Sara Shepard - [Pretty Little Liar 06] - Killer (mobi).mobi

by Killer (mobi)

  “I thought I saw you come up here,” he said.

  Emily glanced at the ledger again—it was hard to switch gears, from Jason to Isaac. She lowered her head, unable to meet his gaze. Everything they’d said to each other the night before whooshed through her head, way too present.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to be up here,” Isaac said. “My dad said this hall is for employees only.”

  “I was just leaving,” Emily mumbled, starting for the door.

  “Wait.” Isaac perched on the arm of the dusty leather couch. A few quiet seconds passed. He sighed. “The picture you told me about, the one with your face cut out? I found it last night. In the junk drawer in the kitchen. And…and I confronted my mom. She lost it.”

  Emily’s mouth dropped open; she could barely believe her ears. Isaac leapt from the arm of the couch and knelt by Emily’s side. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m a jerk—and now I’ve probably lost you. Can you ever forgive me?”

  Emily bit the inside of her cheek. She knew she should feel good right now—or at least justified—but instead, she felt even worse. It would be so easy to tell Isaac it was fine. They were fine. But what he’d done yesterday stung. He hadn’t even considered believing her. He’d immediately jumped to conclusions, certain she was lying.

  She moved away from him, bent down, and picked up the ledger. The cover of the book was thickly coated with dust and soot. “I might forgive you someday,” she said, “but not today.”

  “W-what?” Isaac cried.

  Emily shoved the book under her arm, biting back tears. Even though she hated telling Isaac something that would hurt him, she knew it was the right thing to do. “I have to go,” she blurted out.

  She ran down the stairs as fast as she could. At the landing, she heard a familiar giggle from the other side of the room. She sucked in her stomach, looking nervously around. The crowd shifted, and the laugh dissipated. The only person Emily recognized across the ballroom was Maya. She was standing against the wall, holding a martini, and staring fixedly at Emily, a whisper of a smile across her wide, glossy lips.

  Killer

  27

  DÉJÀ VU…REVEALED

  Hanna skidded across the slippery marble floor, coming to a stop. This hotel was a maze, and somehow, she’d managed to retrace her steps and was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling tapestry of Napoleon yet again. She looked right and left, searching for Mike. The crowd of partiers was so thick, she didn’t see him anywhere.

  She passed the throne room and heard a familiar voice. Inside was Noel Kahn, draped over the large, velvet throne, his shoulders shaking with laughter. There was an upside-down champagne bucket on his head, a makeshift crown.

  Hanna groaned. It was unbelievable what Noel could get away with at Rosewood parties, just because his parents bankrolled the town.

  She marched up to him and poked his arm. Noel turned and brightened. “Hanna!” He smelled as if he’d drunk a whole bathtub of tequila.

  “Where’s Mike?”

  Noel threw his legs over the chair. His pant legs rose slightly, revealing blue-and-red argyle socks. “Don’t know. But I should kiss you.”

  Ugh. “Why?”

  “Because,” he slurred. “You won me five hundred bucks.”

  She stepped back. “Excuse me?”

  Noel brought his cocktail, a reddish drink that looked a lot like Red Bull and vodka, to his lips. Liquid dribbled down his shirt and pooled on the seat of the chair. A few Quaker school girls sitting on paisley-upholstered footstools nudged one another, giggling. How could they think Noel was hot? If this were really Versailles, Noel wouldn’t be the Louis XIV. He’d be the French version of the village idiot.

  “The whole lax team had a bet going to see who Mike could get to take him to the prom,” Noel explained. “You or your hottie stepsister. We made the bet after you started throwing yourselves at him. I’m going to give Mike half my winnings for being such a good sport.”

  Hanna ran her hands along the piece of her Time Capsule flag, which she’d tied to the chain of her Chanel purse. She felt the color drain from her face.

  Noel nudged his head toward the door. “If you don’t believe me, ask Mike yourself.”

  Hanna turned. Mike was leaning against one of the Grecian-style columns, smiling at a girl from Tate Prep. Hanna let out a low growl and made a beeline to him. When Mike saw her, he grinned sheepishly.

  “Your teammates bet on us?” Hanna screeched. The Tate girl quickly skittered away.

  Mike sipped his wine, shrugging. “It’s no different than what you girls were doing. Except the other guys on the lax team were playing for money. What were you playing for? Tampons?”

  Hanna ran her hand over her forehead. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Mike was supposed to be vulnerable and weak, a victim. And all along, he’d known they’d been competing. All along, he’d been playing her.

  She sighed, weary. “So I guess our prom date is off?”

  Mike looked surprised. “I don’t want it to be.”

  Hanna searched his face. “Really?” Mike shook his head. “So then…you don’t care that you were just some…bet?”

  Mike glanced at her bashfully, then looked away. “Not if you don’t.”

  Hanna tried her best to hide her smile—and her relief. She nudged him hard in the ribs. “Well, you’d better give me half your winnings.”

  “And you’d better give me half your…” Mike stopped, making a face. “Never mind. I don’t need half your tampons. We’ll use the winnings for a bottle of Cristal for the prom, how’s that?” And then, he brightened even more. “And for a motel room.”

  “A motel?” Hanna glared at him. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

  “Honey, with me, you won’t care where we’re at,” Mike said in the slimiest voice Hanna had ever heard. She stifled a groan, leaning into him. He leaned into her too, until their foreheads touched. “Honestly?” Mike whispered, his voice softening and becoming almost tender. “I always liked you better.”

  Hanna’s insides turned over. Giddy shivers scampered up her back. Their faces were very close, with only a small column of air hanging between them. Then Mike reached forward and pushed the hair out of Hanna’s eyes. Hanna giggled nervously. Their lips met. Mike’s mouth was warm, and he tasted like red wine. Tingles shot from Hanna’s head to all ten toes.

  “Yeah!” Noel Kahn bellowed from across the room, nearly tumbling off the throne. Hanna and Mike shot apart. Mike pumped his fist, his blazer sliding down his arm. He was still wearing his yellow rubber Rosewood Day lacrosse bracelet. Hanna sighed, resigned. There were all kinds of queer things she’d have to get used to, now that she was dating a lacrosse boy.

  There was a loud crunch of static, and a fast, upbeat song blared over the loudspeakers. Hanna peeked into the ballroom. The orchestra section had vanished, and there was a DJ booth in its place. The DJ was dressed up in a long, Louis XIV–style curly wig, pantaloons, and a long robe. “Shall we?” Mike asked, offering his hand.

  Hanna stood up and followed him. Across the ballroom, Naomi, Riley, and Kate were lined up on a chaise, watching. Naomi looked annoyed, but Kate and Riley had little smiles on their faces, almost as if they were happy for Hanna. After a moment, Hanna shot Kate a small smile back. Who knew, maybe Kate really did want to be friends. Maybe Hanna could let bygones be bygones too.

  Mike started writhing around her, practically humping her leg, and she kicked him away, laughing. When the song ended, the DJ leaned into the microphone. “I’m taking requests,” he said in a smooth voice. “Here’s one right now.”

  Everyone froze in anticipation. A few chords filled the air. The beat was slower, more subdued. Mike waved his hand. “What loser requested this?” he scoffed, marching toward the DJ booth to find out.

  A few notes filled the room. Hanna stopped, cocking her head. She recognized the singer, but she didn’t know why.

  Mike was back. “It’s som
eone called Elvis Costello,” he announced. “Whoever that is.”

  Elvis Costello. At the same time, the chorus began. Alll-i-son, I know this world is killing you…

  Hanna’s mouth dropped open. She knew why this song was familiar: A few months ago, someone had been singing it in her shower.

  Al-i-son, my aim is true…

  When Hanna emerged in the hall that day, she saw Wilden wrapped in her favorite white Pottery Barn towel. Wilden had looked startled. When Hanna asked why he was singing that song—only a crazy person would sing that within a hundred square miles of Rosewood these days—Wilden had reddened. “Sometimes, I don’t notice I’m singing.”

  A spark caught fire in Hanna’s brain. Sometimes, I don’t notice I’m singing! Ali had said that in the dream this morning. She’d also said, If you find it, I’ll tell you all about it. The two of them. Was Ali trying to say that Wilden was somehow linked with Ali’s murder?

  And then the déjà vu feeling she’d had when Wilden had backed out of the driveway slammed back to her. It was because of Wilden’s car, the old black thing he was driving around while his cruiser was in the shop. She’d seen that car before, many years ago. It was the car parked at the DiLaurentises’ the day Hanna and the others had tried to steal Ali’s flag.

  “Hanna?” Mike said, gazing at her curiously. “You okay?”

  Hanna shook her head faintly. Ali’s dream looped through her mind. Go fish, Ali had said over and over again when Hanna asked who she was talking about. The words stood for Wilden…and Hanna understood that too. That sticker in the foot well, the one that had the fish logo on it. Hanna knew where she’d seen the sticker last: The DiLaurentises had one exactly like it. The pass granted them access to their gated community at the Poconos. But so what? Lots of people vacationed there; maybe Wilden’s family had too. Why had Wilden tried to hide the sticker? Why had he been so secretive about it?

  Unless Wilden needed it to be a secret.

  Hanna staggered crookedly to the nearest chair and sank down. “What is it?” Mike kept asking. She shook her head, unable to answer. Maybe Wilden did have a secret. He’d been acting so strange lately. Skulking around. Having hushed conversations on his cell phone. Not being where he said he would be. So quick to blame the girls for Ian’s disappearance. Sneaking around Ali’s old yard. Driving like a maniac to get Hanna home, practically killing her. Wearing that hood like the figure that had hovered over Hanna in the woods the night they’d discovered Ian’s body. Maybe he was the figure.

  What if I told you there’s something you don’t know? Ian had said to Spencer on her porch. Something big. I think the cops know about it, too, but they’re ignoring it. They’re trying to frame me. And then his IMs: They found out I knew. I had to run.

  The ballroom whirled with people. There were security guards at each entrance and more than a few Rosewood cops, but Wilden wasn’t among them. Then a reflection in one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors caught Hanna’s eye. She saw a familiar face, with blue eyes and blond hair. Hanna stiffened. It was the Ali from her dream. But when she looked again, the face had morphed. Kirsten Cullen stood there instead.

  Mike was still staring at Hanna, his eyes wide and scared. “I have to go find your sister,” she said, touching his hand. “But I’ll be back. I promise.”

  And then she shot across the ballroom. Somebody was hiding something, all right. And this time, they couldn’t turn to the cops for help.

  Killer

  28

  CREEPIER AND CREEPIER

  By the time Aria finally fought through the snarl of traffic in line to park at the Radley opening, she was over an hour late. She tossed her keys to the valet and searched the crowd of bouncers, formally dressed partygoers, and photographers for Emily, but she wasn’t anywhere.

  After Jason had found Aria in his apartment earlier today and demanded she leave, Aria hadn’t known what to do. Finally, she’d driven to St. Basil’s cemetery and walked up the hills to Ali’s grave. The last time Aria was here, Ali’s casket wasn’t yet in the ground—Mr. and Mrs. DiLaurentis had held off on burying her, in denial that their daughter was truly dead. And although the DNA evidence still hadn’t come in that it truly was Ali’s body in the half-dug hole in the DiLaurentises’ backyard, the family must have faced reality, because Aria had heard that they’d finally interred Ali quietly last month, without a ceremony.

  Alison Lauren DiLaurentis, the headstone said. There was a new layer of freshly planted grass around her grave site, already stiff and frosty from the cold. Aria stared hard at the slab of marble, wishing Ali could talk. She wanted to tell Ali about the yearbook she’d found in Jason’s apartment. She wanted to ask about the inscription Wilden had written over Ian’s picture. What did Ian do that was so awful? And what happened to you? What don’t we know?

  A girl in a tight black tube dress stopped Aria at the Radley’s grand, double-doored entrance. “Do you have an invitation?” she asked, her voice nasal and condescending. Aria produced the invite Ella had sent her, and the girl nodded. Pulling her coat around her tight, Aria strode down the stone entrance and walked into the hotel. A bunch of Rosewood Day kids, including Noel Kahn, Mason Byers, Sean Ackard, and Naomi Zeigler, were on the dance floor, wriggling around to a remixed Seal song. After grabbing a flute of champagne and downing it in a few quick gulps, she started darting around the clusters of people, searching for Emily. She had to tell her about the yearbook.

  When she felt a tap on her shoulder, she turned. “You made it!” Ella cried, giving Aria a big hug.

  “H-hi.” Aria tried to smile. Ella wore a lacy sea green wrap around her shoulders and a sleek black silk sheath. Xavier was right next to her. He wore a pin-striped suit over a blue button-down and held a glass of champagne.

  “Nice to see you again, Aria.” Xavier’s eyes moved from Aria’s eyes to her boobs to her hips. Aria’s insides curdled. “How’s life at your father’s house?”

  “Fine, thank you,” Aria said stiffly. She tried to shoot Ella a private, pleading look, but her mom’s eyes were glassy. Aria wondered if she’d had a couple of drinks before they arrived. Ella often did that before a show.

  Noel Kahn’s father tapped Ella on her shoulder, and Aria’s mother turned to talk to him. Xavier moved closer to Aria and placed his hand on her hip. “I’ve missed you,” he said. His breath was hot and smelled like whiskey. “Have you missed me?”

  “I have to go now,” Aria said loudly, feeling color rise to her cheeks. She shot away from Xavier fast, ducking around a woman in a fluffy mink stole. She heard Ella call out, “Aria?” There was hurt and disappointment in her voice. But Aria kept going.

  She came to a stop in front of a large stained-glass window that featured a portrait of a pie-faced minstrel and his lute. When she felt a second tug on her arm, she cringed, worried Xavier had followed her. But it was only Emily. A few strands of her red-gold hair had loosened from her French twist, and her cheeks were flushed. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” Emily exclaimed.

  “I just got here,” Aria said. “Traffic was horrible.”

  Emily pulled a large, dusty green book from under her arm. Its pages were gilt-edged, and it reminded Aria of a volume of an encyclopedia. “Look at this.” Emily opened it up and pointed to a name in cursive. Jason DiLaurentis. There was a date and time next to his name from seven years ago.

  “I found it upstairs,” Emily explained. “This must be a sign-in book from back when this place was a mental hospital.”

  Aria blinked in disbelief. She raised her head, looking around. A handsome silver-haired man, presumably the hotel owner, glided through the crowd, looking pleased with his handiwork. There were displays throughout the ballroom describing the multimillion-dollar gym that had been built on the second floor, and the state-of-the-art spa facilities. She had heard something about this place once being a hospital for mentally ill children, but it was hard to believe that now.

  “Look.” Emily leafed from page to
page. “Jason’s name is here, and then here, and then here. It goes on like this for years. It stops right before we staked out Ali for her flag.” Emily lowered the book to her hip, giving Aria a plaintive look. “I know you have a thing for Jason. But this is weird. Do you think maybe he was…a patient?”

  Aria ran her hands through her hair. Is this some kind of joke? Jason had asked when Aria had shown him the Radley invitation. Her heart sank. Maybe he’d once been a patient here. Maybe he thought Aria was taunting him with the invite, paranoid that Aria knew way more about him than she’d let on.

  “Oh my God,” Aria croaked. “A sent me a text a couple days ago. It said Jason was hiding something from me, and I didn’t want to know what. I sort of…ignored it.” She lowered her eyes. “I thought A was messing with me. But…I…I went out with Jason a couple times. On one of our dates, he got really uncomfortable when I told him I was coming to a party here. He also told me that he saw a psychiatrist at Rosewood Day. Maybe that was in addition to the doctor he saw…here.” She stared at the book again. Jason’s name was written in achingly neat cursive, each letter looped and even.

  Emily nodded. “And I’ve been trying to tell you all day that A sent me a note last night telling me to go to Ali’s old neighborhood. I saw Jason in Jenna’s house. Yelling at her.”

  Aria sank down into the velvet chair next to the stained-glass window, filled with even more dread. “What were they saying?”

  Emily shook her head. “I don’t know. But they seemed upset. Maybe he really had done something terrible to Ali—and that’s why he was sent here.”

  Aria stared down at the polished marble floor. She could see a haloed reflection of her peacock-blue dress in the tiles. This whole week, Aria had been so irritated with Emily, convinced she wasn’t looking at the Ali and Jason situation objectively. But maybe Aria wasn’t either.

  Emily sighed. “We should probably talk to Wilden about this.”