Hush, Hush

“We don’t keep anything that current in collections,” she said, “but if you look online, I believe the Portland Press Herald keeps archives on their website. Head straight down the hallway behind you and you’ll see the media lab on your left.”



Inside the lab I signed onto a computer. I was about to dive into my assignment when an idea struck me.



I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it earlier. After confirming no one was watching over my shoulder, I Googled “Patch Cipriano.” Maybe I’d find an article that would shed light on his past. Or maybe he kept a blog.



I frowned at the search results. Nothing. No Facebook, no MySpace, no blog. It was like he didn’t exist.



“What’s your story, Patch?” I murmured. “Who are you—really?”



Half an hour later, I’d read several reviews and my eyes were glazing over. I spread my online search to all newspapers in Maine. A link to Kinghorn Prep’s school paper popped up. A few seconds passed before I placed the familiar name. Elliot had transferred from Kinghorn Prep. On a whim, I decided to check it out. If the school was as elite as Elliot claimed, it probably had a respectable paper.



I clicked on the link, scrolled over the archives page, and randomly chose March 21 of earlier this year.



A moment later I had a headline.



STUDENT QUESTIONED IN KINGHORN PREP MURDER



I scooted my chair closer, lured by the idea of reading something more exciting than theater reviews.



A sixteen­year­old Kinghorn Preparatory student who police were questioning in what has been dubbed



“The Kinghorn Hanging” has been released without charge. After eighteen­year­old Kjirsten Halverson’s body was found hanging from a tree on the wooded campus of Kinghorn Prep, police questioned sophomore Elliot Saunders, who was seen with the victim on the night of her death.



My mind was slow to process the information. Elliot was questioned as part of a murder investigation?



Halverson worked as a waitress at Blind Joe’s. Police confirm that Halverson and Saunders were seen walking the campus together late Saturday night. Halverson’s body was discovered Sunday morning, and Saunders was released Monday afternoon after a suicide note was discovered in Halverson’s apartment.



“Find anything interesting?”



I jumped at the sound of Elliot’s voice behind me. I whirled around to find him leaning against the doorjamb. His eyes were narrowed ever so slightly, his mouth set in a line. Something cold flushed through me, like a blush, only opposite.



I wheeled my chair slightly to the right, trying to position myself in front of the computer’s monitor.



“I’m—I’m just finishing up homework. How about you? What are you doing? I didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been standing there?” My pitch was all over the place.



Elliot pushed away from the doorjamb and walked inside the lab. I groped blindly behind me for the monitor’s on/off button.



I said, “I’m attempting to jump­start my inspiration on a theater review I’m supposed to have to my editor by later tonight.” I was still speaking much too fast. Where was the button?



Elliot peered around me. “Theater reviews?”



My fingers brushed a button, and I heard the monitor drain to black. “I’m sorry, what did you say you’re doing here?”



“I was walking by when I saw you. Something wrong? You seem … jumpy.”



“Uh—low blood sugar.” I swept my papers and books into a pile and shoehorned them inside my backpack. “I haven’t eaten since lunch.”



Elliot hooked a nearby chair and wheeled it next to mine. He sat backward on it and leaned close, invading my personal space. “Maybe I can help with the review.”



I leaned away. “Wow, that’s really nice of you, but I’m going to call it quits for now. I need to grab something to eat. It’s a good time to break.”



“Let me buy you dinner,” he said. “Isn’t there a diner just around the corner?”



“Thanks, but my mom will be expecting me. She’s been out of town all week and gets back tonight.” I stood and tried to step around him. He held his cell phone out, and it caught me in the navel.



“Call her.”



I lowered my gaze to the phone and scrambled for an excuse. “I’m not allowed to go out on school nights.”



“It’s called lying, Nora. Tell her homework is taking longer than you expected. Tell her you need another hour at the library. She’s not going to know the difference.”



Elliot’s voice had taken on an edge I’d never heard before. His blue eyes snapped with a newfound coldness, his mouth looked thinner.



“My mom doesn’t like me going out with guys she hasn’t met,” I said.



Elliot smiled, but there was no warmth. “We both know you’re not too concerned with your mom’s rules, since Saturday night you were with me at Delphic.”



I had my backpack slung over one shoulder, and I was clutching the strap. I didn’t say anything. I brushed past Elliot and walked out of the lab in a hurry, realizing that if he turned the monitor on, he’d see the article. But there wasn’t anything I could do now.



Halfway to the collections desk, I dared a glance over my shoulder. The plate­glass walls showed that the lab was empty. Elliot was nowhere to be seen. I retraced my steps to the computer, keeping my eyes on guard in case he reappeared. I turned on the monitor; the murder investigation article was still up.



Sending a copy to the nearest printer, I tucked it inside my binder, logged off, and hurried out.



CHAPTER 12



MY CELL PHONE BUZZED IN MY POCKET, AND after confirming I wasn’t being evil­eyed by a librarian, I answered. “Mom?” “Good news,” she said. “The auction wrapped up early. I got on the road an hour ahead of schedule and should be home soon. Where are you?”



“Hi! I wasn’t expecting you until later. I’m just leaving the library. How was upstate New York?”



“Upstate New York was … long.” She laughed, but she sounded drained. “I can’t wait to see you.”



I looked around for a clock. I wanted to stop by the hospital and see Vee before heading home.



“Here’s the deal,” I told my mom. “I need to visit Vee. I might be a few minutes late. I’ll hurry—I promise.”



“Of course.” I detected the tiniest disappointment. “Any updates? I got your message this morning about her surgery.”



“Surgery is over. They’re taking her to a private room any minute now.”



“Nora.” I heard the swell of emotion in her voice. “I’m so glad it wasn’t you. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. Especially since your dad—” She broke off. “I’m just glad we’re both safe.



Say hi to Vee for me. See you soon. Hugs and kisses.”



“Love you, Mom.”



Coldwater’s Regional Medical Center is a three­story redbrick structure with a covered walkway leading up to the main entrance. I passed through the revolving glass doors and stopped at the main desk to inquire about Vee. I was told she’d been moved to a room half an hour ago, and that visiting hours ended in fifteen minutes. I located the elevators and punched the button to send me up a floor.



At room 207 I pushed on the door. “Vee?” I coaxed a bouquet of balloons inside behind me, crossed the small foyer, and found Vee reclining in bed, her left arm in a cast and slung across her body.



“Hi!” I said when I saw she was awake.



Vee expelled a luxurious sigh. “I love drugs. Really. They’re amazing. Even better than an Enzo cappuccino. Hey, that rhymed. Enzo cappuccino. It’s a sign. I’m destined to be a poet. Want to hear another poem? I’m good at impromptu.”



“Uh—”



A nurse swished in and tinkered around with Vee’s IV. “Feeling okay?” she asked Vee.



“Forget being a poet,” Vee said. “I’m destined for stand­up comedy. Knock, knock.”



“What?” I said.



The nurse rolled her eyes. “Who’s there?”



“Crab,” said Vee.



“Crab who?”



“Crab your towel, we’re going to the beach!”



“Maybe a little less painkillers,” I told the nurse.



“Too late. I just gave her another dose. Wait until you see her in ten minutes.” She swished back out the door.



“So?” I asked Vee. “What’s the verdict?”



“The verdict? My doctor is a lard­arse. Closely resembles an Oompa­Loompa. Don’t give me your severe look. Last time he came in, he broke into the Funky Chicken. And he’s forever eating chocolate.



Mostly chocolate animals. You know the solid chocolate bunnies they’re selling for Easter? That’s what the Oompa­Loompa ate for dinner. Had a chocolate duck at lunch with a side of yellow Peeps.”



“I meant the verdict …” I pointed at the medical paraphernalia adorning her.



“Oh. One busted arm, a concussion, and assorted cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Fortunately for my quick reflexes, I jumped out of the way before any major damage was done. When it comes to reflexes, I’m like a cat. I’m Catwoman. I’m invulnerable. The only reason he got a piece of me is because of the rain.



Cats don’t like water. It impairs us. It’s our kryptonite.”



“I’m so sorry,” I told Vee sincerely. “I should be the one in the hospital bed.”



“And get all the drugs? Uh­uh. No way.”



“Have the police found any leads?” I asked.



“Nada, zilch, zero.”



“No eyewitnesses?”



“We were at a cemetery in the middle of a rainstorm,” Vee pointed out. “Most normal people were indoors.”



She was right. Most normal people had been indoors. Of course, Vee and I had been out … along with the mysterious girl who followed Vee out of Victoria’s Secret.



“How did it happen?” I asked.



“I was walking to the cemetery like we planned, when all of a sudden I heard footsteps closing in behind me,” Vee explained. “That’s when I looked back, and everything came together really fast. There was the flash of a gun, and him lunging for me. Like I told the cops, my brain wasn’t exactly transmitting, ‘Get a visual ID.’ It was more like, ‘Holy freak show, I’m about to go splat!’ He growled, whacked me three or four times with the gun, grabbed my handbag, and ran.”



I was more confused than ever. “Wait. It was a guy? You saw his face?”



“Of course it was a guy. He had dark eyes … charcoal eyes. But that’s all I saw. He was wearing a ski mask.”



At the mention of the ski mask, my heart skittered through several beats. It was the same guy who’d jumped in front of the Neon, I was sure of it. I hadn’t imagined him—Vee was proof. I remembered the way all evidence of the crash had disappeared. Maybe I hadn’t imagined that part either. This guy, whoever he was, was real. And he was out there. But if I hadn’t imagined the damage to the Neon, what really happened that night? Was my vision, or my memory, somehow … being altered?