Heartless (15 page)

“And . . . well, she never came back,” Lucy admitted. “One day, she was writing my parents letters, telling them what she was doing. The next . . . nothing. No correspondence. No word of her. She was just . . . gone.”

Emily pressed her hands into the hard, worn slats on the porch. “What happened to her?”

Lucy scrunched up her shoulders. “I don’t know. She had this boyfriend, this guy who was part of our community. They had dated for years, since they were both about thirteen, but I always thought there was something weird about him. He just seemed . . . well, he certainly wasn’t worthy of her. I was so happy when he decided to leave the community forever after
rumspringa.
But he wanted Leah to come with him too—he begged her, in fact. But she had always said no.” Lucy flicked a piece of dried mud off her black boots. “My parents figured Leah died in an accident, or maybe of natural causes. But I always wondered . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head. “They used to fight. Sometimes it got pretty intense.”

A gust of wind pulled a strand of dark hair from Lucy’s bun. Emily shivered.

“We got the police involved. They searched for her but came up with nothing. They told us that people ran away all the time, and that there was nothing we could do. We even got a private investigator—we thought that she maybe just ran away and wanted nothing to do with us. Even that would’ve been fine—at least it meant she was alive. For a long time, we were sure Leah was out there, but one day my parents just gave up. They said they needed closure. I was the only one who still hoped.”

“I understand,” Emily whispered. “I’ve lost someone too. But people come back. Amazing things happen.”

Lucy turned away, gazing across the field at a big, cylindrical grain silo. “It’s been almost four years since she left. Maybe my parents are right. Maybe Leah’s really gone.”

“You can’t give up!” Emily cried. “It hasn’t been that long!”

A farm dog with patchy brown fur and no collar trotted up to the porch, sniffed Lucy’s hand, and then settled by her feet. “I guess anything’s possible,” Lucy mused. “But maybe I’m just being silly. There’s time to keep hope alive and a time to let go.” She gestured down the road to the little cemetery behind the church. “We have a gravestone for her there. We had a funeral and everything. I haven’t gone in there since, though.”

Tears began to spill down her cheeks. Lucy’s chin wobbled, and a small squeak emerged from the back of her throat. Leaning over her thighs, she took deep, shuddering breaths. The farm dog stared at Lucy worriedly. Emily placed her hand on Lucy’s back. “It’s okay.”

Lucy nodded. “It’s so hard.” She lifted her head. The tip of her nose was bright red. She gave Emily a sad, wry smile. “Pastor Adam is always bugging me to talk about this to someone. This is the first time I’ve admitted aloud that Leah could be dead. I haven’t wanted to believe it.”

There was a huge lump in Emily’s throat. She didn’t want Lucy to believe it either—she wanted Lucy to have the same kind of hope that Emily did about Ali. But because Emily didn’t know Leah personally, because she wasn’t
Ali,
Emily could be more realistic about what might have happened. People who disappear don’t usually come home. Lucy’s parents were probably right that Leah was dead.

A single bright star appeared on the horizon. Ever since Emily was little, she’d wish on the first evening star, recite the “Star Light, Star Bright” rhyme, and make a wish. After Ali vanished, all of Emily’s wishes on the star were about bringing Ali back safe and sound. But if Emily looked at her own life as objectively as she could look at Lucy’s family, what would she come to realize about what had happened to Ali? Was she just being silly too? Maybe the doctors were right—maybe the girl in the woods had simply been a figment of her imagination. And maybe Wilden wasn’t lying, either—maybe there really
was
a DNA report at the police station that matched Ali’s. Maybe Emily had just become so fanatical about Ali being alive that she’d twisted around all the facts to meet her needs, to prove that Ali was still out there. And now she’d come all the way to Amish country to pursue a lead that probably didn’t even exist. A few minutes ago, she’d even entertained the idea that sweet, innocent Jenna Cavanaugh could’ve helped smuggle Ali out of Rosewood. Maybe she needed to let go too, just like Lucy and her family did about Leah. Maybe it would be the only way she’d be able to move on with her life.

From inside the house, there was a bonging, clanging sound of a pot hitting the floor. Then there were more crashes as dishes shattered. A woman squealed, sounding a little like a cow. Emily sneaked a peek at Lucy, trying not to laugh. One corner of Lucy’s lip curled up. Emily covered her mouth and let out a snort. Suddenly, both girls exploded into giggles. The same stern woman stuck her head out the door and glared at them again. That just made them laugh harder.

Emily reached over and touched Lucy’s hand, overcome with warmth and gratitude. In a parallel, Amish universe, she and Lucy would probably be good friends. “Thank you,” Emily said.

Lucy looked surprised. “What for?”

But Lucy obviously didn’t get it. A might have sent Emily to Amish Country to find Ali, but what Emily had found instead was peace.

Chapter 15

Facebook Friends

Spencer and Andrew sat on the couch in the Hastingses’ finished basement, blissfully snuggling and flipping through the TV channels. Things had returned to normal with Andrew—
better
than normal, their fight of last week long forgotten. They’d sent each other flirty Twitters during study hall, and when Andrew had arrived at her house, he’d presented her with a J. Crew gift box. Inside was a brand-new, winter white cashmere V-neck, an exact match to Spencer’s favorite sweater, which had been ruined in the fire. Spencer had made a passing reference to the sweater on the phone with Andrew Monday. Andrew had even guessed her correct size.

She lingered on CNN, which had switched from a stock market report to a breaking news story about something that wasn’t really breaking news at all.
Waitingfor Proof,
the caption said. There was an interior shot of Steam, Rosewood Day’s espresso bar. This footage must have been taken only a few hours earlier, because the chalkboard said
WEDNESDAY SPECIAL: HAZELNUT ICE CREAM SMOOTHIE. CROWDS
of students in navy blue blazers stood in line for lattes and hot chocolate. Kirsten Cullen was talking to James Freed. Jenna Cavanaugh lingered hauntingly in the doorway, her service dog panting. In the corner, Spencer spied Hanna’s stepsister-to-be, Kate Randall, flanked by Naomi Zeigler and Riley Wolfe. Hanna wasn’t with them; Spencer had heard Hanna had abruptly left for Singapore. Emily was gone, too, on a trip to Boston. It seemed odd that Emily was staying out of the limelight—she’d been so adamant that the police look for Ali—but it was also good.

“The DNA results for the body that was found in the DiLaurentises’ backyard are due in any day now,” said a voice-over. “Let’s get the reaction of Alison’s old classmates.”

Spencer flipped channels fast. The last thing she wanted to hear was some random girl who hadn’t known Ali pontificate about what a
tragedy
this was. Andrew squeezed her hand comfortingly and shook his head.

On the next station, Aria’s face popped into view. Reporters chased her as she ran from her dad’s Civic into Rosewood Day. “Ms. Montgomery! Did someone set the fire to cover up a vital clue?” screamed a voice. Aria kept going, not answering them. A headline popped up on the screen.
What Is This Little Liar Hiding?

“Whoa.” Andrew’s face was red. “They seriously need to stop this.”

Spencer massaged her temples. At least Aria wasn’t spouting that they’d seen Ali. But then she thought about the texts she’d received from Aria earlier that day, suggesting that Ali’s spirit was trying to tell them something important about the night she died. Spencer didn’t believe in any of that nonsense, but her words reminded Spencer of something Ian had said the day he broke house arrest.
What if I told you there’s something you don’t know?
he’d whispered to her as she sat on her back porch.
There’s a secret that’s going to turnyour life upside down.
Ian had been wrong in thinking that Jason and Wilden were involved in Ali’s murder, but she still believed there was something going on out there that none of them understood.

The alarm on Andrew’s diving watch beeped and he stood. “The Valentine’s Day dance committee calls.” He groaned. He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek, then squeezed her limp hand. “You okay?”

Spencer didn’t make eye contact. “I think so.”

He cocked his head, waiting. “Are you sure?”

Spencer opened and closed her fists. It was pointless trying to hide it; Andrew had an uncanny knack for knowing when something was bothering her. “I found out some really crazy stuff about my parents,” she blurted. “My mom kept this really big secret from me about how she and my dad met. Which makes me wonder if she’s covering up other stuff too.”
Like why we can’t talk about the night Ali died ever again,
she almost added.

Andrew wrinkled his nose. “Why don’t you just talk to her about it?”

Spencer picked an imaginary piece of lint off her lilac cashmere sweater. “Because it seems off-limits.”

Andrew sat back down. “Look. The last time you suspected something about your family, you snuck around behind their backs trying to figure out the truth . . . and you just got burned in the end. Whatever it is, just be open about it. Otherwise you might end up assuming the wrong thing.”

Spencer nodded. Andrew kissed her, slipped on his old, battered wingtips, slid into his wool duffel coat, and went out the door. She watched him walk down the path, then sighed. Maybe he was right. Sneaking around wouldn’t do her any good.

She was on the second riser of the stairs when she heard whispering in the kitchen. Curious, she paused, pricking up her ears to listen.

“You have to keep this quiet,” her mother hissed. “It’s very important. Can you do that this time?”

“
Yes
,” Melissa answered defensively.

And then they banged their way through the back door. Spencer stood still, her ears ringing with the silence. If Melissa was on the outs with their mother, why were they sharing secrets? She thought again about what her mom had told her yesterday—the secret even Melissa didn’t know. Spencer still couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea that her mother had been a student at Yale Law.

As she listened to the garage door rumble up and the Mercedes pull out of the garage, she suddenly needed tangible proof.

Spinning around, Spencer walked into her dad’s dark, cigar-stinky office. The last time she’d been in here, she’d burned his entire computer hard drive to a CD and found the bank account that got her into the whole Olivia mess. Scanning her dad’s bookshelves now, which contained law volumes, first-edition Hemingways, and Lucite plaques congratulating him for winning such-and-such a court battle, she noticed a red book tucked away in an upper corner.
YALE LAW YEARBOOK
, the spine said.

Quietly, she dragged her dad’s Aeron desk chair to the bookshelf, climbed on the wobbling seat, and grabbed the book with the tips of her fingers. As she cracked it open, the smell of mildewed paper wafted out. An old photo fluttered out too, sliding across the freshly waxed wood floor. She bent down and picked it up. It was a small, square Polaroid of a pregnant blond woman in front of a pretty brick building. The woman’s face was blurry. It wasn’t Spencer’s mom, but there was something familiar about her. She flipped the photo over. Written on the back was the date June 2, almost seventeen years ago. Could this be Olivia, Spencer’s surrogate? Spencer was born in April, but maybe Olivia hadn’t lost the baby weight right away?

Spencer slipped the photo back into the yearbook and leafed through the portraits of first-year law students. She found her father right away. He looked almost identical to how he looked today, except his face was a little less weathered and his hair was thicker and longer, almost feathery. Taking a deep breath, she flipped forward to the M’s for Macadam, her mother’s maiden name. And there she was, with the same lake-straight, chin-length blond hair and broad, dazzling smile. There was a faded yellow ring from a coffee cup above her picture, as if Spencer’s dad had propped the book open to this page, staring longingly at her mother’s picture for hours.

It really was true—her mom had been a student at Yale.

Aimlessly, Spencer flipped through more pages. The first-year students were smiling so enthusiastically, having no idea how hard law school was going to be. Then, something in her brain caught. She did a double take at one of the student’s names, then examined his picture. A young man with light-colored hair and an eerily familiar hooked, oversize nose stared back at her. Ali had always said that if she’d inherited that nose, she would have gone straight to a plastic surgeon and gotten it fixed.

Spots swam in front of Spencer’s eyes. This had to be another hallucination. She checked the student’s name again. And once more after that.
Kenneth DiLaurentis.
It was Ali’s father.

Beep.

The book fell from her hands. Her cell phone vibrated from inside her cardigan pocket. Spencer stared out the windows of her father’s office, suddenly feeling like someone was watching her. Had she just heard a giggle? Was that a person darting behind the fence? Her heart pounded as she opened her phone.

Think that’s crazy? Now take another spin through your dad’s hard drive . . . starting with J. You won’t believe what you find.—A

Chapter 16

It’s the Queen Bee’s Knees

Hanna and Iris sat at a round table in the Preserve at Addison-Stevens’ cafe, with steaming lattes, homemade organic yogurt, and fresh fruit cups in front of them. They definitely had the best table in the place—not only was it the farthest one from the nurses’ station, but it also gave them a prime view out the window of the hot groundskeeper, who was vigorously shoveling snow off the drive in a tight, long-sleeved thermal tee.