Killer. (Book Six)

Six: Strangers Not On A Train.

The following morning, Aria's brother, Mike, turned up the stereo in the family's Subaru Outback. Aria winced as Led Zeppelin's "Black Dog" snarled out of the speakers. "Can you turn it down a little?" she wined.

Mike kept bobbing his head. "It's best to listen to Zeppelin at maximum volume. That's what Noel and I do. Did you know the guys in the band were serious badasses? Jimmy Page rode his motorcycle down hotel hallways. Robert Plant threw TVs out windows onto the Sunset Strip."

"Nope, can't say I knew that," Aria said dryly. Today, Aria had the unfortunate chore of driving Mike to school. Mike usually rode with his Typical Rosewood mentor, Noel Kahn, but Noel's Range Rover was in the shop getting an even larger stereo installed. God forbid Mike take the bus.

Mike absentmindedly fiddled with the yellow rubber Rosewood Day lacrosse bracelet he wore nonstop on his right wrist. "So why are you living with Dad again?"

"I thought I should spend equal with Ella and Byron," Aria mumbled. She made a left-hand turn onto the long drive that led to the school, narrowly missing a fat squirrel darting across the road. "And we should get to know Meredith, don't you think?"

"But she's a puke machine." Mike made a face.

"She's not that bad. And they're moving into that bigger house today." Aria had overheard Byron breaking the news to Ella on the phone the night before, and she assumed Ella had told Mike and Xavier. "I'll have a whole floor to myself."

Mike gave her a suspicious look, but Aria stuck to her story.

Aria's cell phone, which was nestled in her yak-fur bag, beeped. She glanced at it nervously. She hadn't received a text from whoever this new A was since they'd discovered Ian's body Saturday night, but like Emily had said the other day, Aria had the distinct feeling that she was going to get a text from A any second.

Taking a deep breath, she reached into her purse. The text was from Emily. Pull around back. School is mobbed with news vans again.

Aria groaned. The news vans had clogged up the school's front drive the day before, too. Every media outlet in the tristate area had sunk their teeth into the Ian Dead Body story. On the 7 A.M. news, reporters had canvassed the Rosewood Starbucks, random mothers waiting with their kids at school bus stops, and some people in the local DMV line, asking if they thought the cops had bungled the case. Most people said yes. Many were outraged that the police might be hiding something about Ali's murder. Some of the more tabloidy newspapers concocted elaborate conspiracy theories—that Ian had used a body double in the woods, or that Ali had a long-lost cross-dressing cousin who was responsible not only for her murder, but also a string of killings in Connecticut.

Aria craned her neck over the Elaine of Audis and BMWs that jammed the driveway to the school. Sure enough, there were five news vans parked in the bus lane, blocking traffic.

"Sweet!" Mike exclaimed, his eyes on the vans too. "Let me off here. That Cynthia Hewley's hot. Think she'd do me?" Cynthia Hewley was the church blond reporter relentlessly covering Ian's trial. Every guy at Rosewood Day hoped she'd do him.

Aria didn't stop the car. "What would Savannah say about that?" She poked Mike's arm. "Or have you forgotten you have a girlfriend?"

Mike flicked a toggle on his navy duffel coat. "I kind of don't anymore."

"What?" Aria had met Savannah at the Rosewood Day benefit, and thrillingly, she'd been normal and nice. Aria had always worried that Mike's first real girlfriend would be a skanky, brainless Barbie on loan from Turbulence, the local strip club.

Mike shrugged. "If you must know, she broke up with me."

"What did you do?" Aria demanded. Then she held up her hand, silencing him. "Actually, don't tell me." Mike had probably suggested Savannah start wearing crotchless panties or begged her to hook up with a girl and let him watch.