Sara Shepard - Heartless

Aria swallowed hard. “It’s okay.” She needed him here. She was too afraid to look at the note by herself.

The paper crinkled as she spread it out. The letters were round and bubbly— Ali’s handwriting. Slowly, Aria read the words. There were only three, and they chilled her to her very core:

Ali killed Ali.

About an hour later, Spencer sat at her desk in her bedroom, staring out the big bay window. The back porch lights threw an eerie glow over the ruined barn and the twisted, hideous forest. All the snow had melted, leaving a film of muck over the ground. A bunch of tree surgeons had hacked away at the brambles with chain saws, leaving a big pile of dead timber on the lawn. A cleanup crew had ransacked the barn today, depositing the remaining furniture near the patio. The round rug where Spencer and the others had sat the night Ali hypnotized them was propped against the steps of the deck. It had once been white, but it was now burnt-marshmallow brown.

Aria and Noel were no longer gathered around the hole. Spencer had watched them from the window; the whole thing with the medium had taken only about ten minutes. Though she was curious about what Aria had discovered with Madame Psychic Friend, she felt too stubborn to ask. The medium looked suspiciously like the woman who hung out on the Hollis College green, claiming she could speak to trees. Spencer hoped the press wouldn’t get wind of what Aria was doing—it would just make them look crazier.

“Hey, Spence.”

She jumped. Her father stood in her doorway, still in a dark pin-striped suit from work.

“Want to look at windmill Web sites with me?” he asked. Her parents had decided to replace the fire-damaged windmill with a new one that would help to power the house.

“Um . . .” Spencer felt a twinge of regret. When had her dad last asked her to take part in a family decision?

Yet she couldn’t even look at him. The letter she’d found on his hard drive scrolled through her mind like the CNN news ticker. Dear Jessica, I’m sorry things got cut short. . . . I can’t wait to be alone with you again. Xx, Peter. It wasn’t hard to draw awful conclusions. She kept imagining her father and Mrs. DiLaurentis sitting on the beige wraparound sofa in Ali’s living room—the very same couch Spencer, Ali, and the others sat on when they watched American Idol —nuzzling noses in the same way some PDA-obsessed couples did in the hallways of Rosewood Day.

“I have homework,” she lied, the grilled chicken salad she’d had for lunch churning in her stomach.

Her dad looked disappointed. “Okay, maybe later then.” He turned and padded down the stairs.

Spencer let out a pent-up breath. She needed to talk to someone about this. The secret was too weighty and overwhelming to handle alone. She pulled out her phone and dialed Melissa’s number. It rang and rang.

“It’s Spencer,” she said shakily after the voice mail beep. “I need to talk to you about something with Mom and Dad. Call me back.”

She pressed the end button with despair. Where’s Mom? Melissa had bleated to their dad the night Ali went missing. We need to find her. According to their father’s letter to Ali’s mom, the two of them had met up that same night. What if Spencer’s mom caught them together and that was why she never wanted to talk about that night again?

The realization hit her again. Her dad . . . and Ali’s mom. She shuddered. It was unthinkable.

The woods were eerily still. A flutter to her right caught her eye, and she turned. There was a flash of yellow at Ali’s old bedroom window. Then a light flipped on. Maya, the girl who lived there now, crossed the room and plopped down on the bed.

Spencer’s phone buzzed, and she let out a bleat of surprise. But instead of a return call from Melissa, an IM had appeared on her screen. Is this Spencer?

She stared at the sender’s screen name in disbelief. USCMidfielderRoxx. It was Ian.

Before Spencer could decide what to do, another message flashed on Spencer’s screen. I got your IM name from Melissa. Is it okay that I’m I Ming you?

Spencer’s head felt scrambled. So Ian and Melissa had been in contact.

I’m not sure I want to talk to you, she rapidly typed. You were wrong about Jason and Wilden. And then someone tried to kill us.

He wrote back immediately. I feel terrible that that happened. But everything I told you is true. Wilden and Jason hated me. They were coming to mess with me that night. Maybe they didn’t hurt Ali... but they ARE hiding something.

Spencer let out a low groan. How do I know YOU didn’t kill Ali and are now trying to set us up to take the fall? The police hate us now. All of Rosewood does.

I’m so sorry about that, Spencer, Ian wrote. But I didn’t kill Ali, I swear. You have to believe me.

The curtains in Maya’s window fluttered again. Spencer squeezed her phone with her fingers. She couldn’t put Ian at the scene the moment Ali disappeared anymore. And neither could Melissa.

Then something occurred to her. Ian had been with Melissa the night Ali vanished—and the night Melissa and their dad fought. He might know something about what happened.

I have a question about something else, she typed quickly. Do you remember Melissa fighting with my dad the night Ali died? She met him at the door and was yelling at him about something. Did she say anything to you about it?

The cursor flashed. Spencer drummed her fingers on her Tiffany desk blotter, impatient. Twenty long seconds passed before Ian responded. I think this is something you should talk about with your parents.

Spencer bit down hard on her lip. I can’t, she hammered on the keyboard. If you know something, say it.

There was another long pause. A couple of crows fluttered out from the burnt woods, settling on a far-off telephone pole. Spencer’s gaze wandered over to the ruined, crumbled barn, to the taped-off hole in the DiLaurentises’ backyard. Her nerves felt snappy and raw. In one sweeping glance, she could see everywhere Ali traveled in her last few hours alive.

Finally, a new message appeared. Melissa and I were sleeping in the den, Ian wrote. I remember her getting up that night and talking to your dad. When she came back, she was really upset. She said she was pretty sure your dad was having an affair with Ali’s mom. She also said that your mom had just found out. “I’m afraid she’s going to do something stupid,” she said.

Something stupid like what? Spencer shot back, her heart pounding.

I don’t know.

“God,” Spencer said out loud. Where had her mom caught them? Were Mrs. DiLaurentis and her father in the DiLaurentises’ kitchen, tempting fate in plain sight?

Spencer pressed her fingers to her temple. The day after Ali disappeared, Ali’s mom had sat the girls down and asked if Ali told them about overhearing something in the house—she thought she saw Ali in the doorway. What if Ali caught their parents too? Maybe Ali entered her house through the back door, padded down the corridor to the kitchen, and came upon them . . . together. If Spencer walked in on a scene like that, she knew just what she’d do—turn around and march right back out again.

Maybe that was what Ali did too. And then whatever happened to her . . . happened.

Spencer’s phone pinged again. And, Spence, I hate to tell you this—but I already knew about the affair before she told me. I saw your dad and Ali’s mom together two weeks before that night. I accidentally told Ali about it, too. I didn’t mean to, but she knew I was keeping something from her. She forced it out of me.