She trailed off, glancing behind her. Noel stood at the bottom of the stairs by the back door, dressed in a hoodie and jeans, though they weren’t the same hoodie and jeans he’d worn earlier that night. His forehead was slick with sweat like it always was after drinking, but there was a knowing look on his face that made Aria’s insides seize. What had he just heard?
“There you are.” Noel climbed up the stairs and patted Aria’s wet head. “You take a shower?”
“Uh, yeah.” Aria crossed her legs to hide the gash on her knee. “Where were you?”
Noel gestured down the stairs. “Smoking a joint.”
Aria considered making a snarky comment, but she refrained—who was she to judge? She grabbed Noel’s hand instead. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
Her eyes were wide open as they climbed under the covers. Noel shifted next to her, his bare legs prickly against hers. “So where were you?” There was bitterness in his voice. “At the bar with Gayloff?”
Aria turned away, the guilt oozing out of her pores as pungently as the schnapps oozed from Noel’s. She bristled, anticipating a fight. But then Noel put his arms around her and pulled her close.
“Let’s call a truce. This trip has been weird. I’ve been weird. And I’m sorry.”
Aria’s eyes welled with tears. That was exactly what she needed to hear . . . about five hours too late. She wrapped her arms around Noel and squeezed tight. “I’m sorry, too.” She’d never meant something so much.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Noel said sleepily. “I love you, A . . .”
He mumbled into his pillow as he drifted off to sleep. For a split second, Aria thought she’d heard him say something else. Something strange. But then again, Noel was drunk. Even if he had said what she thought he had, he certainly didn’t mean it. It wasn’t like Aria would bring it up to him tomorrow, either.
She never wanted to mention this night again.
The next morning, Hanna, Aria, Noel, and Mike checked out of the guesthouse and departed for the airport. They went through the security line and stocked up on snacks and trashy magazines for the long plane ride home. If Aria seemed jittery, Noel didn’t question it. When Noel complained about the puny airport not having a McDonald’s, Aria didn’t snap at him. When Hanna and Aria spoke even less than usual, neither Mike nor Noel remarked. I’m just tired, they planned to say if anyone questioned them. It’s been a long trip. I miss my bed.
The plane had satellite TV, and Aria flipped to CNN International after boarding. Suddenly, there it was: a shot of the chateau. It was even more ramshackle and haunted-looking than she remembered. Break-in at Brennan Manor, read the headline.
A video showed the shadowy, closed-up, spiderwebbed rooms. Then there was a blurry insurance photo of Starry Night . . . and a police sketch of Olaf. “This is the thief who got away with the painting, as described to the police by a witness who lived down the road,” said the reporter. “Authorities are on the hunt for him now.”
Aria’s mouth hung open. Olaf made it out?
Hanna stared at the TV screen in horror. The situation had changed. Valuable art had been stolen, and Aria had helped facilitate that. Hanna thought of the art-theft cases her father had worked on when he practiced law: Even people who knew about the crime were guilty. Now she was one of those people.
Aria touched Hanna’s forearm, sensing what she was thinking. “Olaf was smart, Han. He won’t get caught . . . meaning he’ll never say I was with him. The police will never be able to connect me to the crime. No one will ever know that you know, either. Just don’t tell anyone else, okay? Not even Emily and Spencer.”
Hanna turned away and stared at the runway, trying to lose herself. Maybe Aria was right. Maybe this Olaf guy, whoever he was, could evade the police. That was the only way Aria’s secret would remain safe. That was the only way Hanna would remain safe, too.
And, mercifully, they were safe, for almost a year. The story surfaced in the news from time to time, but there weren’t many details, and the reporters never mentioned an accomplice. One time, Hanna watched a report with Spencer and Emily in the room, the secret like hot lava inside her. But she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t betray Aria’s trust. Aria didn’t dare tell them, either—the less those girls knew, the better.
After a while, what happened didn’t haunt Aria as much anymore. Olaf had disappeared into oblivion, and he’d taken the painting with him. Things had improved between her and Noel, too, that Iceland trip a distant memory. She was safe. No one knew.
Wishful thinking. Someone did know—and that person was keeping this secret very, very quiet until the time was right. And now, at the end of the girls’ senior year, that very same someone decided to make it public.
The third—and scariest—A.
1
Watch Your Back
On a sunny Monday morning, Spencer Hastings walked into her kitchen and was greeted by the smell of coffee and steamed milk. Her mother; her mother’s fiancé, Nicholas Pennythistle; his daughter, Amelia; and Spencer’s sister, Melissa, were sitting around the farmhouse table watching the news. A coifed man was giving a follow-up report on an explosion that had occurred on a cruise ship off the coast of Bermuda one week before.
“Authorities are still looking into the cause of the explosion that forced all passengers on the cruise ship to evacuate,” he said. “New evidence suggests that the blast originated in the boiler room. A video surveillance tape that was recovered shows two grainy figures. It’s unclear whether the individuals in the video caused the explosion or if it was a freak accident.”