Deadly

“Do you want an escort to your door, Miss Montgomery?” the cop who had driven her asked, looking right and left cautiously.

“That’s okay,” Aria answered.

“Well, if you need anything at all, just signal Buzz.” The cop gestured to a minivan parked on the street. Though it had a bumper sticker that read MY CHILD IS A ROSEWOOD ELEMENTARY HONOR STUDENT and a pair of Mickey ears on the antenna, a brawny guy in sunglasses who looked like The Rock’s stunt double sat in the driver’s seat.

“Got it.” Aria smiled. She felt almost airy as she walked across the front lawn.

“Aria?”

Ella stood on the porch. She was wearing the yellow, zigzagged tunic she’d owned since her days in art school, and her silvery-black hair was tied up on top of her head in a bun. There was a horrified expression on her face. “Why did the police just drop you off?” she asked, staring at the cruiser that disappeared down the street.

“Oh, that.” Aria waved her hand. “It’s nothing. I’m not in trouble.”

Ella blinked hard. “You had your interview today, right? Did something happen at the college?”

“Hey, it smells really good in here!” Aria said loudly as she walked into the foyer, hoping to change the subject. “Did you just bake some bread?”

Ella pushed the door closed. “Aria, tell me what’s going on. Now.”

Aria let out a long sigh. “It’s a long story, but I’m not in trouble. Really. And I did have the interview . . . but I blew it.”

Ella cocked her head. “What happened?”

Aria shrugged. “I wasn’t the right fit.” She slumped down on the couch. “I really wanted to go, too.”

Ella sat down next to her and gathered Polo, the family’s cat, into her arms. “Why did you want to go, exactly?”

Aria gave her mom an uh-duh look. “Because art is the field I want to go into. Because I’d get to meet amazing people and help out with cool projects. Because . . .”

Ella placed her hand on Aria’s knee. “But couldn’t you do those things in New York? Philly? Rosewood, even? Why did you have to go all the way to Holland?”

Aria studied Ella’s piercing blue eyes and questioning expression. “Does this have anything to do with Noel?” Ella went on. “Mike told me you two broke up. That Noel lied to you.”

Aria’s jaw twitched. Said like that, it sounded so . . . harsh. Awful. But then, maybe it was kind of the truth. Even if Noel hadn’t done anything with Ali, he’d still lied.

She shut her eyes, thinking yet again of Noel. Sometime between when she’d gone to the police station and when she’d been released, he’d sent her a message that said, How are you? She doubted he had any idea what was happening to her; it was just a coincidence. On the ride home, she’d composed a text back.

But she hadn’t sent it. She needed to move on, right?

She stared across the room at a table that held framed family photos. Long ago, Ella had removed the ones that had Byron in them, so now they were mostly of Aria and Mike, with a random one of Aria’s ancient great-grandma Hilda. “How did you feel when you found out about Dad’s thing with Meredith?” she asked.

Ella groaned and sat back against the pillows. “Awful. I wanted to run away, too. But I didn’t.”

“Of course you didn’t. You had me and Mike.”

“You have me and Mike, too,” Ella said firmly. “And your dad and Lola. We still need you.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve heard some other things, too, honey.” She took Aria’s hands. “You’re not thinking of . . . hurting yourself, are you?”

There were tears in her eyes. Her voice was so tender. Aria lowered her shoulders, hating those stupid suicide rumors. “Of course not,” she said softly. “I’m stronger than that.”

“I thought so,” Ella said, her voice trembling a little. “I just wanted to make sure.”

Aria snuggled into her shoulder. Ella’s gauzy blouse smelled like patchouli oil. She stroked Aria’s hair, the same way she used to do when Aria was younger and afraid to go to sleep because she thought a giant eel lived in her closet.

“I’m sorry about Noel, honey,” her mom said softly. “And I know not going to Holland seems like a setback. But you’re resilient. And you don’t need to go to some faraway country to be happy. You can find an amazing art scene here in Rosewood.”

Aria sniffed. “Yeah, right.” Rosewood’s idea of cutting-edge art was painting the apples in a still life slightly off-red, the pears a marginally unnatural shade of green.

“I think I know of something that might cheer you up. There’s an opening for a part-time assistant at the gallery. If you want the job, it’s yours.”

Aria resisted the urge to snicker. Her mother worked at an art gallery in Hollis that sold tame, tepid landscapes of old Pennsylvania barns and detailed paintings of local birds. Aria got a headache every time she went in there because the place smelled overwhelmingly like the Yankee Candle store that was next door.

“It’ll be good for you to be around people,” Ella urged. “And bring your portfolio—maybe Jim will frame one of your pieces and give you a mini-show.”

Maybe Ella had a point. A job would give her something to do in the afternoons—she had so many hours to fill now that she and Noel weren’t together. And though Aria hated the idea of someone buying one of her paintings and hanging it next to a hokey Amish hex sign, she did like the idea of selling her work.