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She turned and looked at the houses across the tracks. Many had junk on their porches and peeling paint around the windows, and none had been converted into antique shops or upscale spas like the old houses around the Rosewood station. Nor was there a fancy Wawa or Starbucks nearby, just a dingy head shop that offered palm readings and “other psychic services”—whatever that meant—and a bar called the Yee-Haw Saloon, with a big placard out front that said CHUG ALL YOU CAN FOR $5! Even the spindly trees didn’t seem as picturesque. Aria understood why the DiLaurentises wouldn’t have wanted to move back to Rosewood for the duration of the trial, but why had they chosen Yarmouth?
She heard a snort behind her. As she turned, a shadow slipped behind the station on the other side of the tracks. Aria stood on her tiptoes, blinking hard, but she couldn’t make out who it was. She thought about seeing Jenna Cavanaugh in her front yard yesterday. It had seemed as if Jenna was about to tell Aria something…but then decided against it. On top of that, Emily had forwarded Aria a text from A, a photo of Ali and Jenna together that Aria had never seen. See? said Emily’s text. It looks like Ali and Jenna were friends. But wasn’t it possible that Ali was pretending to be Jenna’s friend, in order to get Jenna to trust her? It was just like Ali to bring someone into her inner circle only to steal all her secrets.
The train roared into the station and screeched to a halt. The conductor banged the door open, and people slowly climbed down the metal stairs. When Aria saw Jason’s blond hair and gray jacket, her mouth went dry. She ran to him and touched his elbow. “Jason?”
Jason turned around with a jerk, seemingly on guard. When he saw it was Aria, he relaxed. “Oh,” he said. “Hey.” His eyes flickered back and forth. “What are you doing here?”
Aria cleared her throat, resisting the urge to turn around, run back to her car, and drive away. “Maybe I’m making a fool out of myself, but I liked talking to you the other day. And…I wanted to know if we could hang out some time. But if not, that’s cool too.”
Jason grinned, looking impressed. He stepped out of the way of a crowd of businessmen. “You’re not making a fool out of yourself,” he said, meeting Aria’s eyes.
“I’m not?” Aria’s heart flipped over.
Jason checked his oversize watch. “Do you want to get a drink right now? I’ve got some time.”
“S-sure,” Aria stammered, her voice cracking.
“I know the perfect place in Hollis,” Jason said. “You can follow me there, okay?”
Aria nodded, grateful he hadn’t suggested the Yee-Haw Saloon down the street. Jason let her go first up the narrow stairs that led to the station. As they walked to their cars, something flickered in Aria’s peripheral vision. The figure she’d seen earlier was standing at the station window, looking out. Whoever it was wore big sunglasses and a puffy coat with the hood pulled tight, obscuring his or her facial features. Even so, Aria had the distinct sense that the person was staring right at her.
Aria followed Jason’s black BMW into Hollis. She made a point to check his back bumper for any big dents, remembering what Emily had said about her and Jason’s altercation the other day. But as far as she could tell, the bumper was flawless and dent-free.
After they both found parking spaces on the street, Jason led her down a narrow alley and up the stairs of an old Victorian house with the word BATES hanging on a sign over the front porch. There was a creaky black rocking chair off to the right, as spindly as a skeleton.
“This is a bar?” Aria looked around. The Hollis bars she knew, like Snooker’s and the Victory Brewery, were dark, foul-smelling places that had no decoration besides a few neon Guinness and Budweiser signs. Bates, on the other hand, had stained-glass windows, a brass knocker on the front door, and a bunch of long-dead hanging plants swinging from the porch ceiling. It reminded Aria of the creaky mansion her Reykjavík piano teacher, Brynja, lived in.
The door swung open, leading to an enormous parquet-floored parlor. Red velvet couches lined the sides of the room, and dramatic curtains billowed over the windows. “Supposedly the place is haunted,” Jason whispered to her. “That’s why they call it Bates, like the Bates Motel from Psycho.” He walked up to the bar and sat on a stool.
Aria looked away. Back before Ali’s body had been found, she’d thought A was Ali—or maybe her ghost. The blond flashes she’d seen had probably been Mona, who’d stalked each of them for their dirtiest secrets. But now that Mona was dead, Aria still sometimes swore she saw someone with blond hair just like Ali’s duck behind trees and appear at windows, watching her from beyond the grave.
A short-haired bartender dressed in black took their orders. Aria asked for pinot noir—she thought it seemed sophisticated—and Jason ordered a gimlet. When he noticed Aria’s confused expression, he said, “It’s vodka and lime juice. A girlfriend at Yale got me into it.”
“Oh.” Aria ducked her head at the word girlfriend.
“She’s not my girlfriend anymore,” Jason added, which made Aria blush more.
They got their drinks, and Jason slid his gimlet over to her. “Try it.” She took a dainty sip. “It’s good,” she said. It tasted like Sprite, except way more fun.
Jason folded his hands, a curious smile on his lips. “You seem awfully comfortable drinking in a bar.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You almost have me fooled that you’re twenty-one.”
