Unbelievable (Book Four)

Seven: Barbie Doll...Or Voodoo Doll?

Sunday evening, Spencer swung gently on the hammock on the wraparound porch of her grandmother's vacation house. As she watched yet another hot, muscular surfer boy catch a wave at Nun's, the surfing beach just down the road that bordered a convent, a shadow fell over her.

"Your father and I are going to the yacht club for a while," her mother said, shoving her hands into her beige linen trousers.

"Oh." Spencer struggled to get out of the hammock without getting her feet tangled in the netting. The Stone Harbor yacht club was in an old sea shack that smelled a little like brine in a moldy basement. Spencer suspected her parents liked going there solely because it was a members-only establishment. "Can I come?"

Her mother caught her arm. "You and Melissa are staying here."

A breeze that smelled of surf wax and fish smacked Spencer in the face. She tried to see things from her mother's perspective—it must have sucked to see her two children fighting so bloodthirstily. But Spencer wished her mom could understand her perspective, too. Melissa was an evil superbitch, and Spencer didn't want to speak to her for the rest of her life.

"Fine," Spencer said dramatically. She pulled open the sliding glass door and stalked into the grand family room. Even though Nana Hastings's Craftsman-style house had eight bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a private path to the beach, a deluxe playroom. a home theater, a gourmet chef's kitchen, and Stickley furniture throughout, Spencer's family had always affectionately called it the "taco shack."Perhaps it was because Nana's mansion in Longboat Key, Florida, had wall frescoes, marble floors, three tennis courts, and a temperature-controlled wine cellar.

Spencer haughtily passed Melissa, who was lounging on one of the tan leather couches, murmuring on her iPhone. She was probably talking to Ian Thomas. "I'll be in my room," Spencer yelled dramatically at the base of the stairs. "All. Night."

She flopped down on her sleigh bed, pleased to see that her bedroom was exactly as she'd left it five years ago. Alison had come with her the last time she visited, and the two of them had spent hours gazing at the surfers through her late Grandpa Hastings's antique mahogany spyglass on the crow's-nest deck. That had been in the early fall, when Ali and Spencer were just starting seventh grade. Things were still pretty normal between them—maybe Ali hadn't started seeing Ian yet.

Spencer shuddered. Ali had been seeing Ian. Did A know about that? Did A know about Spencer's argument with Ali the night Ali disappeared, too—had A been there? Spencer wished she could tell the police about A, but A seemed above the law. She looked around haltingly, suddenly frightened. The sun had sunk below the trees, filling the room with eerie darkness.

Her phone rang, and Spencer jumped. She pulled it out of her robe pocket and squinted at the number. Not recognizing it, she put the phone to her ear and tentatively said hello.

"Spencer?" said a girl's smooth, lilting voice. "It's Mona Vanderwaal."

"Oh." Spencer sat up too fast, and her head started to spin. There was only one reason why Mona would be calling her. "Is...Hanna...okay?"

"Well...no." Mona sounded surprised. "You haven't heard? She's in a coma. I'm at the hospital."

"Oh my God," Spencer whispered. "Is she going to get better?"

"The doctors don't know." Mona's voice wobbled. "She might not wake up."

Spencer began to pace around the room. "I'm in New Jersey right now with my parents, but I'll be back tomorrow morning, so—"

"I'm not calling to make you guilty," Mona interrupted. She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm stressed. I called because you were good at planning events."

It was cold in the bedroom and smelled a little like sand. Spencer touched the edge of the enormous conch shell that sat on top of her bureau. "Well, sure."