The doorbell rang, three short Asian-inspired bongs. The girls shot up. “Who’s that?” Aria whispered fearfully.
Mona stood, shaking out her long blond hair. She broke into a big smile and pranced toward Hanna’s front door. “Something to make us forget about our problems.”
“What, like pizza?” Emily asked.
“No, ten male models from the Philly branch of the Wilhelmina modeling agency, of course,” Mona said simply.
As if it were preposterous to think it could be anyone else.
21
HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE EMILY?
Thursday night, after leaving Hanna’s, Emily skirted her way around all of the shopping bag–laden, expensive perfume–wearing King James Mall consumers. She was meeting her parents at All That Jazz!, the Broadway musical–themed restaurant next to Nordstrom. It had been Emily’s favorite restaurant when she was younger, and Emily guessed that her parents assumed it still was. The restaurant looked the same as always, with a fake Broadway marquee facade, a giant Phantom of the Opera statue next to the hostess podium, and photos of Broadway stars all over the walls.
Emily was the first to arrive, so she slid into a seat at the long, granite-topped bar. For a while, she stared at the collectible Little Mermaid dolls in a glass case near the hostess stand. When she was younger, Emily wished she could switch places with Ariel the Mermaid Princess—Ariel could have Emily’s human legs, and Emily would take Ariel’s mermaid fins. She used to make her old friends watch the movie, up until Ali told her it was lame and babyish and she should just stop.
A familiar image on the TV screen above the bar caught her eye. There was a blond, busty reporter in the foreground, and Ali’s seventh-grade school picture in the corner. “For the past year, Alison DiLaurentis’s parents have been living in a small Pennsylvania town not far from Rosewood while their son, Jason, finishes up his degree at Yale University. They’ve all been leading quiet lives…until now. While Alison’s murder investigation rolls on with no new leads, how is the rest of the family holding up?”
A stately, ivy-covered building flashed on the screen over a caption that read, NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT. Another blond reporter chased after a group of students. “Jason!” she called. “Do you think the police are doing enough to find your sister’s killer?”
“Is this bringing your family closer together?” someone else shouted.
A boy in a Phillies ball cap turned around. Emily’s eyes widened—she’d only seen Jason DiLaurentis a couple of times since Ali had gone missing. His eyes were cold and hard, and the corners of his mouth turned down.
“I don’t speak to my family much,” Jason said. “They’re too messed up.”
Emily hooked her feet under her stool. Ali’s family…messed up? In Emily’s eyes, the DiLaurentises seemed perfect. Ali’s father had a good job but was able to come home on the weekends and barbecue with his kids. Mrs. DiLaurentis used to take Ali, Emily, and the others shopping and made them great oatmeal raisin cookies. Their house was spotless, and whenever Emily ate dinners at the DiLaurentises’, there was always lots of laughing.
Emily thought of the memory Hanna had mentioned earlier, the one from the day before Ali went missing. After Ali had emerged on the back patio, Emily had excused herself to go to the bathroom. As she passed through the kitchen and skirted around Charlotte, Ali’s Himalayan cat, she’d heard Jason whispering to someone on the stairs. He sounded angry.
“You better stop it,” Jason hissed. “You know how that pisses them off.”
“I’m not hurting anything,” another voice whispered back.
Emily had pressed her body against the foyer wall, befuddled. The second voice sounded a little like Ali’s.
“I’m just trying to help you,” Jason went on, getting more and more agitated.
Just then, Mrs. DiLaurentis whirled in through the side door, running to the sink to wash dirt off her hands. “Oh, hi, Emily,” she chirped. Emily stepped away from the stairs. She heard footsteps climbing to the second floor.
Emily glanced again at the TV screen. The news anchor was now issuing an advisory to Rosewood Country Club members because the Rosewood Stalker had been spotted sneaking around the club’s grounds. Emily’s throat itched. It was easy to draw parallels between the Rosewood Stalker and A…and the country club? Hanna’s party was going to be there. Emily had been very careful not to ask Hanna any questions ever since she received A’s last note, but she still wondered if they should go to the police—this had gone far enough. And what if A had not only hit Hanna but killed Ali, too, as Aria suggested the other day? But maybe Mona was right: A was close by, watching their every move. A would know if they told.
As if on cue, her cell phone trumpeted. Emily jumped, nearly teetering off her chair. She had a new text, but thankfully, it was only from Trista. Again.
Hey, Em! What are you doing this weekend? xxx, Trista
Emily wished Rita Moreno wouldn’t sing “America” so loudly, and she wished she weren’t sitting so close to a picture of the cast of Cats—all the felines leered at her like they wanted to use her as a scratching post. She ran her hand along her Nokia’s bumpy keys. It would be rude not to reply, right? She typed, Hi! I’m going to a masquerade party for my friend this Friday. Should be fun!—Em
Almost immediately, Trista sent back a reply. OMG! Wish I could come!
Me too, Emily texted back. C ya! She wondered what Trista really planned to do this weekend—go to another silo party? Meet another girl?
“Emily?” Two ice-cold hands curled around her shoulders. Emily whirled around, dropping her phone on the floor. Maya stood behind her. Emily’s mother and father and her sister Carolyn and her boyfriend, Topher, stood behind Maya. Everyone grinned madly.