She shuddered, the image swimming into her mind again. The moment she’d realized Mr. Kahn’s long-lost sister might just be Mr. Kahn himself, she’d shot out of the produce section as fast as she could and hidden behind a rack of French bread. She’d watched the man from afar, praying that she was wrong. Maybe it was another dude in drag. Maybe it was a really ugly woman. But then the person’s cell phone rang. “Hello?” a man’s voice said into the receiver—a man’s voice that sounded exactly like Mr. Kahn’s. Game over.
Aria wasn’t sure who she felt more embarrassed for—Mr. Kahn or herself. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the whole thing was her fault, which was how she’d felt when she discovered Byron kissing Meredith in seventh grade. If she hadn’t walked down that alley, if she hadn’t turned her head at that moment, she wouldn’t have been burdened with her dad’s secret—or the agonizing struggle of whether to tell Ella. Likewise, if she’d only gone to Fresh Fields a few moments later, or lingered at the cheese counter, she wouldn’t know something so damaging about Noel’s dad.
But now that she did know, she was dying to dig deeper. Was this something Mr. Kahn did often? He was a little odd—he’d dressed up as a cavemannish Viking for Klaudia’s welcome-to-the-U.S. party a month ago, and he was always drunkenly belting out opera songs and show tunes at Rosewood Day school board fund-raiser parties. But dressing up as a woman—in public? Didn’t he realize how that would look if someone caught him? And surely Mr. and Mrs. Kahn’s marriage wasn’t as solid as Aria had thought. Were they one of those couples who put up appearances but secretly didn’t love each other at all? That just made her heart break for Noel even more. He idolized his parents’ strong bond.
Aria had promised no more secrets, but this was definitely something Noel didn’t need to know—or want to know. And she could only hope A would never find out.
From the moment she’d woken up yesterday, Aria kept waiting for a taunting A message to arrive about Mr. Kahn. But miraculously, no note had been slipped under her windshield wiper, left in her locker, or beamed to her cell phone. Which meant one of two things: A was waiting for the perfect moment . . . or A didn’t know.
If Gayle was A, maybe Gayle had been too busy stalking Spencer and Emily to make time for Aria, too. It wasn’t like Gayle could be everywhere at once. And if A didn’t know, the best thing Aria could do was pretend she’d never seen Mr. Kahn. She wouldn’t even think about it.
“Everyone, get out your beurre and measure one half cup!” Madame Richeau crowed from the front.
“What’s beurre again?” Noel grumbled. “I hate when she says stuff in French.”
“Butter.” Aria reached into the mini fridge under the counter and pulled out a stick of Land O’Lakes. As she unwrapped it, her mind wandered again. Why was Gayle, a wealthy, successful woman, wasting her time and money stalking four high schoolers? Then again, she was nuts. Aria had only met Gayle once before, and she could tell immediately that there was something wrong with her.
It had been shortly after Emily admitted to Aria that she was pregnant. Aria was meeting Emily in the city. They’d planned to peruse the Italian Market, but then Emily asked if they could stop off to have coffee with Gayle, a strange, wealthy woman she’d met a week before.
“She got in touch with me through Derrick,” Emily explained, referring to her friend from the restaurant. “He works for her on the weekends. He’s asked her for more hours and listed me as a character reference.” She smiled apologetically. “It’ll only take a couple of minutes, I promise. And oh, I should warn you. She’s a little . . . weepy. But she seems nice enough.”
Aria had agreed, and Emily asked her to wear a wig and sunglasses so that Gayle wouldn’t recognize her and make the connection that both of them were the famous Pretty Little Liars. The only wig Aria had was a pink one from a few Halloweens earlier, but she’d worn it anyway.
The café was next to a yoga studio and a store that did tongue piercings. It was the kind of place that had reclaimed-wood farmhouse tables, weathervanes nailed to the walls, and a hand-printed menu on a chalkboard that said breakfast was served all day. Gayle was waiting for them in a booth, a big stack of blueberry pancakes already on the table. As soon as she spied Emily waddling up the aisle, she pushed the plate across the table. “Eat up. Blueberries are good for the baby’s developing brain.”
“Oh.” Emily looked startled. “That’s nice of you.”
“I’m just doing what’s best for the baby,” Gayle said, her gaze squarely on Emily, a sweet smile on her face.
“I appreciate it.” Emily took a bite of the pancakes and smiled. “They’re really good.”
Gayle cleared her throat awkwardly. “Pardon me if you think this is a little forward, but I assume you are putting your baby up for adoption. Can I ask if you’ve found a family yet?”
A muscle in Emily’s cheek twitched. Aria reached under the table and took Emily’s hand as if to say, If you want to run out of here right now, I’m right behind you. But instead, Emily had taken a breath. “Uh, yes. I found a nice couple who lives in the suburbs, not that far from me.”
Gayle looked crestfallen. “I figured as much. I recently lost a child, and it was devastating. My husband and I want a baby, and I’ve gone through countless fertility treatments, spent tens of thousands of dollars, but we haven’t had any luck.”