Spencer had an advantage over everyone else at the benefit who might have wanted to leave without Wilden noticing—it was her house, and she knew all the secret exits. Wilden probably didn't even know that there was a door at the back of the garage that led straight into the backyard. She paused only to grab a small flashlight by her mom's gardening supplies, out on a forest green rain slicker that was hanging on a peg on the wall, and stuff her feet into a pair of extra riding boots, which were flung haphazardly on the garage floor next to her dad's old Jaguar XKE. The boots weren't lined, but they'd do a better job keeping her feet warm than her strappy. Miu Miu heels.
The sky was purplish black. Spencer ran along the perimeter of the yard, grazing the frozen blueberry bushes that separated her property from Ali's old house. The flashlight's tiny beam danced against the uneven ground. Luckily, most of the snow had melted, so it would be easy to see where they'd buried the trash bag.
Halfway across her yard, Spencer heard a twig snap and froze. She turned around slowly. "Hello?" she whispered.
There was no moon. Muffled noises from the party drifted across the lawn. Somewhere very far away, a car door slammed.
Spencer bit down hard on her lip and kept going. Her boots sloshed through the half-slush, half-mud. The barn was just ahead. Melissa had turned on the porch light, but the rest of the barn was dark. Spencer walked right up to the edge of the porch and stood very still. She was breathing hard, as if she'd just run six miles with her old field hockey team. From back here, her house seemed so small and far away. The windows glowed yellow, and she could see the vague shapes of people inside. Andrew was in there, as were old friends. Wilden too. Maybe she should have left this to him. But it was too late now.
A little breeze curled around her neck and down her back. The hole they'd dug for the trash bag was easy to find, a few paces to the left of the barn near the winding bluestone path. Spencer shuddered, overcome by a foreboding sense of deja vu. Their seventh-grade sleepover had been on a moonless night a lot like this. After their argument, Spencer had followed Ali out here, demanding that she come back inside. And then they'd had that stupid fight about Ian. Spencer had supposed the memory for so long, but now that it was out in the open again, she was sure she'd never forget Ali's twisted face as long as she lived. Ali had laughed at Spencer, taunting her for taking Ian's kiss seriously.
Spencer had been so hurt, she'd shoved Ali hard. Ali had gone flying, her head making a horrible crack against the rocks. It was a wonder the cops had never found the rock Ali hit—it must have had a trace of blood on it, or at least a hair. In fact, the cops barely investigated anything back here besides the inside of the barn those first crucial weeks after Ali went missing. They'd been pretty convinced Ali had run away. Had that just been a sloppy oversight? Or was there some reason they didn't want to look more carefully?
There's something you don't know, Ian had said. The cops know it, but they're ignoring it. Spencer gritted her teeth, chasing the words from her head. Ian was crazy. There wasn't some secret the world was hiding. Just the truth: Ian had killed Ali because she was going to reveal that they were a couple.
Spencer hiked up her dress, knelt down, and plunged her hands into the soft, dug-up dirt. Finally, her hands touched the edge of the plastic garbage bag. Condensed water from the melted snow dripped off the ends as she pulled it out. She set the bag on a dry patch of dirt and undid the toes. Everything inside was still dry. The first thing she pulled out was the string bracelet Ali had made for them after The Jenna Thing. Next was Emily's pink quilted purse. Spencer forced it open, feeling around the interior. The faux-patent leather squeaked. It was empty.
Spencer found the piece of paper Hanna had dropped in and shined the flashlight on it as best she could. It wasn't a note from Ali, as she'd originally thought, but a student evaluation form Ali had filled out, tanking Hanna's oral report on Tim Sawyer. All the Rosewood Day sixth-grade English classes had to rate their peers' reports, sort of as a schoolwide experiment.
Ali's assessment of Hanna's report was fairly mild—nothing too nice, nothing too mean. It seemed like she'd dashed it off quickly, busy with something else. Spencer pushed it aside. She pulled the last thing at the bottom of the bag, Aria's drawing. Even back then, Aria had drawn people remarkably well. There was Ali, standing in front of Rosewood Day, a smirk on her face, as if she was laughing about someone behind their back. A few of her underlings stood in the background, snickering.
Spencer let it flutter to her lap, disappointed. There didn't seem to be anything unusual about this, either. Had she really expected a miracle answer? Was she really that big an idiot?
But she shined the flashlight over the drawing once more. Ali was holding something in her hands. It looked like…a piece of paper. Spencer pressed the flashlight right against the paper. Aria had sketched the headline. Time Capsule Starts Tomorrow.
This drawing and photo propped up against the Eiffel Tower had both been from the same day. Just like the photo, Aria had captured the precise moment when Ali ripped down the flyer and announced that she was going to find a piece of the Time Capsule flag. Aria had sketched someone behind Ali, too. Spencer pressed her flashlight against the paper. Ian.
A chilly gust of wind danced across Spencer's face. Her eyes kept tearing up from the cold, but she struggled to keep them open. Aria's sketched of Ian wasn't as diabolical or conniving as Spencer had thought it would be. Instead, Aria had made him look kind of…pathetic. He was gazing at Ali, his eyes wide, a dopey smile on his face. Ali, on the other hand, was turned away from him. Her expression was cocky, as if she was thinking, Aren't I the shit? Even gorgeous upperclassmen are wrapped around my little finger.
The paper crinkled in Spencer's hands. Aria had drawn this right as it was happening. She certainly hadn't known anything about Ali or Ian back then, but had merely sketched what she saw—Ian looking lovesick and vulnerable. And Ali looking…like Ali. Like a bitch.
Ali and I flirted a lot, but that was all. She never seemed interested in taking it further than that, Ian had said. But then…suddenly…she changed her mind.
The trees around the pool made black, spidery shadows. The wooden wind chimes that hung from the eave of the barn knocked together, sounding like bones rattling. A shiver ran from the base of Spencer's neck all the way to her coccyx. Could it be true? Had Ian and Ali harmlessly flirted with each other, merely having a little fun? What, then, had made Ali change her mind and decide to like him?
But that was so hard to accept. If Ian was telling the truth about Ali, then everything else he'd said to Spencer two days ago on her porch could possibly be true, too. That there was a secret he was on the verge of finding out. That there was something more to all this that they didn't understand. And that Ian hadn't killed her—someone else had.
Spencer pressed her hand to her chest, afraid her heart was about to stop. What notes? Ian had asked. But if Ian wasn't sending A notes…who was?
The cold slush seeped right through Spencer's riding boots, straight to her toes. Spencer stared at the bluestones path at the back of her yard, the very spot where she and Ali had fought. After Spencer shoved Ali to the ground, her memory had gone spotty. She'd only recently remembered that Ali had gotten up and continued down the path. What Spencer saw next flickered in front of her mind, blurring and sharpening. Ali's thin legs poking out the bottom of her JV field hockey kilt, her long hair dripped down her back, the bottoms of her rubber flip-flops worn at the insteps. There was another person with her too, and they were arguing. A few months ago, Spencer had been positive that person was Ian. But now when she tried to access the memory, she couldn't see the person's face. Had she latched onto Ian because Mona had fed her that information? Because she just wanted it to be someone, so this would be over?
The stars twinkled peacefully. An owl hooted in one of the big oaks behind the barn. Spencer's nose itched, and she thought she smelled a cigarette smoldering somewhere close. And then her Sidekick began to ring.
It echoed loudly across the vast, empty yard. Spencer plunged her hand into her bag, hitting Mute. She felt numb as she pulled it out. Her screen announced that she had a new e-mail from someone called Ian_T.
Her stomach swooped.
Spencer. Meet me in the woods, where she died. I have something to show you.
Spencer sucked in her teeth. The woods where she died. That was just on the other side of the barn. She stuffed the drawing into her purse and hesitated for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and started to run.