Killer (27 page)

She grabbed the next book under it. Jason’s name popped up through the summer between Emily’s third-and fourth-grade years, to the winter of her fourth, to the fall of her fifth, to the summer between her fifth and sixth. He’d visited here the weekend after the first day of school when Emily, Ali, and the others started sixth grade. A few days after that, the school had announced the kickoff of the Time Capsule game. She flipped to the page that logged the next weekend, when she and her old friends sneaked into Ali’s backyard to steal her flag. Jason’s name wasn’t there.

She flipped forward to the next weekend, about the time Ali had approached all of them at the Rosewood Day Prep Charity Drive, dubbing them her new BFFs. Still no Jason. She flipped ahead. His name didn’t show up again. The weekend after the first day of school was the last time his name appeared in the log book.

Emily lowered the book to her lap, feeling woozy. What on earth was Jason DiLaurentis’s name doing in a book in this dark, dank little office? She thought about the joke Ali had made years ago—
they should put him in the mental ward, where he belongs
. Had she been serious after all? Was Jason an outpatient here? Perhaps
this
was what Ali had meant when she told Jenna about sibling problems—maybe Ali told her Jason had issues, problems big enough that he needed to go to a
facility
for treatment. And maybe that was what Jenna and Jason were arguing about last night—he wanted to make sure that Jenna didn’t tell a soul.

She thought of how Jason’s face had twisted and reddened when he thought she’d bumped his car. He’d stepped so close to her, his fury palpable. What was Jason really capable of? What was Jason
hiding
?

There were footsteps in the hall. Emily froze. She heard someone breathing. Then a shadow appeared in the doorway. Emily started to tremble. “H-hello?” she croaked.

Isaac emerged into the light. He wore a white caterer’s suit and black shoes—Emily supposed his father was making him work tonight, now that he didn’t have a date. She shrank back, her heart beating hard.

“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.

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 someone 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.

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.