Killer (7 page)

Spencer looked at Andrew. “It wouldn’t
kill me
to meet with her, I guess.”

A surprised and excited smile appeared on Andrew’s face. Spencer turned back to her Sidekick and hit reply, a giddy feeling spreading in her stomach. Squeezing Andrew’s hand, she took a deep breath, composed her message, and hit send. Just like that, the e-mail was gone.

6

STRANGERS NOT ON A TRAIN

The following morning, Aria’s brother, Mike, turned up the stereo in the family’s Subaru Outback. Aria winced as Led Zeppelin’s “Black Dog” snarled out of the speakers. “Can you turn it down a little?” she whined.

Mike kept bobbing his head. “It’s best to listen to Zeppelin at maximum volume. That’s what Noel and I do. Did you know the guys in the band were serious badasses? Jimmy Page rode his motorcycle down hotel hallways. Robert Plant threw TVs out windows onto the Sunset Strip.”

“Nope, can’t say I knew that,” Aria said dryly. Today, Aria had the unfortunate chore of driving Mike to school. Mike usually rode with his Typical Rosewood mentor, Noel Kahn, but Noel’s Range Rover was in the shop getting an even larger stereo installed. God forbid Mike take the bus.

Mike absentmindedly fiddled with the yellow rubber Rosewood Day lacrosse bracelet he wore nonstop on his right wrist. “So why are you living with Dad again?”

“I thought I should spend equal time with Ella and Byron,” Aria mumbled. She made a left-hand turn onto the long drive that led to the school, narrowly missing a fat squirrel darting across the road. “And we should get to know Meredith, don’t you think?”

“But she’s a puke machine.” Mike made a face.

“She’s not that bad. And they’re moving into that bigger house today.” Aria had overheard Byron breaking the news to Ella on the phone the night before, and she assumed Ella had told Mike and Xavier. “I’ll have a whole floor to myself.”

Mike gave her a suspicious look, but Aria stuck to her story.

Aria’s cell phone, which was nestled in her yak-fur bag, beeped. She glanced at it nervously. She hadn’t received a text from whoever this new A was since they’d discovered Ian’s body Saturday night, but like Emily had said the other day, Aria had the distinct feeling that she was going to get a text from A any second.

Taking a deep breath, she reached into her purse. The text was from Emily.
Pull around back. School is mobbed with news vans again
.

Aria groaned. The news vans had clogged up the school’s front drive the day before, too. Every media outlet in the tristate area had sunk their teeth into the Ian Dead Body story. On the 7
A.M.
news, reporters had canvassed the Rosewood Starbucks, random mothers waiting with their kids at school bus stops, and some people in the local DMV line, asking if they thought the cops had bungled the case. Most people said yes. Many were outraged that the police might be hiding something about Ali’s murder. Some of the more tabloidy newspapers concocted elaborate conspiracy theories—that Ian had used a body double in the woods, or that Ali had a long-lost cross-dressing cousin who was responsible not only for her murder, but also a string of killings in Connecticut.

Aria craned her neck over the line of Audis and BMWs that jammed the driveway to the school. Sure enough, there were five news vans parked in the bus lane, blocking traffic.

“Sweet!” Mike exclaimed, his eyes on the vans too. “Let me off here. That Cynthia Hewley’s hot. Think she’d do me?” Cynthia Hewley was the curvy blond reporter relentlessly covering Ian’s trial.
Every
guy at Rosewood Day hoped she’d do him.

Aria didn’t stop the car. “What would Savannah say about that?” She poked Mike’s arm. “Or have you forgotten you have a girlfriend?”

Mike flicked a toggle on his navy duffel coat. “I kind of don’t anymore.”

“
What?
” Aria had met Savannah at the Rosewood Day benefit, and thrillingly, she’d been normal and nice. Aria had always worried that Mike’s first real girlfriend would be a skanky, brainless Barbie on loan from Turbulence, the local strip club.

Mike shrugged. “If you must know, she broke up with me.”

“What did you do?” Aria demanded. Then she held up her hand, silencing him. “Actually, don’t tell me.” Mike had probably suggested Savannah start wearing crotchless panties or begged her to hook up with a girl and let him watch.

Aria drove around to the back of the school, past the soccer fields and the art barn. As she pulled into one of the last spaces in the back lot, she noticed a flapping sign on one of the lot’s tall, metal floodlights. time capsule,
THE WINTER EDITION, STARTS TODAY
!
HERE’S YOUR CHANCE TO BE IMMORTALIZED
! said big block letters.

“You’re
kidding
me,” Aria whispered. The school held the Time Capsule contest every year, although Aria had missed the last three because her family had been living in Reykjavík, Iceland. The game usually took place in the fall, but Rosewood Day had been tactful enough to suspend it this year after construction workers found Alison DiLaurentis’s dead body in the half-dug hole in her old backyard. But Rosewood wouldn’t dare skip out on their most venerable tradition entirely. What would the donors think?

Mike sat up straighter, spying the sign. “
Nice
. I have the perfect idea of how to decorate it.” He rubbed his palms together eagerly.

Aria rolled her eyes. “Are you going to draw unicorns on it? Write a poem about your bromance with Noel?”

Mike raised his nose in the air. “It’s way better than that. But if I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He waved to Noel Kahn, who was climbing out of James Freed’s Hummer, and dashed out of the car without saying good-bye.

Aria sighed, peering again at the Time Capsule sign. In sixth grade, the first year Aria had been able to play, Time Capsule had been a huge deal. But when Aria, Spencer, and the others had sneaked into Ali’s yard hoping to steal her piece, everything had gone so wrong. Aria pictured the shoe box at the back of her closet. She hadn’t been brave enough to look inside it for years. Maybe Ali’s piece of the flag had decomposed by now, just like her body.

“Ms. Montgomery?”

Aria jumped. A dark-haired woman with a microphone stood outside her car. Behind her was a guy holding a TV camera.

The woman’s eyes lit up when she saw Aria’s face. “Ms. Montgomery!” she cried, banging on Aria’s window. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

Aria gritted her teeth, feeling like a monkey in a zoo. She waved the woman off, started the car again, and backed out of the lot. The reporter ran alongside her. The cameraman kept his lens on Aria as she zoomed to the main road.

She had to get out of here. Now.

By the time Aria arrived at the Rosewood SEPTA station, the parking lot was almost full with the regular commuters’ Saabs, Volvos, and BMWs. She finally found a space, shoved a bunch of change into the meter, and stood on the edge of the platform. The train tracks were under a rusty trestle bridge. Across the road was a pet store that sold homemade dog food and costumes for cats.

There wasn’t a train in sight. Then again, Aria had been so frantic to leave Rosewood Day, it hadn’t occurred to her to check the SEPTA schedule. Sighing, she pushed into the little station house, which consisted of a ticket window, an ATM machine, and a small coffee counter that also sold books about train travel along the historic Main Line. A few people sat on the wooden benches that lined the room, languidly staring at the flat-screen television in the corner that was tuned to
Regis & Kelly
. Aria walked over to the posted train schedules on the far wall and discovered that the next train wouldn’t be leaving here for a half hour. Resigned, she plopped down on a bench. A few people gawked at her. She wondered if they recognized her from TV. Reporters had been dogging her since Sunday, after all.

“Hey,” a voice said. “I know you.”

Aria groaned, anticipating what was coming next.
You’re that murdered girl’s best friend! You’re that girl who was being stalked! You’re that girl who saw the dead body!
When she looked one bench over, her heart stopped. A familiar blond guy was sitting on a bench across the aisle, staring at her. Aria recognized his long fingers, his bow-shaped mouth, even the little mole on his cheekbone. She felt hot, then cold.

It was Jason DiLaurentis.

“H-hi,” Aria stammered. Lately, she’d been thinking a lot about Jason—especially the crush she used to have on him. It was weird to suddenly have him here, right in front of her.

“It’s Aria, right?” Jason closed the paperback book he’d been reading.

“That’s right.” Aria’s insides shimmered. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever heard Jason say her name before. Jason used to refer to Aria and the others as simply “the Alis.”

“You’re the one who made movies.” Jason’s blue eyes were steady on her.

“Yeah.” Aria felt herself blushing. They used to screen Aria’s pseudo-artsy movies in Ali’s den, and sometimes Jason would pause in the doorway to watch. Aria used to feel so self-conscious about him being there, but at the same time, she longed for him to comment on her movies. To say they were brilliant, maybe, or at the very least thought provoking.

“You were the only one with substance,” Jason added, giving her a kind, alluring smile. Aria’s insides turned over. Substance was good…right?

“Are you going into Philadelphia?” Aria blurted, groping for something to say. She instantly wanted to smack her forehead.
Duh
. Of course he was going into Philadelphia. This train line didn’t go anywhere else.

Jason nodded. “To Penn. I just transferred. I used to go to Yale.”

Aria refrained from saying
I know
. The day Ali told them Jason had gotten into Yale, his top-choice school, Aria had considered drawing him a
Congratulations
card. But she decided against it, afraid Ali would tease her.

“It’s great,” Jason went on. “I only have classes Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, and I get out early enough to take the three
P.M.
bullet train back to Yarmouth.”

“Yarmouth?” Aria repeated.

“My parents moved there for the trial.” Jason shrugged and riffled his paperback’s pages through his fingers. “I moved into the apartment above the garage. I figured they needed me to help them through this…stuff.”

“Right.” Aria’s stomach started to ache. She couldn’t imagine how Jason was dealing with Ali’s murder—not only had his old classmate killed her, but that he’d then vanished. She licked her lips, thinking of answers for what she guessed would be his next questions:
What was it like seeing Ian’s body in the woods? Where do you think it is now? Do you think someone moved it?

But Jason just sighed. “I usually get on at Yarmouth, but today I had something to do in Rosewood. So here I am.”

Outside, an Amtrak bullet train roared into the station. The other people who had been waiting stood up and clattered through the door to the platform. After the train roared away, Jason walked across the aisle and sat down right next to Aria. “So…don’t you have school?” he asked.

Aria opened her mouth, fumbling for an answer. Jason was suddenly so close to her, she could easily smell his nutty, spicy soap. It was intoxicating. “Uh, nope. It’s parent-teacher conference day.”

“Do you always wear your uniform on days off?” Jason pointed to the bottom hem of Aria’s plaid Rosewood Day skirt. It was peeking out under her long wool coat.

Aria felt her cheeks blaze. “I don’t usually ditch, I swear.”

“I won’t tell,” Jason teased. He leaned forward, making the bench creak. “You know the go-kart place on Wembley Road? Once I went there for the whole day. Drove that little car around and around for hours.”

Aria chuckled. “Was the lanky guy there? The one who wears head-to-toe NASCAR gear?” Mike used to be obsessed with that go-kart track—before he became obsessed with strippers and lacrosse.

“Jimmy?” Jason’s eyes sparkled. “Totally.”

“And he didn’t ask why you weren’t in school?” Aria asked, curling her hand over the bench’s armrest. “He’s usually so nosy.”

“Nope.” Jason poked her shoulder. “But
I
had sense enough to change out of my uniform so it wouldn’t be so obvious. Then again, the girls’ uniforms are way cuter than the guys’.”

Aria suddenly felt so bashful, she turned her head and stared fixedly at the row of potato chips and pretzels in the vending machine. Was Jason
flirting
?

Jason’s eyes gleamed. He breathed in, maybe about to say something else. Aria hoped he was about to ask her on a date—or maybe even for her phone number. Then the conductor’s voice blared over the loudspeaker, announcing that the eastbound train to Philadelphia would arrive in three minutes.

“I guess that’s us,” Aria said, zipping up her jacket. “Want to ride together?”

But Jason didn’t answer. When Aria looked over, he was staring at the television. His skin had turned pale and his mouth was a taut, distressed line. “I…uh…I just realized. I have to go.” He stood up sloppily, pulling his books into his chest.

“W-what? Why?” Aria cried.

Jason maneuvered around the benches, not answering. He bumped against Aria as he passed, upending her purse. “Oops,” she mumbled, wincing as a super-plus tampon and her lucky Beanie Baby cow spilled to the sticky concrete floor. “Sorry,” Jason muttered, pushing out the door to the parking lot.

Aria gazed after him, astonished. What the hell just happened? And why was Jason going back to his
car
…and not into the city?

Her cheeks burned with sudden awareness. Jason had probably realized how Aria felt about him. And maybe, because he didn’t mean to lead her on, he’d decided to drive into Philadelphia by himself instead of ride the train with her. How could she have been so stupid to think Jason was flirting? So what if he’d said she was the only one with substance, or that she looked cute in a skirt. So what that he’d given her Ali’s Time Capsule flag way back in the day. None of that necessarily meant anything. In the end, Aria was nothing more than one of the nameless Alis.