Wanted. (Book Eight)

Thirty-Two: Hanna Marin, Truly Fabulous.

"Here we go."Hanna plunked down a stiff cardboard holder of four hot coffees on the cafe table."One skim cappuccino, one regular latte, and one cafe au lait with soy milk."

"Sweet," Aria said, grabbing a packet of Sugar In The Raw. She tore it open with her neon-yellow-painted nails. Aria kept telling Hanna and the others that neon yellow was the hottest color in Europe, but no one had been brave enough to try it yet.

"It's about time," Spencer grumbled, taking a greedy sip of her cappuccino. She'd been cramming for the big AP econ pre-exam all weekend and had just pulled an all-nighter.

"Thanks, Hanna." Emily adjusted her pleated Free People top. Hanna had finally gotten her to stop wearing swimming tees under her Rosewood Day blazer.

Hanna sat down and gazed around the table at Spencer's stacks of AP econ textbooks and notes, Aria's iPod, probably full of weird Scandinavian yodeling bands, and Emily's palmistry book, which promised to teach anyone how to tell fortunes. It was just like old times...only better.

A news bulletin flashed on the plasma TV on Steam's back wall. A familiar reporter stood in front of an even more familiar pile of rubble. People still searching through DiLaurentis rubble, the caption said. Hanna touched Aria's arm.

"Recovery workers are still sifting through the burned wreckage of the house that once belonged to Alison DiLaurentis's family, searching for the real Alison's remains," the blond reporter shouted over the sound of heavy machinery. "But they're saying it'll be weeks before they can be sure Alison died in the fire."

The fireman who'd rescued them the night of the fire appeared on the screen. "I was there moments after the house exploded," he said. "It's very possible Alison's body incinerated instantly."

"As usual, the DiLaurentis family cannot be reached for comment," the reporter added.

The broadcast cut to a commercial for All That Jazz, the Broadway musical-themed restaurant at the King James Mall. Hanna and her friends sipped in silence, staring out at the lawn. The snow had finally melted, and a couple of overeager daffodils had sprouted in the beds near the flagpole.

Five weeks had passed since Ali almost killed them. As soon as they got home from the Poconos, Wilden and the other Rosewood PD detectives had opened an official investigation into Ali. Her house of cards collapsed ridiculously fast: Police found copies of A's notes to the girls on a cell phone underneath the deck behind the DiLaurentises' new house. They'd discovered that the laptop found in Billy's truck had been tampered with. They analyzed the Polaroids. Aria had found in the woods and determined that the reflection in the windows was one of the DiLaurentis sisters. It was unclear why Ali had taken the photos—except that she was obsessed with the life her sister had stolen from her—but she must have buried the photos shortly after pushing her sister in the hole, ridding herself of the evidence.

There was some talk of arresting the DiLaurentis family as accessories to Ali's crimes, but Mr. and Mrs. DiLaurentis and even Jason had fled the area without a trace. Hanna took another sip of her coffee, letting the hot liquid wash over her tongue. Had they suspected all along that one sister had killed the other? Was that why they'd quickly whisked her back to the mental hospital after the girl everyone thought was Ali went missing? Or had Mr. and Mrs. DiLaurentis vanished simply out of shame and horror that their beautiful, perfect daughter had done such barbaric things?

As for Hanna and the others, the Ali aftermath had been insane. Reporters banged on their doors at all hours of the night. The girls traveled to New York for an interview on the Today show and did a photo shoot in People. They attended a society-studded gala concert sponsored by the Philadelphia Orchestra to raise money for Jenna's Seeing Eye Dogs Fund and a new scholarship set up in Ian Thomas's name. But things had just begun to calm down, and life had almost returned to semi-normal.