Thirty-Three: Rosewood's Finest.

"Police have reopened the DiLaurentis case, and are in the process of questioning witnesses," a newscaster on the eleven-o'clock news reported. "The DiLaurentis family, now living in Maryland, will have to face something they've tried to put behind them. Except now, there is closure."

Newscaster were such drama queens, Hanna thought angrily as she shoved another handful of Cheez-Its in her mouth. Only the news could find a way to make a horrible story worse. The camera stayed focused on the Ali shrine, as they called it, the candles, Beanie Babies, wilted flowers people no doubt just picked out of neighbors' gardens, marshmallow Peeps—Ali's favorite candy—and of course photos.

The camera cut to Alison's mother, whom Hanna hadn't seen in a while. Besides her teary face, Mrs. DiLaurentis looked pretty—with a shaggy haircut and dangly chandelier earrings.

"We've decided to have a service for Alison in Rosewood, which was the only home Ali knew," Mrs. DiLaurentis said in a controlled voice. "We want to thank all of those who helped search for our daughter three years ago for their enduring support."

The newscaster came back on the screen. "A memorial will be held tomorrow at the Rosewood Abbey and will be open to the public."

Hanna clicked off the TV. It was Sunday night. She sat on her living room couch, dressed in her rattiest C&C T-shirt and a pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs she'd pilfered out of Sean's top drawer. Her long brown hair was messy and strawlike around her face and she was pretty sure she had a pimple on her forehead. A huge bowl of Cheez-Its rested in her lap, an empty Klondike wrapper was crumpled up on the coffee table, and a bottle of pinot noir was wedged snugly at her side. She'd been trying all night not to ear like this but, well, her willpower just wasn't very strong today.

She clicked the TV back on, wishing she had someone to talk to…about the police, about A, and mostly about Alison. Sean was out, for obvious reasons. Her mom—who was on a date right now—was her usual useless self. After the hubbub of activity at the police station yesterday, Wilden told Hanna and her mother to go home; they'd deal with her later, since the police had more important things to attend to at the moment. Neither Hanna nor her mom knew what was happening at the station, only that it involved a murder.

On the drive home, instead of Ms. Marin reprimanding Hanna for, oh, stealing a car and driving piss-drunk, she told Hanna that she "was taking care of it." Hanna didn't have a clue what that meant. Last year, a cop had spoken at a Rosewood Day assembly about how Pennsylvania had a "zero tolerance" rule for drunk drivers under twenty-one. At the time, Hanna had paid attention only because she thought the cop was sort of hot, but now his words haunted her.

Hanna couldn't rely on Mona, either: She was still at the golf tournament in Florida. They'd spoken briefly on the phone, and Mona had admitted the police had called her about Sean's car, but she'd played dumb, saying she'd been at the party the whole time and Hanna had been too. And the lucky bitch: They'd gotten the back of her head on the Wawa surveillance tape, but not her face, since she'd been wearing that disgusting delivery hat. That was yesterday, though, after Hanna got back from the police station. She and Mona hadn't talked today, and they hadn't discussed Alison yet.

And then…there was A. Or if A was Alison, would A be gone now? But the police said Alison had been dead for years…

As Hanna scanned the guide feature on TV for what else was on, her eyelids swollen with tears, she considered calling her father—this story might be on the Annapolis-area news, too. Or maybe he'd call her? She picked up the silent phone to make sure it was still working.

She sighed. The problem with being Mona's best friend was that they had no other friends. Watching all this Ali footage made her think of her old group of friends. They'd had their rocky, horrible moments together, but they used to have a lot of fun, too. In a parallel universe, they'd all be together now, remembering Ali and laughing even though they were crying, too. But in this dimension, they'd grown too far apart.

They'd split up for a valid reasons, of course—things had started to go rotten way before Ali went missing. In the beginning, when they were doing that charity drive stuff, it was wonderful. But then, after The Jenna Thing happened, things got tense. They were all so afraid that what happened to Jenna could be linked to them. Hanna remembered being jumpy even when she was on the bus and a cop car would pass by them, going in the other direction. Then, that next winter and spring, whole topics were suddenly off-limits. Someone was always saying, "Shhh!" and then they all fell into an uncomfortable silence.

The eleven-o'clock newscasters signed off and The Simpsons came on. Hanna picked up her BlackBerry. She still knew Spencer's number by heart, and it probably wouldn't be too late to call. As she dialed the second digit, she cocked her ear, her Tiffany earrings jangling. There was a scratching noise at the door.

Dot, who was been lying by her feet, picked up his head and growled. Hanna took the Cheez-It bowl off her lap and stood.

Was it…A?

Knees shaking, Hanna crept into the hall. There were long, dark shadow at the back door, and the scratching noise had grown louder. "Oh my God," Hanna whispered, her chin trembling. Someone was trying to get in!

Hanna looked around. There was a round jade paper-weight on the little hall table. It had to weigh at least twenty pounds. She heaved it up and took three tentative steps for the kitchen door.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Hanna jumped back. A woman stumbled through the entranceway. Her tasteful, gray pleated skirt was up around her waist. Hanna held up the paperweight, about to throw it.

Then she realized. It was her mom.

Ms. Marin bumped into the telephone table as if she were wasted. Some guy was behind her, trying to unzip her skirt and kiss her at the same time. Hanna's eyes widened.

Darren Wilden. Mr. April.

So that was what her mom meant by "taking care of it"?

Hanna's stomach clenched. No doubt she looked a little insane, tenaciously clutching the paperweight. Ms. Marin gave Hanna a very long look, not even bothering to turn away from Wilden.

Her mother's eyes said, I'm doing this for you.