Heartless. (Book Seven)

Thirteen: Someone's Not As Typical As You Think.

Wednesday afternoon, Aria sat at the kitchen table at Byron and Meredith's new house, staring gloomily into a bar of organic honey-wheat pretzels. The house had been built in the 1950s, with ornate crown molding, a three-tier deck, and beautiful French doors leading from room to room. Unfortunately, the appliances hadn't been updated since the Cold War era. To make up for its old-fashionedness, Meredith had stripped the plaid wallpaper and painted the walls neon green. Like that would be soothing for the baby.

Mike sat next to Aria, grumbling that the only beverage in the house was nonfat Rice Dream soy milk. Byron had invited Mike over after school so he could get to know Meredith better, although the only thing Mike had said to Meredith so far was that her boobs had really grown since she'd gotten knocked up. She'd smiled tightly then clomped upstairs to prepare the baby's nursery.

Mike turned the little kitchen TV to the news. Public Calls for Pretty Little Liars to Take Polygraphs said a black-letter headline on the screen. Aria gasped and leaned forward.

"Some people suspect the four Rosewood girls who claimed they saw Alison DiLaurentis may be keep vital information from the police," a smug, blond reporter said into the camera. Downtown Rosewood, with its quaint village square, French cafe, and Danish furniture store, was in the shot behind her. "They've been at the center of many scandals involving Alison DiLaurentis's case. Then on Saturday they were found at the site of a fire that ravaged the woods where Mr. Thomas was last seen, destroying any possible clues as to his whereabouts. According to several reports, the police are ready to take action against the Liars should any evidence of conspiracy emerge."

"Conspiracy?" Aria repeated, dumbfounded. Did they honestly think Aria and the others had helped Ian escape? It seemed Wilden's warning had been right. They'd lost any remaining shred of credibility when Emily claimed they saw Ali. The entire town had turned against them.

She gazed vacantly out the bay window to the backyard. Workers and cops were scattered around the woods behind her house, poking through the ashes and searching for clues as to who had set the fire. They looked like busy ants in a colony. A woman cop stood near a big telephone pole, two panting German shepherds wearing K-9 Unit vests at her side. Aria wanted to run outside in her hemp slippers and drop Ian's ring back where she'd found it, but guards and dogs were patrolling the perimeter 24/7.

Sighing, she pulled out her phone and started a new text to Spencer. Did u just see the news about polygraphs?

Yes, Spencer texted back immediately.

Aria paused, considering how to word her next question. Do you think it's possible that Ali's spirit is trying to tell us something? Maybe that's what we saw the night of the fire?

Seconds after she fired off the text, Spencer wrote back. Like her ghost?

Yes.

No way.

Aria turned her phone face down on the table. It wasn't surprising that Spencer didn't believe her. Back when they used to go swimming in Peck's Pond, Ali made them chant a rhyme that would keep the spirit of the dead man who'd drowned there from harming them. Spencer was the only one who rolled her eyes and refused to play along.

"Dude," Mike said excitedly, and Aria looked up. "You have to tell me what a polygraph is like. I bet it's awesome." When he saw Aria's sick expression, he scoffed. "I'm kidding. The cops won't make you take a test. You haven't done anything wrong. Hanna would tell me if you had."

"Are you and Hanna really dating?" Aria asked, desperate to change the subject.

Mike squared his shoulders. "Is that really such a surprise? I'm hot." He popped a pretzel into his mouth. Crumbs fell to the tile floor. "And speaking of Hanna, if you've been looking for her, she went to Singapore to be with her mom. She's not, like, locked away somewhere or anything. She's not, like, I don't know, in Vegas training to be a stripper."