“For what?” Emily asked. “What Gayle did was illegal, too. She can’t say anything without incriminating herself.”
Hanna bit a thumbnail. “But if the cops do find out about this, what happens if they investigate other things? Like . . . Jamaica?”
A palpable tension rippled through the car. Although it was always on their minds, the girls had promised each other never to talk about Jamaica again. It was supposed to have been a getaway to forget about Real Ali, the diabolical girl who’d killed her twin sister, Courtney, the Ali they all knew and loved. Last year, Real Ali had returned to Rosewood and tried to pass herself off as the girls’ old friend, but it was later revealed that she was the new A, the girls’ text-messaging tormenter. She’d killed Ian Thomas, Rosewood Day heartthrob and suspect in the first murder, and Jenna Cavanaugh, who the girls and Their Ali had blinded in sixth grade. Real Ali’s master plan was to murder the four girls. She’d brought them to her family’s house in the Poconos, locked them in a bedroom, and lit a match. But things hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped. The girls escaped, leaving Real Ali trapped in the house when it exploded. Even though her remains had never been found, everyone was positive she was dead.
But was she?
The trip to Jamaica had been a chance for the girls to move on with their lives and deepen their friendships. Once they got there, though, they met a girl named Tabitha who reminded them of Real Ali. She knew things only Ali would know. Her mannerisms were chillingly like Ali’s. Slowly, they became convinced that she was Real Ali. Maybe she’d survived the fire. Maybe she’d come to Jamaica to finish off the girls as planned.
There was only one thing to do: stop her before she got revenge. Just as Real Ali was about to push Hanna off the rooftop deck, Aria had intervened, and Ali fell instead. Her broken body had vanished before the girls got down to the beach to see what they’d done, probably swept away by the tide. The girls vacillated between relief that Ali was gone for good . . . and horror that they’d killed someone.
“No one will ever know about Jamaica,” Spencer growled now. “Ali’s body is gone.”
Emily’s phone bleated again. Gayle. A beep followed. Six new voicemail messages, the screen announced.
“Maybe you should listen to those,” Hanna whispered.
Emily shook her head, her hands trembling.
“Put the call on speaker,” Aria suggested. “We’ll listen with you.”
Drawing her bottom lip into her mouth, Emily did as she was told and played the first message. “Heather, it’s Gayle.” A harsh voice blared through the car. “You haven’t returned my calls in days, and I’m worried. You didn’t have the baby a few days early, did you? Were there some complications? I’m calling Jefferson to make sure.”
“Who’s Heather?” Spencer whispered nervously.
“It’s the fake name I gave everyone this summer,” Emily said. “I even applied for my job using a fake ID I bought on South Street. I didn’t want anyone making the connection that I was Alison DiLaurentis’s best friend. Someone might have told the press I was pregnant, and then my parents would’ve found out.” She stared at her phone. “God, she sounds really pissed.”
Gayle’s second message followed. “Heather, it’s Gayle again. Okay, I called Jefferson—that is where you’ve scheduled your C-section, right? No one on the staff will tell me what’s going on. Can you please pick up and tell me where the hell you are?”
The tones of the third and fourth messages increased in intensity and frustration. “Okay, I’m at Jefferson now,” Gayle said in the fifth message. “I just talked to an orderly, and they don’t have any record of anyone named Heather in the maternity ward, but then I described what you look like and she said you are here. Why didn’t you call me? Where the hell is the baby?”
“What do you want to bet she bribed the orderly?” Emily murmured. “So much for checking in under my real name to throw Gayle off the scent.” Checking in under Emily Fields had been a risk—even though Emily gave a PO box in Philly as her address and planned to use her babysitting savings to pay the hospital bill, what if, for some reason, her parents called Jefferson and found out she’d been there? But since Gayle knew her only as Heather, using her real name seemed like an easy way to lose her.
By the sixth message, Gayle had figured it out. “This was a setup, wasn’t it?” she growled. “You had the baby and you left, didn’t you? Was this your intention all along, bitch? Did you plan to scam me from the start? Do you think I give out fifty thousand dollars to just anyone? Do you think I’m an idiot? I’m going to find you. I’m going to hunt you and that baby down, and then you’ll be sorry.”
“Whoa,” Aria whispered.
“Oh my God.” Emily flipped her phone closed. “I should have never promised her anything. I know we gave it back, but I should have never taken her money in the first place. She’s crazy. Now do you guys see why I’m doing this?”
“Of course we do,” Aria said quietly.
The infant started to whimper. Emily stroked her tiny head, and then, steeling herself, pushed open the car door and stepped into the chilly air. “Let’s do this.”
“Em, don’t.” Aria opened her own door and grabbed Emily’s arm just as Emily fell against the side of the car, clearly in pain. “The doctor said you shouldn’t strain, remember?”