All day, Spencer had been texting Aria, asking if she’d asked Noel anything yet. But what the hell was Aria supposed to ask? Hey, did you kill a girl who was impersonating Alison in Jamaica and are you now trying to pin it on us? Didn’t Spencer realize her relationship, the only good thing Aria had going right now, would be over?
How could her friends possibly think Noel could be helping Ali out? Okay, so Noel had been in Jamaica—it was possible he could have seen the girls on the roof with Tabitha. But he never, ever would have fed Tabitha those Ali-lines. And, what, did they seriously think he’d killed Tabitha on the beach? Noel let spiders out of the house instead of stepping on them. He couldn’t go into the SPCA, because he said he’d take every dog home with him.
Yes, he had known Ali—both Alis. He and Their Ali had even dated for a little while at the end of seventh grade, but Ali had broken up with him after two dates, probably because she liked Ian Thomas.
When Aria looked up, Penny was back on the TV screen. “I also have an exciting announcement about the head of the prom decor committee. In a secret meeting with Rosewood staff, students, and our generous donors, it has been decided that this year’s decor chairwoman for the Starry Night–themed event is . . . Aria Montgomery!”
Everyone turned and stared at Aria. She blinked at the television. Images of Van Gogh’s The Starry Night swirled, accompanied by a techno song. Then her senior picture appeared. ARIA MONTGOMERY, it read at the bottom. MAY DAY PROM DECOR CHAIRWOMAN!
“Congrats!” Devon Arlyss patted Aria on the back. “I’m so jealous.”
“Can I help out?” Colleen Bebris asked excitedly, even though she was only a sophomore.
“This is awesome!” Noel’s face popped up in front of Aria. “You’ve always wanted decor chairwoman, right?”
“B-but I didn’t apply for it,” Aria blurted out.
Noel frowned. “Do you not want it?”
Aria swallowed hard. “I . . .” Not long ago, she would have. But the very last thing she wanted to do was a big mural of The Starry Night.
Her thoughts returned to that night in Iceland. After Hanna caught her and Olaf kissing, all three of them had stumbled back into the bar. Aria had been sure that as soon as she walked in, Noel would know . . . but he was chatting up a couple of blond girls from Poland. The girls were making Noel and Mike say certain words with American accents; every time Noel said something new, the girls laughed and shook their boobs. Would he even care that Aria had hooked up with someone else? Did she even matter?
She wanted to prove something to herself that night. That she was still worldly. That she was still Icelandic Aria. She grabbed Olaf’s arm and whispered, “Let’s steal that painting that’s locked in the chateau.”
Olaf blinked. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah!” Aria jumped up and down. “We’ll be art vigilantes! We’ll call up the press and tell them we’ve saved it and we’re going to put it in a museum. Maybe we could start our own museum!”
There were crinkles by Olaf’s eyes when he smiled. “You’re so cute when you get excited.”
“This isn’t about being cute!” Aria cried. “Will you do it?”
Olaf glanced over at Noel, as if to say, You aren’t going to involve your boyfriend in this, too, are you? Then he shrugged. “What the hell?”
They waited another hour—by that time, Noel was barely intelligible, and he, Mike, and Hanna were getting ready to go back to the guesthouse. Aria went with him, but then said she’d forgotten something at the bar and needed to go back. Noel stumbled to bed, not even questioning her. Aria ran to the next alleyway, where Olaf was waiting in his Jeep. He gathered her in his arms, his breath smelling sweet, not boozy at all—Aria then realized she’d only seen him nurse a single beer all night. “This is so incredible,” he whispered.
“I know,” Aria said, but she pulled away. She was quite drunk—too drunk to kiss, even. Her head was whirling all over the place.
They skidded out of the parking space down the bumpy Reykjavik streets. Olaf gripped Aria’s knee with one hand as he steered. When a stone house perched atop a hill came into view, Aria actually gasped. Some of the windows in the house were made of stained glass. A weathervane spun at the top. The house had gargoyles and turrets and a lot of ornate arches, nothing like the sporty, simple, nautical homes in town.
They parked away from the house and got out. Even though it was two AM, they could easily see the doors and windows under the midnight sun. “Look,” Olaf whispered, pointing at a wide-open window on the first floor. It was like whoever lived here was asking to be robbed.
Aria watched his feet disappear through the window. A second later, his head popped over the sash. “You coming?”
Aria dove into the house as well. It smelled like mildew inside, and there was a fine film of dust on the floor. Sheet-covered furniture stood in every room. A grandfather clock ticked loudly in the corner. Gilded-framed paintings hung on the walls, but most were more abstract than The Starry Night, cubes and lines and even one that was, as far as Aria could tell, nothing but blue squiggles.
Olaf disappeared down a hall, and Aria followed. When she looked into a small, dim office, she saw a medium-sized canvas with familiar swirls and stars. She gasped and backed up, her head spinning with booze. She blinked hard, wondering if she was imagining things. She hadn’t actually believed they’d find it.
“Olaf!” she cried out, leaping over an ottoman in the middle of the room and touching the frame with both hands. The painting dislodged from its hook easily. Aria steadied it in her arms. It smelled like canvas and dust. Up close, she could just make out the Van Gogh signature at the bottom.