“No one will ever know about Jamaica,” Spencer growled now. “Ali’s body is gone.”
Emily’s phone bleated again. Gayle. A beep followed. Six new voicemail messages, the screen announced.
“Maybe you should listen to those,” Hanna whispered.
Emily shook her head, her hands trembling.
“Put the call on speaker,” Aria suggested. “We’ll listen with you.”
Drawing her bottom lip into her mouth, Emily did as she was told and played the first message. “Heather, it’s Gayle.” A harsh voice blared through the car. “You haven’t returned my calls in days, and I’m worried. You didn’t have the baby a few days early, did you? Were there some complications? I’m calling Jefferson to make sure.”
“Who’s Heather?” Spencer whispered nervously.
“It’s the fake name I gave everyone this summer,” Emily said. “I even applied for my job using a fake ID I bought on South Street. I didn’t want anyone making the connection that I was Alison DiLaurentis’s best friend. Someone might have told the press I was pregnant, and then my parents would’ve found out.” She stared at her phone. “God, she sounds really pissed.”
Gayle’s second message followed. “Heather, it’s Gayle again. Okay, I called Jefferson—that is where you’ve scheduled your C-section, right? No one on the staff will tell me what’s going on. Can you please pick up and tell me where the hell you are?”
The tones of the third and fourth messages increased in intensity and frustration. “Okay, I’m at Jefferson now,” Gayle said in the fifth message. “I just talked to an orderly, and they don’t have any record of anyone named Heather in the maternity ward, but then I described what you look like and she said you are here. Why didn’t you call me? Where the hell is the baby?”
“What do you want to bet she bribed the orderly?” Emily murmured. “So much for checking in under my real name to throw Gayle off the scent.” Checking in under Emily Fields had been a risk—even though Emily gave a PO box in Philly as her address and planned to use her babysitting savings to pay the hospital bill, what if, for some reason, her parents called Jefferson and found out she’d been there? But since Gayle knew her only as Heather, using her real name seemed like an easy way to lose her.
By the sixth message, Gayle had figured it out. “This was a setup, wasn’t it?” she growled. “You had the baby and you left, didn’t you? Was this your intention all along, bitch? Did you plan to scam me from the start? Do you think I give out fifty thousand dollars to just anyone? Do you think I’m an idiot? I’m going to find you. I’m going to hunt you and that baby down, and then you’ll be sorry.”
“Whoa,” Aria whispered.
“Oh my God.” Emily flipped her phone closed. “I should have never promised her anything. I know we gave it back, but I should have never taken her money in the first place. She’s crazy. Now do you guys see why I’m doing this?”
“Of course we do,” Aria said quietly.
The infant started to whimper. Emily stroked her tiny head, and then, steeling herself, pushed open the car door and stepped into the chilly air. “Let’s do this.”
“Em, don’t.” Aria opened her own door and grabbed Emily’s arm just as Emily fell against the side of the car, clearly in pain. “The doctor said you shouldn’t strain, remember?”
“I need to get the baby to the Bakers.” Emily pointed woozily to the house.
Aria paused. A truck horn honked far in the distance. Over the sound of the car’s chugging engine, she thought she heard a brief, high-pitched laugh.
“Fine,” Aria conceded. “But I’ll carry her.” She grabbed the baby seat from the back. A smell of baby powder wafted up to greet her, bringing a lump to her throat. Her father, Byron, and his girlfriend, Meredith, had just had a baby, and she loved Lola with all her heart. If she looked too long at this baby, she might love her just as much.
Emily’s phone rang again, and Gayle’s name flashed on the screen. She dropped it in her bag. “Come on, Aria.”
Aria hefted the baby seat higher in her arms, and both girls staggered across the front lawn. Dew wet their feet. They narrowly missed a sprinkler head jutting out of the grass. When they climbed onto the porch, they noticed a cheerful wooden rocking chair and a ceramic dog dish that said GOLDEN RETRIEVERS WELCOME.
“Aw.” Aria pointed to it. “Golden retrievers are awesome.”
“They told me they have two golden retriever puppies.” Emily’s voice shook. “I’ve always wanted one of those.”
Aria watched as a million emotions passed across her friend’s face in a split second. She reached over and squeezed Emily’s hand. “Are you okay?” There was so much to say, but no words with which to say it.
Then Emily’s expression hardened again. “Of course,” she said through her teeth. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the baby carrier from Aria and set it on the porch. The baby squeaked. Emily glanced over her shoulder at the street. Aria’s Subaru idled at the curb. Something slipped into the shadows near the hedge. For a split second, she thought it was a person, but then her eyes blurred. It was probably the drugs that were still racing through her system.
Even though it made her incision hurt like hell, Emily bent down, pulled out a copy of the baby’s birth certificate and the letter she had scribbled down shortly before going into the hospital, and tucked them into the top of the baby carrier. Hopefully, the letter explained everything. Hopefully, the Bakers would understand and love this baby with all their hearts. She kissed the baby’s forehead, then let her fingers trail across her impossibly soft cheeks. It’s for the best, a voice inside her said. You know that.
Emily pressed the doorbell. Within seconds, a light flipped on inside, and two sets of footsteps sounded behind the door. Aria grabbed Emily’s hand, and they staggered for the car. The front door opened just as they were putting on their seat belts. A figure was silhouetted in the doorway, first looking out, and then looking down at the abandoned baby seat . . . and at the baby inside.
“Drive,” Emily growled.
Aria zoomed into the night. As she rounded the first corner, she glanced at Emily in the rearview mirror. “It’s okay.”
Hanna placed her hand on Emily’s arm. Spencer twisted around and squeezed her knee. Emily crumpled and started to sob, first quietly, then in huge, heaving gasps. Everyone’s hearts broke for her, but no one knew what to say. This was yet another devastating secret in a long list of secrets they had to keep, along with Jamaica, Spencer’s near-arrest for drug possession, what had happened to Aria in Iceland, and Hanna’s car accident that summer. At least A was gone—they’d made sure of that. What they’d done might have been terrible, but at least no one would ever know.
They shouldn’t be so sure about that, though. After all that had happened, they should know to trust their premonitions, to take those phantom laughs and shadows seriously. Someone had been there that night, after all. Watching. Studying. Plotting.
And that someone was just waiting for the opportunity to use all this against them.
1
REUNITED, AND IT FEELS SO GOOD
On a chilly Saturday evening in early March, Aria Montgomery sat down at the mahogany dining table at her boyfriend Noel Kahn’s house. She smiled as Patrice, the family’s private chef, served her a plate of ravioli with truffle oil. Noel sat next to her, and Mr. and Mrs. Kahn were across from them, fending off the Kahns’ three prize-winning standard poodles, Reginald, Buster, and Oprah. Noel had given Oprah her name when he was little because he’d been obsessed with the talk show.