Jason’s toe kicked up more dirt.
“But it’s not your fault,” Aria went on. “It’s not any of our faults.”
And all of a sudden, she really believed that. If Ali really had committed suicide, and if she’d known she was going to do it ahead of time, Aria still might not have been able to do anything to stop her. It broke her heart that she hadn’t sensed it coming, and it sucked that she didn’t know why Ali had done it . . . but maybe she just had to accept it, grieve, and move on.
Jason opened his mouth as if to speak, but a shrill ring pierced the air. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I should get this,” he said, glancing at the screen, his tone apologetic. Aria gave him a wave as he turned and walked down the hill into the shadows.
Then she faced Ali’s headstone. Alison Lauren DiLaurentis. Nothing else. Had Ali known the night of the sleepover would be her last on earth, or had it been a spur-of-the-moment, I can’t take it anymore thing? The very last time Aria saw Ali alive, Ali had been about to hypnotize them, but Spencer had jumped up and tried to open the blinds. It’s too dark in here, Spencer said. It has to be dark, Ali argued, whipping the blinds shut. That’s how it works.
Then, when Ali turned, Aria got a peek at her face. She hadn’t seemed manipulative and domineering, but fragile and scared. Seconds later, Spencer told Ali to leave . . . and Ali did. She backed down, something she’d never done before, like her spunk and resolve had evaporated.
Aria knelt down in the grass, touching the cool marble of Ali’s headstone. Hot tears rushed to her eyes. “Ali, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Whatever was going on, I’m sorry.”
A jet roared overhead. The fragrant bouquet of roses next to Ali’s grave made Aria’s nose itch. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Aria?” a high-pitched voice called.
Aria jumped. There was a blinding light in her face. Her hands shook, and for a moment, she was sure it was Ali. But then the light shifted. A woman cop in dark-framed glasses and a Rosewood PD ski cap knelt down. “Aria Montgomery?”
“Y-yes?” Aria stammered.
The cop touched Aria’s arm. “You need to come with me.”
“Why?” Aria laughed nervously, pulling her arm away.
The walkie-talkie on the cop’s belt bleeped. “It would be best if you spoke to the boys downtown.”
“What’s going on? I didn’t do anything.”
The cop curled her lips into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “What are you so sorry about, Aria?” She glanced at Ali’s grave, obviously having heard everything Aria had just said. “Is it because you’ve been hiding evidence from us?”
Aria shook her head, not understanding. “Evidence?”
The cop gave her a knowing, condescending look. “A certain ring.”
Aria’s throat instantly went dry. She clutched her yak-fur bag to her chest. Ian’s ring was still nestled in the inner pocket. She’d been so busy trying to contact Ali, she hadn’t thought about it in days. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Mm-hmm,” the cop murmured, neither interested nor impressed. She unclipped a pair of handcuffs from her belt and glanced at Jason, who was standing just a few feet away. “Thanks for your call, telling us she was here.”
Aria’s mouth fell open. She whipped around and stared at Jason too. “You told them I was here?” she exclaimed. “Why?”
Jason shook his head, his eyes wide. “What? I didn’t—”
“Mr. DiLaurentis told the officer at the station everything he knew,” the cop interrupted. “He’s just doing his civic duty, Miss Montgomery.” She wrested Aria’s bag from her hands, then placed her cuffs over Aria’s wrists. “Don’t be angry at him for what you did. What all of you did.”
The reality of what the cop was saying slowly sank in. Could she really mean what Aria thought she meant? She whipped around to Jason. “You’re making this up!”
“Aria, you don’t understand,” Jason protested. “I didn’t—”
“Come on,” the cop blustered. Aria’s arms were now roughly bent behind her back. She could see Jason’s lips moving but couldn’t make out the words.
“And since when do the police take advice from psychos?” she exploded to the cop. “Don’t you know Jason’s been in and out of mental hospitals for years?”
The cop cocked her head, seemingly perplexed. Jason made a gurgling sound. “Aria . . .” His voice cracked. “No. You’ve got it all wrong.”
Aria paused. Jason sounded aghast. “What do you mean?” she asked sharply.
The cop grabbed her arm. “Come on, Miss Montgomery. Let’s go.”
But Aria’s gaze was still on Jason. “What do I have wrong?” Jason stared, his lips parted. “Tell me!” she pleaded. “What do I have wrong?” But Jason just stood there, watching as the cop pulled Aria down the hill to the flashing cruiser.
Chapter 26
The Evidence doesn’t Lie
The trip from Lancaster to Rosewood was supposed to take two hours at the most, but Emily had made the mistake of getting on a bus that stopped at a couple of authentic Pennsylvania Dutch farms on the way back. It had then deposited her in Philadelphia, meaning she’d had to get on another bus to Rosewood, which sat in the station for an additional forty-five minutes before then getting stuck in jammed traffic on the Schuylkill Expressway. By the time the Greyhound sighed into Rosewood, Emily had bit every fingernail to the quick and had torn a giant hole in the vinyl bus seat. It was almost 6 P.M., and a cold, ugly sleet had begun to fall. The bus opened its doors, and Emily scampered down the steps.