbitant sum of money into the Alison DiLaurentis Recovery Fund. Surely a family that gave so much cash to the fund to help find Ali couldn’t be responsible for her murder.
Spencer’s cell phone beeped, and she jumped. Swallowing hard, she reached for her phone in her bag. One new text message, the screen said.
Your sister is counting on you to make this right, Spence. Or else the blood will be on your hands too.
—A
“Who’s that?” Spencer’s mom eased on the brakes for a red light. She unglued her eyes from the SUV stopped in front of her and glanced over at Spencer.
Spencer clapped her hand over her cell phone’s screen. “No one.” The light turned green, and Spencer squeezed her eyes shut again.
Your sister. Spencer had spent a lot of time resenting Ali, but that all felt wiped away now. She and Ali had shared the same dad, the same blood. She’d lost more than a friend that summer—she’d lost a family member.
Her mother veered off the main road and pulled the Mercedes into otto, Rosewood’s oldest and nicest Italian restaurant. Golden light shone from inside the building’s grotto dining room, and Spencer could almost smell garlic and olive oil and red wine. “We’re going out to dinner?” she said shakily.
“Not just dinner,” her mom said, pursing her lips. “Come on.”
The parking lot was clogged with cars. At the far end, Spencer saw two Rosewood police cars. Just beyond that, blond twins climbed out of a black SUV. They looked about thirteen and both were dressed in puffy jackets, wooly white hats, and the matching sweatpants that said KENSINGTON PREP FIELD HOCKEY in collegiate-style letters down the legs. Spencer and Ali sometimes used to wear their field hockey sweats on the same day, too. She wondered if anyone had ever glanced at them and thought they were twins. Spencer’s breath caught in her throat.
“Mom,” she said, her voice cracking.
Her mother turned. “Yes?”
Say something, a voice in Spencer’s head screamed. But her mouth felt welded shut.
“There she is!” Two figures were illuminated by floodlights across the parking lot, waving wildly at them. Mr. Hastings had changed from his work clothes into a blue polo shirt and khakis. Next to him, Melissa smiled primly, wearing a blue tulip-skirt dress and clutching a satin purse under her elbow. “Sorry I didn’t call you back,” her sister said as Spencer approached. “I was afraid if we talked, I’d ruin the surprise!”
“Surprise?” Spencer bleated weakly, distracted. She glanced at the police cars in the lot again. Say something, a voice in her head screamed. Your sister is counting on you.
Mrs. Hastings started toward the door. “Well? Should we go in?”
“Absolutely,” Mr. Hastings agreed.
“Wait!” Spencer cried.
Everyone stopped and turned. Her mother’s hair looked glossy under the lot’s fluorescent floodlights. Her dad’s cheeks were red from the cold. They were both smiling expectantly at her. And suddenly, Spencer realized her mother had no idea what Spencer was about to say. She hadn’t seen the photo of Mrs. DiLaurentis that Spencer was holding. She hadn’t known what Spencer and Ian had been IMing about just seconds before that. For the first time ever, Spencer felt sorry for her parents. She wished she could throw a blanket over them and protect them from this. She wished she’d never found this out in the first place.
But she had.
“Why did you guys do it?” she said quietly.
Mrs. Hastings took a step forward, one of her high heels making a solid clunk against the stone walkway. “Why did we do what?”
Spencer noticed then that cops were sitting inside the cars. She lowered her voice, directing her words at her mom. “I know what happened the night Ali died. You found out about dad and Mrs. DiLaurentis’s affair—you saw them at Ali’s house. And you found out how Ali was my . . . was Dad’s—”
Mrs. Hastings head jerked back like she’d been slapped. “What?”
“Spencer!” Mr. Hastings cried, appalled. “What the hell?”
The words were spilling out now. She barely even noticed that the wind had picked up and was biting into her skin. “Did it start when you were in law school together, Dad? Is this why you never told us that Mr. DiLaurentis was a student at Yale the same time you were—because something between you and Jessica had happened then, too? Is that why you never spoke to Ali’s family?”
Another car pulled into the lot. Her father didn’t respond. He just stood in the middle of the parking lot, bobbing ever so slightly back and forth like a buoy. Melissa dropped her clutch and bent quickly to retrieve it. Her mouth was open and her eyes looked glassy.
Spencer turned to her mother. “How could you have hurt her? She was my sister. And, Dad, how could you cover it up when she was your daughter?”
The bones in Mrs. Hastings’s face seemed to turn to ash. She blinked slowly, as if she’d just woken up.
She turned to her husband. “You and . . . Jessica?”
Spencer’s father opened his mouth to speak, but only a few unintelligible syllables came out.
“I knew it,” Mrs. Hastings whispered. Her voice was eerily calm and steady. A muscle in her neck twitched. “I asked you a million times, but you always said it wasn’t true.”
And then she lunged for Mr. Hastings and started pummeling him with her Gucci purse. “And you used to go over to her house? How many times did you do that? What the hell is wrong with you?”
It felt like all the air had drained from the parking lot. Spencer’s ears buzzed, and she processed the scene as if in slow motion. Everything was unfolding all wrong. Her mom was acting like she didn’t know. She thought back to Ian’s IMs. Was it possible that her mother hadn’t known any of this, that this was the first she’d heard of it . . . ever?
Her mother finally stopped hitting her dad. He wheeled back, gasping. Beads of sweat dripped down his face.
“Just admit it. For once, just tell me the truth,” she gasped.
The next few seconds stretched out forever. “Yes,” her father finally admitted, his head hung low.
Melissa shrieked. Mrs. Hastings let out a shrill wail. Her dad paced nervously.
Spencer closed her eyes for a long minute. When she opened them again, Melissa had disappeared. Mrs. Hastings turned to her husband again. “How long did this go on?” she demanded. Ropy veins stood out at her temples. “And was she yours?”
Mr. Hastings’s shoulders shook. A thin, guttural sound escaped from his lips. He covered his face with his hands. “I didn’t know about the kids until later.”
Mrs. Hastings backed up, her teeth bared and her fists clenched. “When I come home tonight, I want you gone,” she roared.
“Veronica—”
“Go!”
After a pregnant pause, her father did as she asked. A moment later, his Jaguar revved to life and he gunned his way out of the parking lot, leaving his family behind.
“Mom.” Spencer reached for her mom’s shoulder.
“Leave me alone,” her mother snapped, collapsing against the stone wall just outside the restaurant. Happy Italian accordion music tinkled out through the outdoor speakers. Inside the restaurant, someone let out a high-pitched laugh.
“I thought you knew,” Spencer said desperately. “I thought you found out about this the night Ali went missing. You seemed so distracted the next day, like you’d done something awful. I thought this was why we couldn’t ever ta
lk about that night.”
Her mother whirled around, her eyes wild, her lipstick smudged. “You honestly think I could have killed that girl?” she hissed. “Am I really that much of a monster to you?”
“No!” Spencer squeaked in a tiny voice. “I just—”
“You just nothing,” her mother growled, shaking a finger at her so violently, Spencer took a couple of frightened steps back into the flower beds. “You know why I told you we should never talk about that night, Spencer? Because your best friend went missing. Because Ali’s disappearance has taken over your life and you need to move on. Not because I murdered her!”
“I’m sorry!” Spencer wailed. “It was just that . . . I mean, Melissa couldn’t find you that night and she seemed so—”
“I was out with friends,” her mother boomed. “Late. And the only reason I even remember that is because the police asked me about it nearly fifty times over the next few days!”
There was a cough behind them. Melissa was crumpled next to a small topiary. Spencer grabbed her arm. “Why did you tell Dad over and over that you needed to find Mom?”
Melissa shook her head, baffled. “What?”
“You guys were at the door that night and you kept saying, ‘We need to find Mom. We need to find Mom.’”
Melissa gaped at Spencer helplessly. Then, her eyes doubled in size, the memory coming to her. “You mean when I asked Dad about needing a ride to the airport to catch my flight to Prague?” she said weakly. “I knew I’d be too hungover, but Dad basically told me tough luck. I should’ve thought about that before getting drunk.” She blinked at Spencer in bewilderment.
A family with a young girl got out of a minivan. The husband and wife were holding hands, smiling at each other. The girl stared curiously at Spencer, her thumb in her mouth, before following her parents inside the restaurant.
“But . . .” Spencer felt dizzy. The smell of olive oil floating from the restaurant was suddenly overpoweringly putrid. She searched her sister’s stricken face. “You weren’t fighting with Dad because Mom found out about the affair? You didn’t run back to Ian and say, ‘My dad is having an affair with Mrs. DiLaurentis, and I think my mom went and did something horrible’ ?”
“Ian?” Melissa interrupted, her eyebrows shooting up. “I never said that. When did he tell you that?”
Spencer ground to a halt. “Today. He said he’s been IMing you, too.”
“What?” Melissa exploded.
Spencer clutched the sides of her head, feeling disoriented. Ian, Melissa, and her mother’s words mixed together in a hazy swirl, twisting and blending until she had no idea what was the truth.
Was Spencer even IMing Ian at all? She’d been IMing someone who claimed he was Ian, but did she really know for sure?
“But what about what you and Mom have been whispering about all week?” Spencer begged, desperate to make sense of the situation, to justify what she’d just done.
“We were planning a special dinner for you.” Her mom looked up, the fight suddenly draining from her voice. Melissa uttered a sigh of disgust and walked away. “Andrew and Kristen Cullen are in there. We were going to take you all to the new production of The Importance of Being Earnest at the Walnut Street Theater.”
Goose bumps rose on Spencer’s arms. Her stomach roiled. Her family had been trying to show how much they loved her, and look what she’d done.
Tears began to cascade down Spencer’s cheeks. Of course her mother hadn’t killed Alison. Her mother hadn’t even known about the affair. Whoever had IMed her had lied.
A shadow fell over her. When she turned, she saw a gray-haired, stern-looking Rosewood cop. His gun gleamed in his belt.
“Miss Hastings,” the cop said, shaking his head solemnly. “You’re going to have to come with me.”
“W-what?” Spencer shrieked. “Why?”
“It would be better if you did this quietly,” the cop murmured. Wordlessly, he stepped in front of her, nudging her mother out of the way. He pinned Spencer’s hands behind her back, and she felt cold, hard metal on her wrists.
“No!” Spencer cried. It was happening so quickly. She looked over her shoulder. Her mother just stood there, mascara running down her cheeks, her mouth a small O. “Why are you doing this?” she begged the officer.
“Communicating with a criminal on the lam is a serious crime,” he said. “Conspiracy after the fact. And we have the IMs to prove it.”
“IMs?” Spencer repeated, her heart sinking into her gut. The IMs from Ian. Had one of the cops overheard what she just said to her family? Had Melissa run to the police and told on her?
“You don’t understand!” she pleaded. “I wasn’t conspiring with anyone! I don’t even think those IMs are from Ian!”
But the cop wasn’t paying any attention. He opened the door to the backseat, placed a hand on Spencer’s head, and shoved her inside. He slammed his own door shut, then pulled out of the lot, sirens blaring, lights flashing, heading straight to the Rosewood police station.
Chapter 28 Now Who’s the Crazy One?
Hanna skidded down the Preserve hall past the cafeteria, arriving at the entrance to Iris’s secret lair. “Let me in, Iris,” she snarled. She pressed her ear to the door, but there weren’t any sounds from upstairs.
Hanna had been looking for Iris for the past hour, but Iris seemed to have vanished. She wasn’t in the theater watching Ella Enchanted with the other patients. She wasn’t in the dining room, the gym, or the spa. Aggravated, Hanna leaned against the locked door. There were a few doodles on the jamb. At the top left corner was the name Courtney, Iris’s old roommate. Next to Courtney’s name was a winking smiley face. Hanna was dying to get back inside the attic and see the drawing of Ali—she had no idea how she’d missed it when she was up there.
Hanna was sure Iris knew Ali, she just didn’t know how. From Jason, perhaps? Iris had said she’d stayed at different facilities besides this one; perhaps she’d been at the Radley, where Jason had been treated. She could have met Ali when she came to visit her brother, instantly striking up a friendship that turned to jealousy. The day after Ali went missing, Ali’s mom grilled them with questions they couldn’t answer. Did Ali ever talk about anyone teasing her? Certainly no one from Rosewood would tease Ali . . . but someone from a mental hospital might. When Hanna and Ali had been trying on clothes in her closet and Ali had gotten that prank call, maybe it had been Iris moaning on the other end, not Jason. Perhaps Iris was furious that Ali was able to come and go from the hospital, whereas she was condemned inside. Or maybe Iris was simply jealous that Ali was Ali.
She’s psychotic, Tara had warned Hanna in the hall a few days ago. Don’t cross her. Hanna should have listened.
And maybe . . . just maybe . . . Iris had killed Ali. Iris had told Hanna that she’d been out of the hospital at the exact same time Ali had vanished. Hanna thought of that letter with the slash through it on Ali’s Time Capsule flag—it might have been a J, but it also could’ve been an I. For Iris. Had A sent Hanna to the Preserve so she’d learn about Iris . . . or was Iris A, leading Hanna right into her trap?
She wants to hurt you, Ali had said.
Hanna jogged down the hall, her Tory Burch flip-flops smacking against the soles of her feet. As she rounded the corner, a nurse stopped her. “No running, honey.”
Hanna paused, out of breath. “Have you seen Iris?”
The nurse shook her head. “No, but she’s probably watching the movie with the other girls. Why don’t you go in too? There’s popcorn!”
Hanna wanted to smack the cheerful grin off her face. “We need to find Iris. It’s serious.”
The nurse’s smile wilted a little. There was a flicker of fear behind her eyes, as if Hanna was a homicidal maniac. Then Hanna spied a red phone on the wall.
“Can I use that?” Hanna begged. She could call the Rosewood PD and tell them everything.
“Sorry, sweetie, but that phone is switched off until four P.M. on Sunday. You know t
he rules.” The nurse gently took Hanna’s elbow and began guiding her back toward the patient rooms. “Why don’t you get some rest? Betsy can bring you an aromatherapy eye mask.”
Hanna wrenched away. “I. Need. To. Find. Iris. She’s a killer. She wants to hurt me, too!”
“Honey . . .” The nurse’s gaze flickered to the red emergency button on the wall. Staff could press it to summon help with a patient disturbance.
“Hanna?”
Hanna spun around. Iris stood about ten paces away, leaning casually against the water bubbler. Her blond hair gleamed, her teeth so white they almost looked blue.
“Who are you?” Hanna whispered, walking toward her.
Iris pursed her ultra-red lips. “What do you mean? I’m Iris. And I’m fabulous.”
A bolt of electricity slashed through Hanna’s chest as Iris parroted Ali’s old mantra. “Who are you?” she repeated, louder.
The nurse swept forward and stepped between them. “Hanna, honey, you seem really excited. Let’s just calm down.”
But Hanna didn’t listen. She stared into Iris’s wide, glowing eyes. “How do you know Alison?” she cried. “Were you in the hospital with her brother? Did you kill her? Are you A?”
“Alison?” Iris chirped. “That friend of yours who was murdered? The one you told me you wanted dead? The one you thought got what she deserved?”
Hanna backed up, keenly aware that the nurse was still standing right behind her. A few stunned seconds crept by. “I was just . . . talking. It’s not true. And I told you that in confidence. When I thought we were friends.”
Iris threw her head back in cruel laughter. “Friends!” she hooted, as if it was the punch line to a joke.