Noel laced his hands behind his head. “You could paint in your spare time. Sell a few works, set us up in style.”
Aria punched him playfully. “Us? Who said you could come along?”
Noel looked like he was going to say something teasing back when Aria’s alarm blared. Suddenly, another reality rushed to the forefront of her mind. She’d told Spencer she’d be waiting outside in a half hour.
She leapt out of bed. “I have to go.”
Noel watched as Aria scuttled around, flinging her closet open, searching for her flip-flops. “You meeting with your lawyer?” he asked.
“Uh . . . no. Just hanging out with the girls.” She tried to smile at him. “I’m sorry. I wanted to make breakfast for you this morning.” Their on-again relationship still felt so new and tenuous. A big stack of pancakes was always the way to Noel’s heart. “Rain check?”
“Can I come along?”
“No!”
Noel recoiled, then frowned. She’d said it too quickly, too harshly. All at once, Aria knew that he knew what she was up to.
“Aria.” He shut his eyes. “You’re not looking for Ali, are you?”
Aria turned away to her dresser and busied herself by shuffling through a stack of T-shirts. “Of course not.”
“You are.” Noel scuttled out from under the quilt. “It’s dangerous.”
It was pointless to lie. Noel was on board with everything Aria told him. He believed Ali had set them up and was still alive. But they both knew how tricky she was.
She shrugged. “It’s just a dumb lead. But we’re going, okay? Please don’t tell anyone.”
Noel looked worried. “Let me come with you, at least.”
Aria dropped the shirt she was holding and grabbed his hands. “Absolutely not.” Ali had hurt Noel once before, leaving him for dead in a sports shed behind the school. Aria wasn’t involving him again.
“But I might be in the unique position to help,” Noel said gently.
Aria felt an old, annoying twinge. A unique position. A few years back, he’d been Ali’s only confidant, visiting her at The Preserve at Addison-Stevens. Noel had kept many secrets for Ali . . . and he hadn’t shared any of them with Aria when they’d started dating. It had seemed like Noel would have done anything for Ali back then. They even had a secret code for when they wanted to get in touch. Aria didn’t like to think about it. It was stupid, she knew, but a teeny part of her still wasn’t sure if she held a candle to Ali. That Noel had briefly dated an Ali-look-alike named Scarlett while he and Aria were broken up didn’t help, either.
She tried to whisk the thoughts out of her mind. “We probably won’t turn up anything, anyway,” she told Noel. “And I’ll be back soon.”
Noel still looked conflicted. “Promise me you’ll stay safe, okay? Text me this afternoon.” He pulled her close. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
Aria kissed the tip of his nose. “You won’t lose me,” she breathed, melting into his arms.
But that was the problem. Soon enough, he was going to lose her—to jail.
Unless they found what they were looking for.
An hour later, the four girls were flying across the bridge out of Philly. It was an overcast day, but the road was still busy, and a bunch of roadside farmers’ stands boasting watermelon, corn, and tomatoes were crowded with families. A huge billboard that read WELCOME TO NEW JERSEY swept past, and Aria sat higher in her seat, eager to get the investigation started.
After another hour, they drove down Cape May’s quaint Main Street and pulled into the first establishment they found, an old, flesh-colored motel called the Atlantic Lighthouse. A large, inground pool, complete with an old-school blue diving board and a couple of rusty-looking outdoor tables and chairs, spanned the length of the building, and there was a falling-apart, bird-poop-infested, decorative lighthouse fixed to the roof. When Aria pushed the door open into the lobby, an icy blast of AC brought goose bumps to her arms. A bleached-blond woman glanced up from the news on a small TV behind the desk and gave them a strange look.
Aria’s heart lurched. Then she looked down and saw something horrifying: There, on the front page of a stack of USA Today newspapers, was a huge picture of Ali, a smaller picture of Ali’s father, and an even smaller picture of Spencer, Emily, Hanna, and herself. Trial Starts Tuesday, the paper said. DiLaurentis Father Weighs In.
She quickly turned the paper over, her breath coming out in short bursts. Did the clerk recognize them? They were all wearing sunglasses, and Hanna had on a hat to cover up her easily recognizable auburn hair, but maybe that wasn’t enough. Aria considered bolting out of the room. But that would look even more suspicious, wouldn’t it?
“Um, hi,” Spencer said shakily. “I’m wondering if you could give us directions to Dune Street?” That was where Betty Maxwell’s house was.
The woman nodded and pointed to the left. The girls were about to leave when she cleared her throat and gestured to a plaque on the counter. CAPE MAY WEATHER REPORT, it read, listing information about the days’ temperature and tides. “You hear about the storm?”
Aria relaxed a little. The woman didn’t seem to know who they were.
“Supposed to be a big one, rolling in by late tomorrow morning,” the woman said, then rolled her eyes. “I’m sick of this crazy weather.”
Then she went back to watching her TV. The girls scuttled back onto the street and headed in the direction of Dune Street, though not before Aria snatched up a USA Today. She skimmed the article. Ali’s father was begging for justice to be done for his murdered daughter, saying he would have a front-row seat at their murder trial. Then, she noticed something interesting. “Did you guys know that Ali’s mom isn’t coming to the trial?” she asked in a low voice, reading as she walked. “It says that Mrs. DiLaurentis is way too traumatized to even be in the same room as us.”