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.
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.