“Maybe it’s about how Billy is claiming he’s innocent.” Hanna leaned on the barricade, making it sway a little.
Aria shivered. “I heard his lawyer wants the case thrown out because they can’t find a single boot print in Jenna’s backyard. They don’t have any physical evidence that links him to the scene.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Spencer said. “He had all those photos of us, all those A notes….”
“Isn’t it kind of weird, though, that it turned out to be Billy?” Aria said in a low voice. She picked at a patch of dry skin on her thumb. “He came from out of nowhere.”
The wind shifted, smelling pungently of cow manure from a nearby farm. Emily agreed with Aria; she had been certain that Ali’s killer would end up being someone familiar, someone connected to her life. This Billy guy was a weird, random stranger who’d somehow dug up their deepest, darkest secrets. It could be done, Emily supposed—Mona Vanderwaal had unearthed tons of dirty secrets about Emily and the others just by reading Ali’s abandoned diary.
“I guess.” Hanna shuddered. “But he definitely did it. I hope they lock him up forever.”
The microphone at the podium screeched with feedback, and Emily jerked her head up. Mrs. DiLaurentis, dressed in a sleek black sheath, a brown mink shrug, and black heels, emerged from the house. She fiddled with a stack of index cards. Her husband, looking even more gaunt and beak-nosed than Emily remembered, stood by her side. Emily also noticed that Officer Darren Wilden had appeared in the cluster of cops, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Emily grimaced. Maybe Wilden hadn’t killed his Amish ex-girlfriend, but there was still something sketchy about him. Wilden hadn’t believed in New A, even when they showed him the threatening missives. And he was so quick to discount the girls’ sighting of Ali after the fire, making Emily and the others promise that they wouldn’t say anything more about seeing her in the woods.
The crowd grew quiet. Flashbulbs snapped. “Rolling,” a producer next to Emily whispered.
Mrs. DiLaurentis gave a watery smile. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “The past four years have been very difficult and painful for our entire family, but we’ve had a lot of support. I want everyone to know that we’re doing okay, and we’re relieved to know that we can finally put our daughter’s murder behind us.”
There was a smattering of applause. Ali’s mom continued. “Two tragedies have happened in Rosewood, to two very beautiful, innocent girls. I’d like all of us to have a moment of silence for my daughter and for Jenna Cavanaugh.” She looked across the crowd at Jenna’s parents, who were standing in an inconspicuous spot behind an oak tree. Jenna’s mom’s mouth was clenched, as though she was trying very hard not to cry. Jenna’s father had his eyes trained stubbornly on an empty silver gum wrapper at his feet.
Emily heard a sniffle from the middle of the crowd, and then a loud caw of a crow. The wind whistled, shaking the bare trees. When she looked at the DiLaurentises’ window, there was that flicker again.
Mrs. DiLaurentis cleared her throat. “But that isn’t the only reason I’ve called everyone here,” she read from her note cards. “Our family has been hiding a secret for a long time, mostly for safety reasons. We think it’s time to tell the truth.”
It felt like a moth had gotten loose in Emily’s stomach. The truth?
Mrs. DiLaurentis’s mouth wobbled. She took a deep breath. “The truth is, we have another child. Someone who hasn’t grown up always living with us because of…” She paused for a moment, nervously scratching the side of her nose. “…health issues.”
The crowd began to murmur. Emily’s mind swirled. What did Mrs. DiLaurentis say? She grabbed Aria’s hand. Aria squeezed back.
Mrs. DiLaurentis shouted over the growing whispers. “Our daughter was recently released and given a clean bill of health, but we hoped to protect her from public scrutiny until her sister’s true murderer was safely behind bars. Thanks to Officer Wilden and his team, that’s now a reality.”
She turned and nodded at Wilden, who ducked his head bashfully. A few people clapped. Emily tasted the peanut-butter-and-honey sandwich she’d had for lunch that day. Daughter?
“With that, we think it’s time to introduce her to all of you.” Mrs. DiLaurentis turned and signaled at the house. The front door opened. Out came a girl.
The change purse slipped from Emily’s fingers. “What?” Aria cried, dropping Emily’s hand. Spencer clutched Emily’s shoulder and Hanna slumped heavily against the barricade.
The girl on the porch had blond hair, porcelain skin, and a heart-shaped face. Her deep blue eyes landed on Emily’s almost immediately. She held Emily’s gaze, then winked. Emily’s whole body turned to mush. “Ali?” she mouthed.
Mrs. DiLaurentis leaned into the microphone. “This is Courtney,” she declared. “Alison’s twin sister.”
5
JUST WHEN YOU THOUGHT IT COULDN’T GET ANY CRAZIER
The murmurs rose to a roar and flashbulbs flickered furiously. A bunch of people started frantically texting. “A twin?” Spencer said weakly. Her hands trembled uncontrollably.
“Oh my God,” Aria murmured, clapping her hand to her forehead. Emily blinked furiously at the girl, as if she didn’t believe she was real. Hanna latched onto Emily’s arm.
A portion of the crowd spun around and stared at Aria, Emily, Spencer, and Hanna. “Did they know?” someone whispered.
Spencer’s heart fluttered hummingbird-fast. She hadn’t known. Ali had kept lots of secrets from her—the clandestine relationship with Ian, her secret friendship with Jenna, the mystery of why she’d dumped Naomi and Riley for Spencer and the others in sixth grade—but a secret sister trumped all of those things.
She stared at the girl on the porch. Ali’s twin sister was tall, her hair a little darker and her face a little narrower than Ali’s, but otherwise she was identical to their old best friend. She wore black leggings, black flats, an oversize blue oxford shirt, and a cropped white jacket. A striped scarf was looped around her neck, and her blond hair was bunched into a bun. With her cupid’s bow lips and sapphire blue eyes, she looked just like a French model.
Out of the corner of her eye, Spencer noticed her sister, Melissa, weaving through the crowd. Angling past the police barricades, she walked right up to Jason DiLaurentis and whispered something in his ear. Jason paled, turned toward Melissa, and said something back.
An uneasy feeling bolted through Spencer’s stomach. Why was Melissa here? And what was she doing? She hadn’t seen Melissa and Jason talk since high school.
Then Melissa craned her neck and stared at Courtney. Courtney noticed and flinched. Her smile drooped.
What the hell?
“What do you think about William Ford saying he’s innocent?” A voice called out from the crowd, breaking Spencer’s focus. The question came from a tall blond reporter in the front row.
Mrs. DiLaurentis pursed her lips. “I think it’s reprehensible. The evidence against him is staggering.”
Spencer turned back to Courtney. Dizziness overcame her. It was so bizarre. Courtney met her gaze, then shifted from Spencer to the other girls. Once she had everyone’s attention, she signaled to the side door of the house.
Emily stiffened. “Does she want us to…?”
“She couldn’t,” Spencer said. “She doesn’t even know us.”
Courtney leaned over and whispered something into her mom’s ear. Mrs. DiLaurentis nodded, then smiled at the crowd. “My daughter is a little overwhelmed. She’s going to go back inside for a while to rest.”
Courtney turned for the door. Before she disappeared into the house, she looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow.
“Should we go?” Hanna said uneasily.
“No!” Aria gasped at the same time Emily said, “Yes!”
Spencer chewed on her pinkie. “We should see what she wants.” She grabbed Aria’s arm. “C’mon.”
They sneaked around the side of the house, ducked past an overgrown holly bush, and darted through the red-painted side door.
The huge kitchen smelled of cloves, olive oil, and Febreze. One of the chairs was cocked at an odd angle to the table, as if someone had been sitting there moments before. Spencer recognized the old Delft pottery flour and sugar jars by the microwave from the DiLaurentises’ old kitchen. Someone had started a grocery list and pinned it to the refrigerator. Jelly. Pickles. French bread.
When Courtney appeared from the hallway, a whisper of a smile emerged on her eerily familiar face; Spencer’s legs dissolved into Jell-O. Aria let out a small squeak.
“I promise I won’t bite,” Courtney said. Her voice was exactly like Ali’s, husky and seductive. “I wanted a minute alone with you guys before things got too crazy.”
Spencer nervously shaped her dirty blond hair into a ponytail, unable to take her eyes off the girl. It was like Ali had crawled out of the hole in her old backyard, grown back her skin, and become alive and whole again.
The girls all stared at one another, their eyes wide and unblinking. The clock on the microwave ticked from 3:59 to 4:00.
Courtney plucked a yellow bowl full of pretzels from the island and joined them. “You guys were my sister’s best friends, right? Spencer, Emily, Hanna, Aria?” She pointed to each of them in succession.
“Yeah.” Spencer curled her hands around the caning on her chair, remembering the time in sixth grade when she, Aria, Hanna, and Emily had sneaked into Ali’s backyard, hoping to steal her Time Capsule flag. Ali had come out onto her porch, wearing a pink T-shirt and wedges, and caught them. After telling the girls they were too late—someone had already stolen the flag—she’d pointed at Spencer and said, “You’re Spencer, right?” She then made the others introduce themselves, acting as if she was way too popular to remember their names. It was the first time Ali had ever spoken to any of them. Just one week later, she handpicked them as her new best friends.
“Ali told me about you.” Courtney offered the girls pretzels, but everyone shook their heads. Spencer couldn’t fathom eating right now. Her stomach had inverted itself.
“But she never told you about me, did she?”
“N-no,” Emily croaked. “Not once.”
“Then I guess this is pretty bizarre,” Courtney said.
Spencer fiddled with a cork coaster that said MARTINI TIME! in fifties-style lettering.
“So…where were you? At a hospital or something?” Aria asked.
Not that Courtney looked sick. Her skin radiated, as if it was lit from an inside source. Her blond hair shone as if it was deep-conditioned hourly. As Spencer canvassed Courtney’s face, a realization hit her with meteoric force: If Ali was Spencer’s half sister, then this girl was, too. Suddenly she was keenly aware how much Courtney looked like Mr. Hastings…and Melissa…and Spencer. Courtney had her dad’s long, slender fingers and button nose, Melissa’s cerulean eyes, and the same dimple Spencer had on her right cheek. Nana Hastings had that dimple, too. It was amazing that Spencer hadn’t noticed these similarities when Ali was alive. Then again, she hadn’t known to look.
