Pretty Little Liars #14 (17 page)

There was a long pause. Hanna squinted. “
What
else?”

Goddard pulled a laptop from his briefcase. He lifted the lid and moved the mouse around to wake up the screen. A shaky, black-and-white surveillance image appeared. Waves crashed on a pristine, white beach. A large building with balconies at every window stood in the distance. The angle was different, but it was clear where this was: The Cliffs in Jamaica.

Spencer breathed in sharply. “Where did you get this?”

“This is official video footage from the Lychee Nut, the resort next to The Cliffs. The FBI received it late last night.”

Aria stared at the screen. After a moment, something fell from the sky, hitting the sand with an eerily silent
thunk
. Aria saw a limp head, a hand.

“Is that . . . ?” she asked, her voice quivering.

“Tabitha,” Goddard answered for her. “This is footage from that night.”

Tabitha's hand twitched. She raised her head. Her jaw moved up and down, and it looked like she was calling out. “Look!” Emily cried. “See, she survived!”

Tabitha's mouth opened and closed again, like a fish out of water. Then, four figures appeared from stage right. One was tall with dirty-blond hair and wearing a blue beach dress. Another had strong swimmer's shoulders and had on a T-shirt that said
MERCI BEAUCOUP
across the front. The third girl wore a sarong and a white halter. And the fourth girl . . . well, Aria would recognize her own dark hair and tie-dyed maxi anywhere.

Only, it couldn't be. Because as these four girls gathered around Tabitha, they began to kick her hard. Spencer beat her abdomen with her fists. Emily pummeled her legs. And then Aria raised a piece of driftwood and brought it down over Tabitha's head.

Aria twisted away, too horrified to look. Emily let out a stifled scream. Hanna dry-heaved. Aria peeked through her fingers to look at the video again. It sure as hell looked like all of them.

“A—
Ali—
created this,” Aria said. “This is her revenge on us because we got the police involved. She knew she had to step it up, and this was the only ammo she had.”

“It's a pretty convincing video, ladies.” Goddard sounded grim. “Now look, I honestly think the best course of action is a plea bargain. You've been psychologically traumatized from various bullies last year. You clearly didn't know what you were doing. You could get a drastic reduction in sentence if we go that route. Plus all of you were under eighteen at the time, which means you might not be tried as adults.”

Spencer widened her eyes. “Does my father agree with this strategy?”

“I haven't spoken with him about it yet, but I have a feeling he will.”

Spencer shook her head. “No plea bargain. No sentence,
period
. We're innocent.”

“You believe us, don't you?” Hanna asked, tears in her eyes. “Will you fight for us?”

Goddard hesitated for a long time, spinning and spinning his wedding ring on his finger. “I believe you,” he said in a defeated voice. “But I'm going to tell you right now—it's going to be tough.” He stood. “I'm sorry. Bail will be posted soon—you can wait here until they come for you. We'll talk tomorrow.”

And then, just like that, he was gone.

NO LOVE

Everyone stared at one another around the conference table after the lawyer left the room. Hanna was trembling so hard, she was making the chair she was sitting on shake. Aria looked like she was going to pass out.

“How can this be happening?” Spencer whispered, looking around helplessly. “I mean, okay, I can buy that Team A routed every note back to our phones. They're smart. Maybe it's possible.”

“And we should have taken better precautions about the people in the A notes,” Emily added. “Isaac's mom has had it out for me from the beginning. Of course Kelsey is going to rat out Spencer.”

Hanna tentatively touched her face. She could feel that her eyes were puffy, her hair was sticking out in a million directions, and she'd sprouted several zits on her chin. When she shifted in the chair, her abdomen pulsed with pain. She hadn't peed since they'd arrived, too horrified that the police officers could be watching her on a hidden camera.

“But still,” Spencer said. “
How
did they make that surveillance video?”

There was a pause.

“Do you think Ali roofied us and made us do it?” Aria's voice rang out.

“Guys, I remember every second of that day,” Hanna said. “We ran downstairs the moment Tabitha fell. I didn't wake up in a daze a few hours later. Did you?”

“No,” Spencer's voice called from far away.

“Maybe Helper A hired four girls who looked like us,” Emily suggested. “And then, I don't know, dug up a Tabitha look-alike blow-up doll, and just . . .”

“. . .
staged
the whole thing?” Hanna finished. “How would she have gotten girls to do that?”

“Maybe he told them it was for a movie he was making,” Aria said. “Maybe he paid them tons of money, and that was it.”

Hanna sniffed. “So, what, we should look for an old ad on Craigslist that says
Wanted: Four Girls to Reenact a Murder in Jamaica
?” It didn't sound very realistic, but who knew? Perhaps Team A killed the Hanna, Aria, Spencer, and Emily clones after the video had been made so they'd never talk. It was hard to tell the extent of their madness.

A door slammed somewhere down the hall. The air conditioner kicked back on, and the sharp smell of stale coffee suddenly wafted through the air.

“We should get someone to check out this Lychee Nut hotel,” Emily suggested. “Was this really their video footage? Why would they have had a murder on tape the whole time and not come forward with it?”

“It's obvious the tape was planted,” Hanna said. “But who do we have on the outside to actually investigate this for us?”
On the outside
. She wasn't even in prison yet and she was already using the lingo.

“Excuse me?”

Hanna jumped. Spencer's father poked his head inside. “Your bail has been posted. You're all free to go.”

“We
are
?” Emily didn't get up.

“Your arraignment is in one month.” Mr. Hastings held the door open for them.

“And then what?” Aria asked nervously. “We come back here?”

Mr. Hastings gritted his teeth. “Don't freak out, but we just found out that they want to extradite you to Jamaica.”

“
What
?” Spencer exploded.

Hanna pressed a hand to her chest. “Why?”

“That's where you committed your crime. Your trial will be there, and you'll serve your sentence there, too, if you're convicted. That's what they're pushing for, anyway.” Mr. Hastings looked furious. “We're doing everything we can to change it, though. It's bullshit. They're just trying to make an example of you.”

A bomb went off in Hanna's brain. The prospect of spending the rest of her life in an American prison was bad enough, but spending it in a Jamaican one?

She followed the lawyer out of the conference room, her heart hammering. They walked down a long hallway. Mr. Hastings opened the door that led into the lobby. Hanna blinked in the brightness of the front room, then looked around at everyone waiting. When Mrs. Hastings saw Spencer in handcuffs, she burst into tears. To her left were Mr. and Mrs. Fields, looking shocked and pale. Next to them were Aria's parents, though no Mike. Hanna's mom was next to them. Hanna looked around for her dad but didn't see him.

Hanna's mother ran up to her. “Let's get you out of here, honey.”

But Hanna was still looking around. “Dad's here, too, right?”

Ms. Marin held Hanna's hand and steered her through a sliding door. They came to a desk, and a guard asked her to sign some papers. The guards gave Hanna back her belongings, including her phone. Hanna checked the messages and texts. Lots of worried texts from Mike but nothing from her father.

“Mom.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Where is Dad?”

Ms. Marin handed the papers back and took Hanna's arm. “I brought a scarf for you to put over your head when we go outside. There's a lot of press out there.”

Hanna's heart banged faster. “He knows about this, doesn't he? Why isn't he here?”

Finally, Ms. Marin stopped halfway down the hall. She looked positively heartbroken. “Honey, he couldn't risk the bad publicity.”

Hanna blinked. “D-did you talk to him? Is he worried about me?”

Her mother swallowed hard, then slung an arm around Hanna's shoulders. “Let's get you in the car, okay?”

She handed Hanna a scarf, then pushed through the exit door. At least twenty reporters and cameramen swarmed toward them, flashbulbs popping, video cameras pointed, microphones poised.

The questions came fast and furious. “Ms. Marin, did you know your daughter did it?” “Hanna, how do you feel about being extradited to Jamaica?” “Ms. Marin, is your ex-husband going to withdraw from the Senate race?”

Hanna knew that if her father were here, the press would be asking him these questions instead. But not-so-deep-down, she didn't care. He
should
be here. Who cared about his campaign at a time like this?

She blinked through tears and clung even tighter to her mother's arm, suddenly more grateful for her mom than she'd been in years. Ashley Marin bulldozed through the press, not letting them take even one decent picture of her daughter, not uttering a word except for “No comment” to the leechlike reporters. She didn't ask Hanna if she did it or not. She didn't give Hanna shit or think of ways to spin this so it benefited her. That, Hanna realized, was how a parent was
supposed to
act.

And that was what she needed.

SHE'S DEAD TO US

Emily had returned to her house after a fair share of trouble—Ali's death, A outing her at a swim meet, her banishment to Iowa, her secret baby coming to light. Each of those homecomings had been stilted and strange, but nothing,
nothing
was like returning to the Fields abode after being arrested for murder.

Her family was silent the whole ride home. Her mother stared straight ahead, unblinking, and her father gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles were white. Only once did Emily dare to protest her innocence, but her parents hadn't responded. Her phone buzzed, and she looked at it. To her astonishment, Jordan had sent her a private message.
I'm so disappointed in you, Em
.

Emily recoiled. Had Jordan heard? Did she actually believe the news?

There was an Instagram attached to the message. Emily thought it would be a still shot of the fake video, but instead a shadowy photo of her on a dance floor appeared. Emily held a champagne flute in her hand. A pretty black girl spun her around.

Pegasus?
Emily dropped the phone to her lap. The night with Carolyn at the bar. The dance with River. Who had snapped and posted this?
Ali?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
It's not what it looks like!
she wrote.
We were just dancing. I still love you, I promise
.

But Jordan didn't write back.

The Fields house was cold, and most of the lights were off. Emily followed her parents inside the kitchen and clapped eyes on Carolyn, who was bustling around gathering silverware and plates from drawers and cupboards. Her heart lifted.

But Carolyn didn't even meet Emily's gaze. “I have Chinese,” she announced in a brisk voice, plopping a large paper bag on the table.

Mrs. Fields's brow furrowed. “How much did that—”

“It's fine, Mom,” Carolyn cut her off, then slammed a bunch of forks down.

Emily took a few more forks from the pile and placed them at the rest of the seats. She glanced at her sister. “You know this is a huge mix-up, right? Someone framed us for killing that girl.”

Carolyn turned away. Emily's heart slowly began to sink.

She waited until everyone else had served themselves lo mein and kung pao chicken, then took a paltry amount of fried rice and sat in her normal chair. The only sounds were chewing and the scraping of knives and forks.

She shut her eyes. How could Fuji think they killed not only Tabitha but Gayle and Graham, too? And why was Fuji so convinced, suddenly, that Ali was dead? Emily wished she could talk to the agent, but Mr. Hastings had forbade them from saying a word to anyone except for the legal team.

She decided to try again, turning back to Carolyn. “We think it was Ali, actually. She's alive. We were afraid that Tabitha Clark
was
Ali, in fact . . . but she wasn't, and . . .”

Carolyn looked desperately at their father. “Dad, tell her to stop.”

“Carolyn, I'm telling the truth.” Emily knew she should shut up, but she couldn't control her mouth. “Ali survived. It's really her.”

She looked around at her family, wishing
someone
would say they understood. But everyone was staring at their plates.

The doorbell rang. Everyone's heads swiveled toward the hall, and Mr. Fields stood to answer it. There were low murmurs, and then the front door slammed.

Emily got up from the table and peered through the front window. Two tow trucks sat in the driveway. A man in a blue jumpsuit hitched the Volvo wagon to the tow, and a balding guy in a black jacket did the same with the family's minivan. Mr. Fields just stood there on the lawn, hands in his pockets, a forlorn expression on his face.

“Why are our cars being taken away?” Emily called to her mom in the kitchen.

No answer. She walked back into the room. Mrs. Fields and Carolyn picked at their meals. Emily's heart started to pound. “Mom. What's going on?”

“Why is she asking that?” Carolyn's voice rose in pitch. “How could she not know?”