Aria ducked behind a pile of Ralph Lauren cable-knit sweaters and followed Mike away from cosmetics. But as she wound around a table display of crystal vases, Aria couldn’t help but remember the first time she and her old friends had raided the Saks makeup counter. It had been a couple days after the Rosewood Charity Drive, when Ali had chosen Aria to be in her new clique. Ali had marched right up to Aria’s table and complimented her on the peacock-feather earrings her father had brought her from Spain. It was the first time someone at school had paid Aria a compliment, especially someone like Ali. From that day forward, Aria had felt so included, so special. It was amazing to have a tight group of friends—girls who gave her advice, who found her in the halls between classes, who invited her to parties and shopping trips and excursions to the Poconos on the weekends. She’d never forget the time at the Poconos when they’d hidden in one of the secret stairways off a guest bedroom, waiting to scare Jason DiLaurentis when he returned home from hanging out with friends. They’d thought they heard Jason’s car in the driveway, and when a plate rattled in the kitchen, Ali burst out of the secret stairway door and cried “Booga Booga Booga!” But it wasn’t Jason—a stray cat had sneaked in through the screen door. Ali had screamed in surprise, and they’d all run back up the stairs and collapsed in a heap on the bed, laughing their heads off. Aria wasn’t sure she’d laughed that hard since.
Mike stopped and leaned over a counter, noticing a bunch of stainless steel chronograph watches. Aria peeked across the store at Ali’s pale pink, catlike smile. Ali was wearing the same tall, sexy black boots she’d worn the day she’d flirted with Noel in study hall—back when she was still pretending to be Courtney. Suddenly, all Aria could remember was how Ali had gone out with Noel, even though she knew Aria liked him. And how Ali had told Aria that Pigtunia, the stuffed pig Byron had given her, was lame. And how Ali had tormented her about Meredith and Byron’s affair.
A door in Aria’s mind slammed closed again. All at once, the decision was clear and obvious: Everything was pushing her toward no. For all kinds of reasons, Aria just couldn’t put the past behind her like her friends had done. Something about this just wasn’t right.
“Come on,” Aria said, and this time she was the one to grab Mike’s sleeve and pull him out of the store. She didn’t trust Ali, and she didn’t want her back. And that was that.
21 BLUSH, BONDING, AND BREAKDOWNS
An hour later, Spencer, Ali, Emily, and Hanna were gathered in Spencer’s bedroom. Bottles of foundation, trays of blush, and a variety of makeup brushes were splayed out before them. The room smelled better than the inside of Sephora, thanks to their recent raid of the Saks perfume counter. The TV played softly in the background.
“It’s not like I threw myself at Wren,” Spencer was telling the group, applying a second coat of Bobbi Brown mascara to her top lashes. “We had this instant…connection. He wasn’t right for Melissa at all, but of course she blamed their breakup on me.” Ali had asked each of them to fill her in on what had happened while she was away. They had a lot of ground to cover.
Ali splayed her fingers out to admire her freshly applied manicure. “Were you in love with Wren?”
Spencer twirled a tube of mascara between her fingers. Her affair with Wren felt like a million years ago. “Nah.”
“What about Andrew?”
The tube of mascara slipped out of Spencer’s hand. She felt Hanna’s and Emily’s eyes on her, too. Part of her still felt certain Ali was going to make fun of Andrew, just like she’d made fun of him in the past.
“I don’t know,” Spencer answered hesitantly. “Maybe.”
Spencer braced herself for Ali’s laughter, but to her delight, Ali grabbed Spencer’s hands and squealed.
Hanna pressed one of her bed pillows to her chest. “What about you, Ali? Do you miss Ian?”
Ali turned back to the makeup table. “Definitely not.”
“How did you guys get together, anyway?” Spencer asked.
“Long story.” Ali tested a shade of Chanel lipstick on the side of her hand. “I’ve moved way on.”
“Totally,” Hanna piped up, spreading white eye shadow across her eyelids.
“Ancient history.” Emily nodded.
Ali laid the lipstick on the dresser. “So are you guys ready for the Poconos tonight?”
“Absolument,” Spencer trilled.
“I wish Aria were game,” Ali said sadly, pressing her thumb into some spilled powder on the dresser.
“She’s been through a lot lately,” Emily said, uncapping a bottle of nail polish. “I think she finds it really hard to trust people.”
Extreme Makeover suddenly cut out, and the words Breaking News flashed across the screen. Spencer looked over, a queasy feeling in her stomach. Every time there was a breaking news segment, it had something to do with her life.
“The new developments in the Rosewood Serial Killer case throw William Ford’s guilt into question,” a reporter said in an authoritative voice. The Polaroid of the ghostly face in the window of the Hastings barn filled the screen. “Could this be the face of Ms. DiLaurentis’s real killer?”
The camera switched to a close-up of Officer Wilden. There were purple circles under his eyes and his skin looked papery. “Our forensic experts have done facial analysis on the new photo found two nights ago. There’s a strong chance this is not Mr. Ford.”
The news reporter popped back on screen and assumed a grave frown. “This data brings up questions about the photos discovered in Mr. Ford’s car and on his computer and just how they got there. If anyone has information, please call the police immediately.”
The news alert ended, and Extreme Makeover resumed. Spencer and the others remained silent. Worry hung over the room like a soupy fog. A chain saw growled in the backyard, followed by the thud of a branch crashing to the ground. A bunch of ducks in the nearby pond quacked.
Ali picked up the remote and turned down the volume. “This is crazy,” she said quietly. “Billy killed my sister. I know it.”
“Yeah,” Hanna said, twisting her hair into a bun. “But that face doesn’t look like Billy’s.”
Ali narrowed her eyes. “Have you ever heard of Photoshop?”
“You can’t Photoshop a Polaroid,” Spencer said quietly.
They all exchanged anxious glances. Then Spencer took a deep breath, the image of those glowing blue eyes looming in her mind. A theory had been turning itself around in her head ever since she’d seen that photo. “What if Billy didn’t take the pictures?”
“Then who did?” Hanna asked, running her hands up and down her forearms.
Spencer chewed on her pinkie nail. “What if Melissa took them?”
Hanna dropped the blush brush she was holding, sending a cloud of pink powder into the air. Ali cocked her head, a lock of pale blond hair falling in her face. Emily’s mouth made a small O. No one said a word.
“Sh-she hated you, Ali,” Spencer stammered. “Melissa knew you and Ian were dating, and she wanted revenge.”
Ali’s eyes widened. “What are you saying?”
“That it’s possible Melissa took the pictures of us that night—and that she killed Courtney. A couple of weeks ago, before the fire, I saw her hunting around in the woods for something, probably those last few photos. She might have been worried that the police were going to find them during their search for Ian’s body. When she couldn’t find them, she torched the woods to make sure they were really gone. Except they didn’t burn.”