Crushed (31 page)

Hanna’s stomach soured. Was this for Graham?

Kelly stood at the edges of the group, her hand to her mouth. Hanna tugged her sleeve.

“What’s going on?”

The nurse gawked at her with wide eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sounds came out.

Hanna glanced down one of the patient hallways. “Can I go back there and talk to Kyla?” Maybe
she
could explain what was happening.

A nurse standing next to Kelly widened her eyes. “Honey, get in line.”

Hanna blinked hard. “D-did something
happen
to Kyla?”

Kelly’s mouth dropped open. “We thought you knew,” she said in a hushed voice. “Honey, Kyla’s dead.”

“
What?
” Hanna backed away from them and bumped into someone. When she turned around, it was Sean. “What’s going on?” she demanded shakily.

Sean’s eyes darted back and forth. Then he stepped closer. “Someone found a body in a ditch behind the facility early this morning. It was a girl wearing a hospital bracelet from the clinic. Her name was Kyla Kennedy.”

Hanna pressed her hand over her mouth. “
No
.” Her face felt hot with tears.

She collapsed into Sean’s arms, and he patted her shoulder. “It looks like she was killed a few days ago and dumped there,” Sean said mournfully.

Hanna shot back up. “Wait. That’s not possible. I saw Kyla last night. She was in the bed in the hall, near Graham’s room.”

An uncomfortable look settled across Sean’s face. “That’s the thing, Hanna. I don’t think that was Kyla. It was . . . someone else. This is such a horrible mistake—a huge legal and publicity nightmare.”

“
What?
” It felt like her brain matter was leaking out of her ears. “What do you mean?”

“The police are certain that the
real
Kyla, our patient, died several days ago at least. But nurses—and you, obviously—remember
someone
in Kyla’s bed after that.”

“But . . . I
talked
to her!” Hanna gasped. “We bonded!”

Sean looked like he was going to be sick. “Last night, the nurses discovered Kyla gone. When the body turned up, we thought that was that, but the coroner’s data is solid. The theory right now is that whoever that was in the bed murdered the real Kyla and put bandages on her face to get into the burn clinic for some reason. And then, for some
other
reason, she just . . . left.”

“That makes no sense!” Hanna wailed. “Why would someone
do
that?”

“I don’t know,” Sean said quietly.

Flashbulbs popped around the room. A clump of nurses stood in the corner, crying. A man with a jacket that read
FORENSICS
began to cordon off some of the room. Hanna leaned against the table and tried to catch her breath. As she shifted, something sharp poked her side. It was something wedged inside the pocket of her shirt. Hanna frowned and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. She didn’t remember leaving anything inside her scrubs the last time she wore them.

She unfolded the paper and saw tiny, loopy letters. Familiar loopy letters, in fact. Her stomach started to gurgle. This looked like
Ali’s
handwriting.

Dear Hanna,
it began.
I can explain everything, especially why I did what I did. But I think I know what you’re after, and I want to help you. The answer you want is in the Rosewood Day storage shed. It will give you the proof you need and put everything to rest. Go there NOW . . . before it’s too late. Love, Kyla.

Her face must have been pale, because Sean touched her wrist. “What’s that?”

Hanna pulled the note to her chest. “Nothing,” she croaked. And then she turned around and ran out of the building.

34
Surprise Inside!

At 1:30, Aria paced back and forth inside her mom’s house, the news blaring on the television. She checked her phone at 1:31 and 10 seconds, and then 24 seconds, and then 45. Nothing from Noel. She peered out the window for the zillionth time, but of course Noel wasn’t walking up the front steps. She’d already cruised around Rosewood and Hollis, as if he’d just be strolling up and down Lancaster Avenue or walking on the Hollis Great Lawn without a care in the world.

He’s with Ali now
, she thought. But something in her brain still fought against it. Noel loved her. She could
feel
it. When he said he loved Ali last night, he’d been confused. He was holding on to something that wasn’t there, just like Emily had. He hadn’t
helped
her. He hadn’t colluded with her. This was a mistake.

But he admitted it
, she thought.
He’s lied and cheated and killed for her. Facts are facts.

She picked up an Icelandic horse–shaped paperweight from the end table and considered hurling it at the TV screen, but suddenly something caught her eye.
Multiple hoaxes in art theft case
, said a headline.

Horrifyingly,
The Starry Night
appeared on the screen. “There has been a frantic search to recover the study for
The Starry Night
, which was stolen from a chateau outside Reykjavik, Iceland, last year,” said a reporter. “Baroness Brennan, who is handling the estate while Baron Brennan recovers from a long illness, recently had the painting insured for twenty million dollars, and thankfully, the insurance company won’t have to pay out. The painting was recovered about an hour ago, and we’re just getting news of it now.”

The paperweight dropped into Aria’s lap. Her mouth went dry.

A shot of a few men wearing police uniforms walking into a quintessential Reykjavik row house appeared on the screen. “Even though there were rumors that the painting had made it to the United States, authorities tracked down the study in a basement in Reykjavik. Baroness Brennan identified it immediately, and the painting is now safe and sound back in her home.”

The image on the screen switched to a gray-haired woman in a fur coat standing in front of the very chateau Aria had broken into. Aria leaned forward as if sitting closer to the TV would reveal a different picture. If the study painting had been recovered in Iceland, then what was the painting in her closet?

She ran upstairs, pulled open her closet door, and unfurled the canvas. The Van Gogh stars twinkled. The drip-castle spires made dark shapes against the bright sky. It looked just like the study painting she’d seen on TV. Then she grabbed the Van Gogh art book she’d brought home from the library to use for the prom decorations and opened to the
Starry Night
spread. As she compared the two side-by-side, the colors in Aria’s painting suddenly looked a little . . . different. The whirls weren’t as whirly. The brushstrokes were choppier, less calculated. From afar, glanced at quickly, it looked utterly believable, but up close, it was kind of a mess.

The painting was a fake. Aria wasn’t going to get in trouble for it. Fuji couldn’t arrest her. It was possible Fuji wasn’t even after her now that the real painting had been found. A had done all this to scare her.

What other lies had A been telling?

Aria headed back downstairs in a daze, eager to call the others and tell them the news. Something else on TV caught her eye. She looked up, her heart in her throat once more. Was that
Olaf
?

The anchor’s face was large on the screen. “The painting was among an older woman’s things, though she has no memory of how it might have gotten there. Ms. Greta Eggertsdottir, age sixty-six, is a landlord, and says she has many tenants going in and out of the row house on a monthly basis, so it’s probable one of them brought the painting and left it in the basement. When shown a picture of Olaf Gundersson, the alleged thief who stole it from Baroness Brennan’s estate, Ms. Eggertsdottir was quite sure she recognized him. Mr. Gundersson was reported missing after an alleged attack in January, though authorities now believe that might have been a hoax. The hunt is on for Mr. Gundersson, but there are no leads so far as to where he might be.”

Aria sank down to the couch. This story was getting more and more bizarre. So Olaf had faked his attack? It made sense, sort of—maybe he’d realized the cops were on to him and needed a way to escape. And maybe A saw the article and pounced on the opportunity, never trekking to Iceland and stealing the painting at all. It had been a lucky break for A . . . though not for Aria.

Her phone bleated. She squealed and stared at the screen.
Hanna.
“Did you just see the news?” Aria cried.

“No . . .” There was a swishing sound on the other end; it sounded like Hanna was driving. “But you’ve got to meet me. Something weird is going on.”

“Something weird is
definitely
going on.” Aria gripped the phone hard. “That painting from Iceland is a fake—which means the police have nothing on us. And even weirder? Olaf isn’t dead. He faked the whole attack. I just saw it all on CNN.”

The line crackled. “Huh,” Hanna said. “So you think A just caught wind of the story, used it to her advantage, and forged the painting?”

“Yeah.” Aria stared blankly out the window at the birdhouse her mom had carved last year. “It means we can go to the police right this second and not worry about being in trouble. Even if A brings up Jamaica, we still wouldn’t be punished in the same way we would have been if the painting was a real Van Gogh.” She cleared her throat, feeling a pull in her chest. “Not that
I
want to go to the police.” She couldn’t bear the thought of the police going after Noel. Or maybe she could. She didn’t know.

“Well, actually, I think A has forced our hand. I got this note at the burn clinic about some critical evidence that will put all of this to rest. I think it was from Ali.”

“What?” Aria’s skin prickled. “
How?
”

“I’ll explain everything when I see you. You have to meet me at the storage shed behind Rosewood Day. Maybe she’s there.”

Aria gripped the doorjamb. “Oh my God. What if it’s a trap?”

“That’s why I called the cops to come with us. And before you freak out, Aria, I
had
to. This has gone too far. If Ali’s there, if we can catch her, we have to have the police involved. Meet me there in ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Aria whispered, hitting
END
. She stood in her silent house for a few moments, staring at the dust motes in the air. Too much had happened in the last few minutes for her to handle. She knew she had to meet Hanna . . . but what if Ali
was
there and Noel was with her? What if the police arrested Noel, too? Then again, maybe that was what Aria wanted. He’d lied to her for over a year. He’d never loved her. Right?

She grabbed her keys from the hook in the hall, a heavy weight crushing her chest. She just
couldn’t
hate him, even after all this. She could only hope that whatever happened, it would be like pulling off a Band-Aid—fast, and painless.

Aria left the radio off on the drive over and kept the window cracked. Her gaze darted back and forth from one side of the road to the other, hoping—fearing—she might see Noel there. Finally, she turned into the Rosewood Day parking lot. There were only a few cars in the spaces; the boys’ soccer team had Sunday practice. Aria spotted Hanna’s Prius in the back and headed for it. Emily’s Volvo and Spencer’s Mercedes were there, too. Spencer and Emily were wearing sweats and sneakers, and Hanna had on pink scrubs and clogs from the burn clinic. As far as Aria could tell, the cops hadn’t arrived yet.

“Here’s the note.” Hanna shoved it at Aria when she reached their circle.

Aria looked down and recognized the tiny, even letters immediately. It was the same handwriting from the hateful letter Ali had slid under the bedroom door in the Poconos, just before she’d lit that match.
The answer you want is in the Rosewood Day storage shed. . . . Go there NOW . . . before it’s too late.

“Jesus,” Aria whispered. “She has to know that we’d recognize her handwriting. And now we’re just going to go and do exactly what she wants?”

“We still have to check it out, don’t you think?” Hanna asked. “The police will be here any minute.”

Spencer peeked at the note again. “How did you get this, anyway?”

“From this patient I met at the burn clinic.” Hanna paused for a moment, peering over the hill. Sirens began to wail. A police car appeared over the crest. Aria’s stomach twisted.

Hanna turned back to the girls and explained about the body the cops had found behind the hospital. “Her hospital bracelet said Kyla Kennedy,” she whispered hurriedly. “I think Ali killed her, then
became
her. The girl I met was completely covered in bandages.”

Spencer collapsed against the hood of Hanna’s car. “It
totally
sounds like Ali. Who else would murder a burn victim and swap places with her?”

Hanna nodded, looking tormented. “Kyla’s bed was outside Graham’s room. And when Graham was spasming, Kyla sent me in the wrong direction to get a nurse. When I came back, he was dead.”

“So she was keeping an eye on Graham, making sure he didn’t say anything?” Aria whispered.

“I can’t believe I didn’t suspect it sooner. I thought I would have been able to spot Ali from a mile away,” Hanna said, choking back tears. “Kyla was just so . . .
cool.
Now I feel like an idiot . . .
again
.”

“If she had bandages all over her,” Spencer said, “it would have been easy to fool anyone.”

Suddenly, Aria realized something. “You guys, if it
was
Ali at the burn clinic . . .”

“ . . . then that explains why Noel was there, too,” Emily finished for her.

By this time, the cop car had pulled into the parking lot, and two officers Aria vaguely recognized from Ali’s trial walked over to them. Their name badges read
COATES
and
HARRISON
.

“Hanna Marin,” Harrison, the taller one, who had a broad face, a flat nose, and long eyelashes framing his green eyes, said gruffly. “You said you got a threatening letter?”