Stunning (28 page)

“Okay, GPS says five hundred more feet to the exit.” Emily glanced at the media console in the unfamiliar Audi sedan. “Turn here, turn here!”

“Em, I saw it coming from a mile away.” Hanna steered the car off the highway at an exit marked CHESTNUT HILL and gave Emily a worried smile. “You okay?”

Emily slid down in her seat and picked at the skin around her thumb. It was a few hours later on Monday evening, and they’d all piled into Hanna’s stepsister’s car to go to the Bakers’ new house together. Needless to say, Emily was jittery. What if she got there and the Bakers had moved again? What if she got there and the baby was gone?

It was the worst thing Emily could think of. A could still have Violet. She could still be living a nightmare.

Could
A be Real Ali, after all? Had
she
set up Gayle to look like the villain, stealing the cash from Gayle’s mailbox, sending Spencer texts when she was at Princeton, maybe even steering Gayle toward Hanna’s dad’s campaign? Had Real Ali lured the girls to Gayle’s house in hopes of hurting them? Did Ali really have such little respect for human life?

Of course she does
, a little voice in Emily’s head said. All of a sudden, her blood began to boil. This wasn’t a tragic story of a messed-up girl Emily could rescue—it was a story about a psycho bitch who wanted to get Emily any way she could, even if it meant harming an innocent child. If Real Ali
was
A, then Emily would do everything in her power to bring her down.

It was a weird revelation. On one hand, Emily felt empty inside, like someone had just stolen a vital organ from her. On the other, she suddenly felt clear-eyed and steady, as if she’d gotten LASIK and could see everything properly for the first time. It made her feel even worse for setting Real Ali free, though. Maybe she’d brought all this on herself.

The light turned green, and Hanna passed a Barnes & Noble and a Starbucks. Emily’s phone beeped, and she jumped. A text from Isaac had come in.
I’ve thought about things, and I want to talk
, it said.

Emily stared at the words as they pulled up to a stop sign. Was this a good message . . . or an awful one? Isaac’s angry, disgusted expression at Gayle’s house had lingered with her. He
had
to be mad, right? Had he already told his mom? Had Mrs. Colbert already told everyone else? Was she going to become the shame of Rosewood in mere days—hours?

Then again, it was going to come out sooner or later. The police had already tracked Emily’s parents down in Texas, telling them she had witnessed a murder. The first flight they could get was tomorrow morning, and they’d be back by the time Emily returned from Gayle’s funeral. Even though the cops hadn’t revealed Emily’s secret, her parents would ask questions. Maybe it would be better if this secret was out in the open. She had to be the one to tell them. All she could hope was that they didn’t murder her.

“Em, this place is adorable,” Aria murmured. Emily looked out the window. They were driving down Main Street in Chestnut Hill. It was full of funky bakeries, quaint restaurants, antique furniture stores, and upscale boutiques. A huge library with a big children’s display in the window was on the left, several old stone churches were on the right, and side streets boasted beautifully restored old houses with station wagons and swing sets. Families walked strollers and dogs up the sidewalks. Kids raced around a baseball field.

A hopeful smile crossed Emily’s face. This place
did
seem nice.

“Turn right, and you will have reached your destination,” the GPS proclaimed. Hanna put on her turn signal and pulled into a parking space on the street. The girls got out and started down the sidewalk, looking at each of the old houses as they passed.

“There it is,” Aria said halfway down the block, pointing at a house across the street. “Number 86.”

Emily swallowed hard and dared to look. The house in question had white siding, black shutters, and a big front porch. There was a green watering can on the steps, daffodils peeking up in the flower beds, and a fruit wreath on the door.

“It’s really nice, Em,” Spencer breathed. “Nicer than the old place, even.”

And then Emily saw something that made her heart leap. There, through the split rail fence in the backyard, was a detached garage. Its door gaped open, revealing two plastic trash cans, a ten-speed bicycle, and a running stroller. There was a kiddie swimming pool in the shape of a frog propped up against the wall. Emily pressed her hands to her mouth, feeling tears come to her eyes.
Kid things.
Could her baby still be here?

As though in cosmic answer, the front door to the house swung open. Emily yelped and ducked behind Spencer. A familiar man with a thin build and sandy hair came out first. “You got her?” he said to someone just behind him.

“Uh huh,” a woman’s voice said.

Emily peered around Spencer’s shoulder just in time to see Lizzie Baker step onto the porch and pull the door shut. Lizzie looked fresh-faced and happy, wearing black yoga pants and Nike sneakers. In her arms was an apple-cheeked, bright-eyed, grinning seven-month-old girl in a pink corduroy dress and black patent Mary Janes. She waved a rattle around in her hand and let out a loud coo. Her hair was the exact reddish-blondish shade as Emily’s.

“Oh my God,” Emily said, tears coming to her eyes. It was her baby. Violet. Looking beautiful and happy and better than she ever imagined.

“Em,” was all Aria said. Spencer grabbed Emily’s arm and squeezed. Hanna leaned into Emily’s shoulder and let out a happy sniff.

Violet was safe—
safe!
It was all that mattered. She could handle her parents. She could handle Isaac. She could handle everyone else in Rosewood, too. Everything was going to be—well, not okay, but manageable. If something had happened to the baby, she would have never forgiven herself.

She turned to the others. “I’m good now,” she whispered. “Let’s go before they see us.”

They moved to leave, when suddenly Mrs. Baker stopped short, noticing Emily. Instinctively, she held Violet a little tighter. Her husband turned to see what his wife was looking at, then paled too. Swallowing hard, Emily held up her hand in a tentative, I-don’t-mean-any-harm wave. After a moment, the Bakers waved back. Then they said a few things Emily couldn’t hear. After a moment, Mrs. Baker crossed the street toward Emily, Violet in her arms.

“What are you doing?” Emily cried, panicking. When she looked up, Spencer, Aria, and Hanna were drifting away. “Don’t leave!”

“You’ll be fine,” Spencer encouraged, scampering around the corner.

Emily turned back and watched as Mrs. Baker stepped up on the curb and hitched Violet higher on her hip. The two of them stared at each other for a beat. Emily had no clue what Mrs. Baker might say.
How dare you? Get the hell out of here?

“Wow,” Mrs. Baker blurted. “Heather. Hi.”

“It’s Emily, actually,” Emily said. “Emily Fields.”

Mrs. Baker laughed nervously. “I know. I saw you in an old copy of
People
at the pediatrician’s office. I couldn’t believe I didn’t realize it was you.” Then she picked up Violet’s hand and made her wave. “I guess you know who this is. We named her Violet.”

“Hi, Violet.” Emily almost couldn’t get the words out. “She looks wonderful. Is she . . . happy?”

Mrs. Baker pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “Well, she can’t talk yet, but we think she is. We’re happy, too.” A bashful look came over her face.

“You moved,” Emily pointed out.

Mrs. Baker nodded. “Yes. Shortly after—well, you know. We thought people might ask questions. We decided it was better if we moved someplace where no one knew us.” When she raised her head and looked at Emily again, there were tears in her eyes, too. “We don’t know why you changed your mind, but we can’t thank you enough. We hope you know that.”

It felt like she’d injected Emily with sunlight. She wiped away a tear, looking again at Violet’s goofy, gummy smile. “I can’t thank
you
enough.”

A double
beep
of a car unlocking sounded across the street, and Mrs. Baker turned and signaled to her husband, who was loading up a Honda SUV. “I’m telling everyone about the baby,” Emily blurted. “But I’ll never tell them about you.”

Mrs. Baker nodded. “We’ll keep your secret, too.”

They gave each other a meaningful look. There were so many other things Emily wanted to ask about Violet, but maybe it wasn’t her place to know. She’d given up the right to be Violet’s parent. All she could hope for was that the Bakers gave her baby the best life possible. All of the money in the world couldn’t have made a better life for Violet than the one the Bakers were giving her.

Emily kissed the top of Violet’s fuzzy head. “Keep her safe, okay? Keep her locked up every night. Never let her out of your sight.”

“Of course we will,” Lizzie said.

“Good,” Emily said. And then she awkwardly turned and walked as quickly as she could back to the girls, afraid that if she didn’t get away fast, she’d never be able to leave Violet’s side again. She looked back once, watching as Lizzie made Violet wave again. A sob rose in her throat. She thought about A looming somewhere close, just waiting to snatch Violet away. She couldn’t bear the thought.

Swallowing hard, she stared at the traffic on the main road.
If the next car that passes is blue, Violet will be okay
, she thought.
If it’s red, A will do something horrible to her.

She heard a growl of an engine and shut her eyes, afraid to see what the future might hold. She’d never cared so much about anything in her life. Just as the car was passing, she opened her eyes and saw a Mercedes hood ornament. She let out a long sigh, tears coming to her eyes once more.

The car was blue.

37

A STRANGER IN THE CROWD

The Rosewood Abbey was an old stone building in the middle of town with gorgeous stained-glass windows, a bell tower, and pristinely manicured gardens. Mourners in black crammed the lawn, giving Aria an eerie sense of déjà vu. The last time she’d been there was for Ali’s funeral a year and a half ago. And now, on this sunny Tuesday morning, she was there to mark another death: Gayle’s.

Emily and Spencer, who’d ridden with her, stared at the church silently as they pulled into the parking lot. They’d all come as a favor to Hanna—her dad was forcing her to go because Gayle had meant so much to his campaign, and she was too creeped out to go alone.

Hanna’s Prius rolled up next to them. Hanna cut the engine, got out, and greeted the others. Then she looked around with a shiver, her gaze narrowing in on the weeping willow tree next to the front path. “
That
doesn’t bring back good memories,” she said in a foreboding voice.

Aria knew exactly what she meant. It was under that willow that they’d received a threatening note from the very first A.
I’m still here, bitches, and I know everything.

Now they were in the same position. New A was still here. New A knew everything. And none of them knew where or when A would strike next.

The Abbey’s nave was even more crowded than the lawn, the air humid and stuffy with bodies and the noise level deafening. Hanna’s father stood by the doors, talking to a reporter. A bunch of people from the Rosewood Rotary Club chatted near the holy water. Naomi Zeigler and her parents stood quietly in a corner, looking at the program. Aria wondered how Naomi’s family knew Gayle.

The priest funneled everyone inside the hall. At the end of the long aisle was a closed mahogany casket covered with huge bouquets of flowers. Mr. Clark stood next to it, his hands folded and his head bowed. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the night they’d seen him at the police station—there were purple circles under his eyes, his skin looked flaky and pale, and his hair badly needed combing. Every so often, he’d flinch, as though startled. And as Aria squinted, she swore she saw his lips moving ever so slightly, as if he were talking to himself.

Hanna leaned into Aria. “My dad told me that the police think Gayle’s killer is a guy who’s been breaking into houses in Gayle’s neighborhood. They have him in for questioning. What if they convict him?”

Spencer shrugged. “Better that guy than us.”

Emily’s eyes popped. “How can you say that? It was awful when they thought we did it, but we can’t just let someone else take the heat.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow as she slid into the pew. “Who knows? Maybe the person who’s breaking into houses
is
A.”

“Or maybe the person breaking into houses
did
murder Gayle—maybe it’s unrelated to A,” Aria suggested. But even as she said it, she looked unconvinced. Everyone else did, too.

Spencer crossed her legs, smoothed out her black skirt, and stared straight ahead. After a pause, Aria slid into the pew next to her, and the other girls followed.

The organ music stopped, and the heavy doors closed with a
clonk
. People shifted in their seats. Aria craned her neck over the heads in front of her. Mr. Clark was stepping to the podium and adjusting the microphone. When he cleared his throat, a screech of feedback rang out through the room, and he winced. Then, there was a horribly long pause. Mr. Clark stared out into the sea of people, his mouth trembling. There were a few polite coughs, then several concerned nudges. All the while, Mr. Clark didn’t move.

Aria’s stomach jumped. It was terrible seeing this man so wrecked, especially over something
they
might have caused. What if A had killed Gayle only because of them? That meant they’d ruined his life not once, with Tabitha, but twice. And Aria was even more to blame—it had been her hands that had pushed Tabitha off that roof. She stared at them now, horrified at what she’d done all over again. Her fingers started to tremble.

Finally, Mr. Clark cleared his throat. “I never thought I’d have to do this twice in one year,” he said, his voice cracking. He clutched a handkerchief tightly in his fist. “It’s heartbreaking enough when your daughter is taken from you, but when you lose your wife, too, your world starts to crumble.” He sniffled and wiped his nose. “Many of you knew Gayle as an incredibly giving philanthropist. But I knew other parts of her, too. Sides of her so special and unique . . .”