Killer. (Book Six)

Seventeen: Just Like Old Times...

Later that night, after swimming practice ended, Emily slid into her favorite booth at Applebee's, the one with the old-fashioned tandem bicycle suspended from the ceiling and the colorful license plates on the walls. Her sister Carolyn, Gemma Curran, and Lanie Iler—two other Rosewood Day swimmers—piled in beside her. The dining room smelled like salty French fries and burgers, and an old Beatles song was playing loudly on the stereo. When Emily opened the menu, she pleased to see that mozzarella sticks and hot wings were still featured appetizers. The southwest chicken salad still came with spicy ranch dressing. If Emily closed her eyes, she could almost pretend it was last year at this time, when she used to come to Applebee's every Thursday night—back when nothing bad had happened yet.

"Coach Lauren had to be smoking crack when she wrote that set of five hundreds," Gemma whined, flipping through the laminated menu.

"Seriously," Carolyn echoed, shrugging out of her Rosewood Day Swim Team jacket. "I can barely lift my arms!"

Emily laughed with the others, then saw a flash of blond hair out of the corner of her eyes. She stiffened and glanced toward the bar, which was packed with people watching an Eagles game on the flat-screen TVs. There was a blond guy at the very end of the bar, talking animatedly to his fate. Emily's heart slowed down. For a second, she'd thought he was Jason DiLaurentis.

Emily couldn't get Jason off her mind. She hated that Aria had brushed off her warnings about him in the courtyard on Tuesday, making excuses for his anger. And she really didn't know what to make of the strange photo A had sent her yesterday, the one of Ali, Naomi, and Jenna all together, presumably friends. If Jenna was Ali's friend, Ali might've opened up to her truthfully, right? She might've told Jenna a deep, dark secret about her brother, having no idea that Jenna was going to reveal something similar.

A few months ago, before the cops arrested Ian for Ali's murder, Emily had seen an interview with Jason DiLaurentis on TV. Well, it was sort of an interview—a reporter had tracked him down at Yale, asking him what he thought of the investigation into his sister's murder, and he'd waved them away, saying he didn't want to talk about it. He stayed away from his family as much as possible, he said—they were too messed up. But what if Jason was the one who was messed up? The summer between sixth and seventh grade, Emily had been over at Ali's house when the DiLaurentises were packing up to go to their mountain house in the Poconos. While the whole family industriously carried suitcases to the car, Jason slumped on the recliner in the den, flipping through the TV channels. When Emily asked Ali why Jason wasn't helping, Ali just shrugged. "He's in one of his Elliott Smith moods." She rolled her eyes. "They should put him in the mental ward, where he belongs."

A shiver traveled down Emily's back. "Jason need to be in a mental ward?"

Ali rolled her eyes again. "It was a joke," she groaned. "You're so literal!"

But as she turned to carry another suitcase to the car, Ali's mouth flickered slightly. It seemed like something was going on deep beneath Ali's cool exterior, something she wouldn't admit.

Emily had forwarded A's picture to each of her old friends. Both Spencer and Hanna had responded, saying they had no idea what it could mean, but Aria hadn't acknowledged it at all. What if they should be worrying about Jason? There was a lot about him they didn't know.

A blond waitress in a green Applebee's button-down and an Eagles baseball cap took their orders. Then the swimmers started talking about the party at the Radley. "Topher managed to snag an invite, and he wants me to go," Carolyn was saying. "But what do you wear to something like that?"

Emily sipped her Vanilla Coke. Topher was Carolyn's boyfriend, but usually the two of them preferred Heroes marathons to fancy parties. "What about the pink dress I wore to the Rosewood Day benefit?" she suggested. Then she drummed her fingers on the table. "You don't have to worry about me borrowing from your closet yet again. I already got a dress."