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Noel blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it affected you, too. You were friends with her—with them. Did you ever . . . I don’t know, suspect anything after Courtney and Ali switched places? How about when the real Ali returned to Rosewood after Ian Thomas died?”
A muscle above Noel’s eye twitched. “I . . .” He trailed off, looking totally flustered. “Why are you asking me these things?”
Aria swallowed hard and looked across the hall into a chemistry classroom. Someone had stuck a daisy into an empty Bunsen burner. “I’ve just been thinking about Ali and Courtney lately, that’s all. Actually, you and Ali—the real Ali. You know, that time when you kissed at the Valentine’s Day dance.”
Noel stepped back, his shoes squeaking on the polished floor. “That’s a funny way of saying it. Ali kissed me, remember?”
Aria pressed her lips together and said nothing.
Noel made a noise at the back of his throat. “Haven’t we been through this? She, like, pounced on me.”
Aria picked at her nails. “I know, but you were so nice to her. You kept urging me to give her a chance. You were in her support group. You . . .”
Noel’s mouth hung open. “Are you asking me if I liked her? If I, I don’t know, knew?”
Aria stared at him. “Maybe. Yeah.”
In the background, a bunch of band kids rushed past, giggling and shoving. Noel blinked. He scratched his ear. But he didn’t answer her question. Aria’s whole body felt snappy. It seemed like Noel was trying to figure out how to word something. But if he had a simple, honest answer, wouldn’t he just come out and say it?
Noel jingled his keys in his pocket. “I don’t know where this is coming from all of a sudden. Or how it relates to being the decor chairperson,” he said finally.
“Just answer the question,” Aria said. “I need you to tell me you didn’t like her at that time.”
“I didn’t.” The annoyed look melted from Noel’s face, and he gently took her hands. “I liked you, and I would never cheat on you, not even with Courtney or Ali or whoever that was. I was horrified when she kissed me. And when I found out it was all to manipulate you to go with her to the Poconos . . .” He shut his eyes and grimaced. “It’s too awful to think about.”
“Okay, okay,” Aria said. But the prickly feeling didn’t go away. It felt like Noel was almost being too melodramatic, like he was acting or something. But was she just thinking that because Spencer and the others had planted suspicions in her mind?
She broke Noel’s grip and turned toward the door. “I need some air.” Maybe it was rehashing Real Ali’s return, maybe it was the panic she’d felt when she thought Noel was lying, but she felt like she couldn’t breathe.
Noel had the good sense not to follow her outside. A misty rain was falling, and the strong scent of grass tickled her nostrils. As she climbed the slope, she saw her family’s brown Subaru looming in the distance. Even from down the hill, she could tell there was something caught under the windshield wiper. It looked like a note.
Aria started to run. She yanked the printout, which had grown soggy from the mist, from under the wiper and stared at it, her fingers trembling. It was another news article. Investigation of Prized Van Gogh Study Painting Reopened.
Aria drew in a breath. There was the Starry Night practice painting. She scanned the text. Baron Brennan’s priceless Van Gogh study is still missing, and authorities are reopening the case after one of the suspects disappeared. New evidence suggests two people were involved in the theft, not one. Criminologists are following up on details, including an anonymous tip. . . .
The paper fluttered from Aria’s fingers. On the back of the article was a handwritten letter. The writing was the same scrawl as on the note from the other day. Aria read the words and then rested her head on the hood, suddenly weak.
Star light, star bright,
The first star I see tonight,
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the cops nail Aria without a fight.
Love, A
13
A Chat to Remember
“You want anything?” asked a pierced, green-haired, gum-snapping girl standing over Spencer’s desk. She proffered a menu that read BREWHAUS INTERNET CAFÉ. Spencer took it and opened it up, but the only offerings were a small, medium, or large cup of coffee. She peeked at the mugs on the shelf behind the counter. They looked dusty and stained.
“You don’t have coconut water, do you?” Spencer asked hopefully.
The girl rolled her eyes. “What do you think?” Then she stomped away, the laces on her Doc Martens slapping against the checkerboard floor.
Spencer looked around, questioning once again why she was here. The Brewhaus Internet Café was nothing more than a dated coffeehouse across from the Yarmouth train station. Every train that passed rattled the old walls, the scent of stale coffee filled the air, the chairs weren’t level, and there was grating electronica playing over the speakers. But word had it that this place had the most password-protected Internet service anywhere in the tristate area, meaning that the connection was spy-proof.
As Spencer slipped her burner phone back into her purse, her fingers grazed a dinner selection menu for the prom. She’d gotten it at a Student Council meeting that afternoon. The Starry Night, read the dripping Van Gogh signature-like lettering, and a tiny image of the famous painting was at the bottom. Spencer pushed the card deeper into her bag. Just seeing those swirly clouds made her ill. She’d assured Aria that they’d figure this out, but would they? Even with A’s threatening notes, even if they could find evidence that someone had broken into Aria’s house to plant the painting there, would the police believe that a Van Gogh had just shown up in her closet without any involvement on her part?
