Hanna spends her Saturday morning banging on the entrance gate at Hastings Manor and leaving angry voicemails on Spencer’s phone. Mrs. DiLaurentis spies her acting like a crazy person and invites her over so they can act like crazy people together. Mrs. D is like, “Well, I’ve been trying to plant roses in the yard, but every time I start digging, I find holes and holes full of evidence. And you wouldn’t believe all the whiskey bottles that were stacked on this porch like some kind of joke Ali would have played on her brother.” And then, like the call of a siren, a parrot named Tippi starts hollering from the porch.
Tippi belonged to Grandma DiLaurentis and apparently Ali programmed him while she was down in Hilton Head renewing her pilot’s license and preparing for her death. Tippi keeps singing the same tune over and over and also saying a lot of inane bird shit about sweet potatoes. The important thing is that Tippi causes Mrs. D to remember this one time when Ali held her breath for like 20 minutes in public because she wanted her mom to agree she could invite her friends to Cape May. Mrs. D goes, “She’d been practicing that trick her whole miserable goddamn life. It’s like she knew she was going to be buried alive or something, the little cocksucker.” The next thing you know like you know your own name: Hanna absolutely adopts the parrot.
As Aria is fleeing the scene of her most recent foray into pedophiloa, she spots Mona chatting up a police officer, so she screeches on over there and hollers at her to get into the car because they’re late for their tiny conference on tiny tininess. Lucy and Janel have ridiculous chemistry together. I can’t believe it’s taken them so long to get alone like this. I haven’t felt this invested in Aria since she was cozied up to Spencer talking about Nana Hastings’ hatred of sideburns. Obviously, Mona was using her adrenalized hyperreality to talk to one cop while listening to some different ones. What she learned is that they found Wilden’s footprints and also some high-heeled lady shoe footprints down by the swamp where his car was buried. Mona goes, “Heels, do you hear me? And high ones, too. Not those medium-tall heels like you see most girls wearing. These Ones were high. Like Alison DiLaurentis high.”