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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 ties. 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, ranking Hanna’s oral report on Tom 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 out 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 the 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 sketch 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 bluestone 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 dripping 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.
