Pretty Little Liars #14 by Sara Shepard

“I’m stronger than that.”
    â€œI thought so,” Ella said, her voice trembling a little. “I just wanted to make sure.”
    Aria snuggled into her shoulder. Ella’s gauzy blouse smelled like patchouli oil. She stroked Aria’s hair, the same way she used to do when Aria was younger and afraid to go to sleep because she thought a giant eel lived in her closet.
    â€œI’m sorry about Noel, honey,” her mom said softly. “And I know not going to Holland seems like a setback. But you’re resilient. And you don’t need to go to some faraway country to be happy. You can find an amazing art scene here in Rosewood.”
    Aria sniffed. “Yeah, right .” Rosewood’s idea of cutting-edge art was painting the apples in a still life slightly off-red, the pears a marginally unnatural shade of green.
    â€œI think I know of something that might cheer you up. There’s an opening for a part-time assistant at the gallery. If you want the job, it’s yours.”
    Aria resisted the urge to snicker. Her mother worked at an art gallery in Hollis that sold tame, tepid landscapes of old Pennsylvania barns and detailed paintings of local birds. Aria got a headache every time she went in there because the place smelled overwhelmingly like the Yankee Candle store that was next door.
    â€œIt’ll be good for you to be around people,” Ella urged. “And bring your portfolio—maybe Jim will frame one of your pieces and give you a mini-show.”
    Maybe Ella had a point. A job would give her something to do in the afternoons—she had so many hours to fill now that she and Noel weren’t together. And though Aria hated the idea of someone buying one of her paintings and hanging it next to a hokey Amish hex sign, she did like the idea of selling her work.
    â€œOkay, I guess I could do that,” she said.
    â€œGreat.” Ella went to stand, then paused and looked at Aria again. “And you’re positive I don’t have to worry about the cop car?”
    Aria pretended to be interested in the psychedelic swirls on the couch. “Of course not,” she mumbled.
    â€œGood!” Ella pretended to wipe her brow. “I’ve got enough gray hairs as it is!”
    Aria managed a chuckle. Ella was using that gray-hair line on the kids long before Aria was ever getting tormented by A. But this time, she was pretty sure she could hold up her side of the bargain. From now on, there would be no drama. No trouble. No lies.
    And maybe, now that A was out of her hands, Ella would get her wish.

11
    ONE MAN’S TRASH . . .
    On Wednesday afternoon, Spencer and Chase stood on the lawn of Mr. Pennythistle’s model home. It had carefully trimmed hedges and a weed-free front walk. Daffodils exploded out of ceramic pots by the door. Birds chirped from the branches of the big oak on the front lawn. The only eyesore was the yellow police tape across the front door.
    Spencer walked up to it and moved it aside. Then she looked at Chase. “Are you sure you want to help? It’s a huge mess in there.”
    â€œOf course,” Chase insisted, walking up to the house and gingerly stepping over the police tape. “That’s why I’m here , Spencer.” Chase had called her this morning, asking what she’d been up to, and the whole story of her arrest had spilled out of Spencer before she could stop herself. He had insisted on driving out to Rosewood to comfort her, which Spencer had to admit felt . . . well, comforting.
    Spencer reached for the keys Mr. Pennythistle had left for her earlier that day, but as she was about to push them into the lock, the door swung open. She froze, listening for whoever might be inside. Then she glanced over her shoulder at the tough-looking security guy behind the wheel of the SUV. He was staring straight ahead, impassive behind his dark sunglasses.
    â€œHello?” Spencer called into