Sara Shepard - Crushed

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

“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?

Then again, Spencer wasn’t sure what else they should do. Placing the artwork on a museum doorstep would only invite controversy—and besides, Aria’s fingerprints were probably all over the canvas. What they needed to do was nail Ali and her helper and force them to confess everything. Ironically, A was their only get-out-of-jail-free card.

An IM popped up on her computer screen. I’m here , said someone with the handle FlyOnTheWall. It was Chase, the investigative blogger Spencer had contacted the other day. They’d planned to chat this afternoon, but Spencer hadn’t been sure whether he would actually sign on.

She checked over her shoulder. Everyone else was intently staring at their own screens, oblivious to her. The IM blinked at her, waiting. I’m here, too , she typed back. I like your site. You’ve done a lot of research.

Thanks , Chase answered, adding a smiley emoticon. So what’s your name?

Spencer hesitated. I don’t want to say yet. I’m trying to think of a nickname.

Are you a guy or a girl?

Girl , Spencer wrote, feeling a little like she was filling out a dating profile.

How about Britney Spears? The reply came right away.

Spencer moved back from the screen and smirked. She’s not your favorite singer, is she?

Hell no , Chase wrote back. It was just the first thing that popped into my head.

Okay, Britney Spears it is , Spencer typed.

So you’re interested in the Alison case? he asked.

Spencer swallowed hard. Sort of. Isn’t everyone?

It’s definitely a weird story , a new message read. There’s something not right about the whole thing. I just don’t know what it is yet.

Are you actively investigating what happened? Spencer asked.

Just as a hobby , Chase wrote. Since the investigation is still open, the cops asked me to keep the details secret so they can catch the real killer. But when I find out everything, I’m putting it up there anyway.

I thought the investigation was closed , Spencer wrote. Ali killed her sister. Didn’t she?

Yes, but there are some loose ends , Chase replied. Like if Ali survived the fire. And the police are still gathering evidence that Ali and Ali alone killed Jenna Cavanaugh and Ian Thomas.

Did you know Alison? Spencer asked.