Aria is at Ezra’s, lying on the bed remembering the good old days when the only problem they had was the way her friends were always interrupting black-and-white movie night by getting tortured and murdered in the woods. The door lock jiggles and Aria goes rushing over, thinking Ezra has come to his senses and abandoned his child, but the -esbian at the door isn’t Ezra-shaped; it’s Wezra-shaped. He’s like, “The squirrelly way I am talking and shuffling around and not making eye contact with you indicates that I am on the lam, but let us discuss instead the question of whose lips would win in a wrestling match: Mine or Chord Overstreet’s?” He’s actually very sweet about sharing his hideout with Aria. He sees that she’s been mooning away on Ezra’s bed, so he invites her to come over regularly and rescue Ezra’s plants from his black thumb. She’s like, “You’re not old enough to get to second base with me, not old enough by half. But OK about the plants.”
Here’s how fucked up Spencer is right now: Not only has she stopped doing all the things that make life worth living, including busting an innocent person’s balls about being A every second of every day, but also she has prescribed herself a steady stream of nothing but Bon Iver playlists and now she is meeting her PI in the very same alley where she peeped Toby crying about the ice cream kids back in season one. It makes sense on account of Spencer exists to take things to eleven. You think she’s going to pour salt in her own wounds? Incorrect. She is going to pour battery acid into her own wounds. The PI tells her that Toby’s been buying regular stuff like gas and M&Ms and whatever, but also he bought 60 bucks’ worth of hydrangeas on his credit card, before he made the switch to cash a couple of days ago. Also, he knows kind of where A’s lair is, but she needs to sweeten the pot if he’s going to know precisely where A’s lair is. He’s like, “Look, lady, my advice is to follow this thing through to the end. Real low-lifes don’t buy flowers.”
Emily pops by the police station to get another look at that photo of Detective Wilden impregnating Ali in Cape May, but — surprise! — it is gone. Pam is there, though, just working away doing police business and lamenting how the vending machine duped her into thinking that corn nuts are a healthy lunch. She thought she was going to open up that little package and find a delicious coconut corn salad inside. Pam decides to skip out of work early because the only thing that’ll get you fired from the Rosewood PD is consorting with a shovel, but before they can bounce, Pam spots a postcard of the Eiffel Tower on her desk and Emily snatches it out of her hand, claiming to have left it on the kitchen counter that morning. It’s a letter from A, of course, written in French because she likes to keep her trolling classy. (Remember when A learned French by listening to an instructional record while arranging all the items from Clue on her work bench? Je suis une amie, bitches.)
“WHO DISTURBS MY SLUMBER” is what Spencer growls at Emily when she shows up with the postcard. Emily tentatively waves the clue in front of her nose like when you’re trying to get your puppy to eat after it’s been sick, and Spencer is torn between biting on the mystery or biting Emily’s hand off. Emily waves it again and explains that it’s not just any clue; it’s a casket clue, one of 25(!) that Emily buried with Ali. Still nothing. Emily sighs and tries something else to help Spencer remember who she is: She translates the French on the postcard all wrong so Spencer can have a chance to show off how she’s the smartest person in the room. The plan backfires. Instead of reminding Spencer that she is a badass, Emily is reminded that Spencer’s voice operates on a special lesbian frequency, not unlike like the way a dog whistle works. Spence speaks perfect French in her perfect voice and Emily’s eyes glaze over for a second.
Finally, she bolts out of the chair and says, “Uhhh. Paige. Yes, Paige. My lesbian girlfriend, Paige McCullers. Hanna saw her fraternizing with costume shop Shana last week. She thought there was some cheating going on, but really Paige is just trying to get herself killed by tackling A-team shit with Caleb. So, whatever the deal is with Toby, maybe you’re just reading the signs wrong.”
Oh, the postcard says: “Stop digging. The police already know it’s you who’s capable of murder.”