“And you have no idea who it could have been?”
Aria bit down hard on her bottom lip. Wilden and a couple other Rosewood cops had shown up the night before just after the girls received their note from A. When Wilden asked the girls what happened, they all insisted that they hadn’t seen the driver’s face or the make of the SUV. And they swore over and over that this must have been an accident—they didn’t know why anyone would do this on purpose. Maybe it was wrong to withhold this information from the police, but they were all terrified of what A had in store for the rest of them if they told the truth.
A had threatened them about not telling before, and Aria and Emily both had been punished once already for ignoring those threats. A had sent Aria’s mother, Ella, a letter telling her that Aria’s father was having an affair with one of his university students, and revealed that Aria had kept her dad’s secret. Then A had told the entire school that Emily was dating Maya, the girl who had moved into Ali’s old house. Aria glanced at Lucas and silently shook her head no.
The door to the ICU swept open, and Dr. Geist strode into the waiting room. With his piercing gray eyes, sloped nose, and shock of white hair, he looked a little like Helmut, the German landlord of the old row house Aria’s family had rented in Reykjavík, Iceland. Dr. Geist gave everyone the same judging stare Helmut had given Aria’s brother, Mike, when he discovered that Mike had been keeping Diddy, his pet tarantula, in an empty terra-cotta pot Helmut used to grow tulips.
Hanna’s parents nervously stood up and walked over to the doctor.
“Your daughter is still unconscious,” Dr. Geist said quietly. “Not much has changed. We’ve set her broken arm and are checking the extent of her internal injuries.”
“When can we see her?” Mr. Marin asked.
“Soon,” Dr. Geist said. “But she’s still in very critical condition.”
He turned to go, but Mr. Marin caught his arm. “When will she wake up?”
Dr. Geist fiddled with his clipboard. “She has a lot of swelling in her brain, so it’s hard for us to predict the extent of the damage at this point. She might wake up just fine, or there might be complications.”
“Complications?” Ms. Marin went pale.
“I’ve heard that people who are in comas have less of a chance of recovering from them after a certain amount of time,” Mr. Marin said nervously. “Is that true?”
Dr. Geist rubbed his hands on his blue scrubs. “That is true, yes, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”
A murmur went through the room. Mona burst into tears again. Aria wished she could call Emily…but Emily was on a plane to Des Moines, Iowa, for reasons she hadn’t explained—only that A had done something to send her there. Then there was Spencer. Before Hanna had called with her news, Aria had pieced together something terrifying about Spencer…and when Aria had seen her cowering in the woods, twitching like a feral animal just after the SUV hit Hanna, it had only confirmed her worst fears.
Ms. Marin picked up her oversize brown leather tote from the floor, breaking Aria out of her thoughts. “I’m going to go get some coffee,” Hanna’s mom said softly to her ex-husband. Then, she gave Officer Wilden a kiss on the cheek—before tonight Aria hadn’t known there was something going on between them—and disappeared toward the elevator bank.
Officer Wilden slumped back down in his chair. The week before, Wilden had visited Aria, Hanna, and the others, asking them questions about the details surrounding Ali’s disappearance and death. In the middle of that interview, A had sent each of them a note saying that if they dared tattle about the notes A had been sending them, they’d be sorry. But just because Aria couldn’t tell Wilden what A had potentially done to Hanna, that didn’t mean she couldn’t share the horrible thing she’d realized about Spencer.
Can I talk to you? she mouthed to Wilden across the room. Wilden nodded and stood. They walked out of the waiting room and into a little alcove marked VENDING. Inside were six glowing vending machines, offering a range from sodas to full-on meals, unidentifiable sandwiches, and shepherd’s pie, which reminded Aria of the glop her father, Byron, used to make for dinner when her mother, Ella, was working late.
“So listen, if this is about your teacher friend, we let him go.” Wilden sat down on the bench next to the microwave and gave Aria a coy little smile. “We couldn’t hold him. And just so you know, we’ve kept it quiet. We won’t punish him unless you want to press charges. But I should probably tell your parents.”
The blood drained from Aria’s face. Of course Wilden knew about what had happened the night before with her and Ezra Fitz, the love of her life and her AP English teacher. It was probably the talk of the Rosewood Police Department that a twenty-two-year-old English teacher had been canoodling with a minor—and that it was the minor’s boyfriend who’d ratted them out. They’d probably gossiped about it at the Hooters that was next to the police station, amid Buffalo wings and cheese fries and girls with big boobs.
“I don’t want to press charges,” Aria sputtered. “And please, please don’t tell my parents.” The last thing she needed was some sort of big, dysfunctional family discussion.
Aria shifted her weight. “But anyway, that’s not why I want to talk to you. I…I think I might know who killed Alison.”
Wilden raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”