4
THE BLOND BOMBSHELL
As the winter sun dipped low on the horizon, Emily sat in the passenger seat of Hanna’s Prius, watching Lancaster Avenue fly by. They were speeding to Yarmouth, where the DiLaurentises now lived. Spencer and Aria were meeting them there.
“Make a right here,” Emily instructed, reading from the directions Mrs. DiLaurentis had given her. They entered a subdivision called Darrow Farms. It looked like it had once been a real farm, with rolling green hills and lots of fields for crops and livestock, but a developer had subdivided it into identical plots of enormous homes. Each house had a stone facade, black shutters, and fledgling Japanese maples in the front yard.
It wasn’t difficult to find the DiLaurentises’ house—it had an enormous crowd at the curb, a large podium in the front yard, and swarms of cameramen, reporters, and producers. A phalanx of cops stood guard near the DiLaurentises’ porch, most with intimidating black pistols on their belts. Many of the people in the throng were journalists, but there were definitely some curiosity-seekers, too—Emily spied Lanie Iler and Gemma Curran, two girls on her swim team, leaning against a sequoia. Spencer’s sister, Melissa, loitered next to a Mercedes SUV.
“Whoa,” Emily whispered. Word had spread. Whatever was happening must be huge.
Emily slammed the car door and started with Hanna toward the crowd. She’d forgotten to bring mittens, and her fingers already felt fat and jointless from the cold. She’d been scatterbrained about everything since Jenna’s death, barely sleeping at night, hardly eating anything at meals.
“Em?”
Emily whirled around, signaling to Hanna that she’d catch up with her in a minute. Maya St. Germain stood behind Emily, wedged next to a boy in a Phillies snow hat. Under a black wool coat, Maya wore a striped boat-neck shirt, black jeans, and black leather ankle boots. Her curly hair was pinned back with a tortoiseshell clip, and her lips were coated in cherry-scented ChapStick. Emily spied a yellow wad of banana gum in her mouth, reminding her of the day she and Maya first kissed.
“Hey,” Emily said cautiously. She and Maya weren’t exactly on good terms—not since Maya had caught Emily kissing another girl.
Maya’s lip quivered, and then she burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she blubbered, covering her face. “This is so hard. I can’t believe Jenna’s…”
Emily felt a twinge of guilt. She’d seen Maya and Jenna together a lot lately—roaming the halls of Rosewood Day, walking through the atrium at the King James Mall, even at the diving competition of one of Emily’s swim meets.
A tiny movement at the DiLaurentises’ front window caught Emily’s eye, distracting her. It looked like someone had parted the curtain, and then dropped it again. For a moment, she wondered if it was Jason. But then she noticed him near the podium, tapping on his cell phone.
She turned back to Maya, who was pulling a plastic Wawa bag from her army-green knapsack. “I wanted to give you this,” Maya said. “The workers cleaning up the fire found it and thought it was mine, but I remember it from your room.”
Emily reached into the bag and extracted a pink patent-leather change purse. A swirly initial E was inscribed on the front, and the zipper was pale pink. “Oh my God,” she breathed. The pouch had been a gift from Ali in sixth grade. It had been one of the Ali artifacts Emily and her friends had buried in Spencer’s backyard before Ian’s trial. Their grief counselor claimed the ritual would help them heal from Ali’s death, but Emily had missed the purse ever since.
“Thank you.” She clutched it to her chest.
“No worries.” Maya snapped her bag shut and slung it across her chest. “Well, I should go be with my family.” She gestured through the crowd. Mr. and Mrs. St. Germain stood by the DiLaurentises’ mailbox, looking a little lost.
“Bye.” Emily faced front again. Hanna had joined Spencer and Aria near the barricades. Emily hadn’t seen her old friends together since Jenna’s funeral. Swallowing hard, she elbowed through the crowd until she was right next to them. “Hey,” she said softly to Spencer.
Spencer looked at Emily uneasily. “Hey.”
Aria and Hanna shrugged hellos. “How are you guys?” Emily asked.
Aria ran her fingers through the fringe of her long black scarf. Hanna stared at her iPhone, not answering. Spencer bit her bottom lip. None of them looked thrilled to be standing together. Emily turned the patent-leather change purse over in her hands, hoping one of her old friends would recognize it. She was dying to talk to them about Ali, but something had come between them ever since Jenna’s body was found. It had happened after Ali disappeared, too—it was simply easier to ignore one another than to rehash the terrible memories.
“What do you think this is all about?” Emily tried again.
Aria pulled out a tube of cherry ChapStick and smeared it across her lips. “You were the one Mrs. DiLaurentis called. She didn’t tell you?”
Emily shook her head. “She got off the phone really fast. I didn’t have time to ask.”
“Maybe it’s about how Billy is claiming he’s innocent.” Hanna leaned on the barricade, making it sway a little.
Aria shivered. “I heard his lawyer wants the case thrown out because they can’t find a single boot print in Jenna’s backyard. They don’t have any physical evidence that links him to the scene.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Spencer said. “He had all those photos of us, all those A notes….”