Naturally Helena would have had to recruit Kevin Larssen as her fake boyfriend to cover up an affair with a married man. And the apartment at the Dakota? Even that Aerin remembered, in hindsight – Marissa had prattled about it years ago. She didn’t want Skip to get a place in the city, but they might as well get something fancy. The Dakota, she boasted, had one of the most difficult-to-please co-op boards in town.
And, oh, the billions of times Mr. Ingram and Helena were around each other in Dexby! The barbecues, casual dinners, lavish parties, the movies in their home theater. All the times Aerin had seen Mr. Ingram and Helena talking in the kitchen and thought nothing of it. She’d thought, Wow, Helena clearly got the polite gene in the family, because I don’t have a clue how to talk to adults. And all the while, Mr. Ingram was checking out her sister’s chest. It made her ill. Just their affair alone was a disgusting crime. Helena hadn’t even been eighteen. Mr. Ingram should have known better.
Still, Aerin couldn’t picture Mr. Ingram murdering someone. At one of the first Scoops Christmas parties, the Santa they’d hired had gotten the flu, and Mr. Ingram had stepped in, donning the red suit and ho-hoing good-naturedly. But even that curled her toes now – she’d sat on his lap. She wanted to go wash her butt right this instant, the memory felt so fresh.
How did Mr. Ingram get Helena to escape to New York with him? What had he said, in that baritone, Kennedy-esque Boston accent? ‘Come with me ’? ‘I can hide you in my apartment ’? ‘I’ll buy you beautiful clothes ’? ‘But you can’t see your family ever again ’?
And then, like an animal, he’d killed her.
Aerin’s phone buzzed in her hands, startling her so badly that she nearly dropped it. Thomas’s name flashed on the screen. Hey, stranger. How are you? Eat any Cheetos lately?
Aerin felt a swoop of guilt. She hated that she’d hacked into the police system using his password. She’d even gone back in this morning, too, to check out Mr. Ingram’s alibi. He’d said he’d been on a business trip to Washington, DC. The dumbass cops hadn’t challenged him.
She wanted to text Thomas back, but the moment she did, she feared she’d spill her guts. She turned off her phone and placed it in a zippered compartment in her bag.
Brett, who was sitting up front, an ice pack on his still-swollen jaw, turned to the cab driver. ‘Uh, can you take the cut-through to Fifth?’
The driver gave him a strange look. ‘I thought you were going to Seventy-second and the park.’
‘Let’s cruise around a little. We can see the city.’
The driver shook his head but did as he was told. Aerin swiveled around and gazed at the green sedan directly behind them. She caught Brett’s eye. ‘Following us?’ she mouthed.
Brett chewed on his bottom lip and shrugged his shoulders.
Aerin’s stomach hurt. On the way to the train station, Brett had directed Aerin, who was driving, to take the most circuitous route possible to lose any tails. They’d gotten off one Metro-North train and waited twenty minutes for the next because a woman was looking at them suspiciously. And then, just to be safe, they’d got off the train in Harlem, switched to the subway, and took that to Eighty-sixth and then got a cab. What was normally a forty-minute trip had taken two hours.
After getting stuck in Fifth Avenue museum traffic, the cab took a cross street through Central Park and drove up Seventy-first. ‘Pull over here,’ Brett instructed, gesturing to the corner of Seventy-second and Columbus, one block from the Dakota.
Everyone tumbled out, duffels over their shoulders. It took Brett a while to disembark. Aerin wasn’t even really sure if he should have been let out of the hospital; he still seemed pretty woozy. Maddox pointed to a coffee shop. ‘We’ll change in the bathroom. Ready?’
The coffee in the shop smelled burnt. The place was bursting with parents and their sticky, dressed-up kids; an Easter Bunny sat at the back, handing out eggs. Aerin had blanked on it being Easter Sunday; it meant, unfortunately, she’d have to attend the Easter Bunny party later – her mother never missed it.
They made a beeline for the bathroom, which was littered in toilet paper. Inside a stall, Aerin changed into the pink scrubs they’d stolen from the hospital after Brett had been discharged. Madison stepped out of a stall in scrubs as well, but Seneca still wore the navy Calvin Klein suit they’d raided from Aerin’s mom’s closet. Her face was pale.
‘I want to scrap this whole thing,’ Aerin said shakily.
Seneca shook her head. ‘We’ve come this far. We can’t just stop.’
Back in the dining room, a baby who had a face like a lumpy catcher’s mitt had started wailing. Maddox and Brett emerged from the bathroom, changed into scrubs as well. From one of the duffels, Brett rummaged past cleaning bottles and tossed Aerin and Madison kerchiefs. They were going to be cleaners. Brett managed to coax out of Skip Ingram’s personal assistant that Skip was in Dexby today, having Easter brunch with his family. The assistant had also given them the name of the cleaning person Skip used in the New York apartment.
Seneca called the cleaning lady and impersonated the assistant Brett had just spoken to, saying Mr. Ingram had decided to use another service and she had to turn over her key to the apartment. They agreed to meet at the Dakota at a quarter to ten; it was 9:40 now.
They stepped back onto the street. Aerin glanced at the busy thoroughfare, glaring at the looks people were giving her as they passed. Or did she just think they were looking?
Somehow, her wobbly legs made it down the block. An older, olive-skinned woman waited in front of the Dakota. When Seneca walked up, the woman stood. They exchanged a few words, and then the woman passed Seneca an envelope. Aerin couldn’t believe it. The woman hadn’t asked for Seneca’s credentials. She scuttled off quickly, pulling her hood around her face.
Seneca ducked into an alleyway, opened the envelope, and held up a key. ‘Perfect.’
They started toward the building, which towered over the park. Aerin studied its ornate windows and ironwork. A lot of families she knew had places in the city – her parents had even considered getting one before they split. Helena had put in her two cents, saying she’d love a brownstone in the Village, a loft in Tribeca. This place, in comparison, seemed so formal and conservative. Like Kevin Larssen – not her style.
Then again, why the hell did Aerin think she knew her sister’s style anymore?
They headed through an open gate to a small security office to the right. Inside, at least ten video screens of various views of the property lined the walls. Two guards eyed the group suspiciously. ‘Is Mr. Ingram expecting you?’ the taller, craggier one asked.
‘We’re Mr. Ingram’s new cleaning service.’ Seneca held up the key. ‘He wants us to clean for a dinner party he’s having tomorrow. You can call his assistant to check.’
Aerin held her breath as the guards looked them over. Belatedly, she realized that they looked all wrong, from Brett’s bruised jaw and bandaged wrist, to Seneca’s wild hair, to Maddox’s golden-boy looks and Madison’s sparkly silver eye shadow. Don’t call to check, she willed silently.
‘Go on up,’ the short, pudgy guard said after a moment, buzzing them in.
They were directed through a stone courtyard with a huge, sonorous fountain in the center. Wind chimes jingled. Benches were strewn around the fountain, and the air smelled clean. Madison touched Aerin’s arm. ‘This is … nice,’ she tried.
Aerin glanced at her. ‘Are you trying to say it’s better than her hiding out in a basement pit?’ It was still disconcerting to insert Helena into this tableau. Sitting at the fountain, waiting for her love to return – ugh. Throwing pennies into the water, wishing for Mr. Ingram – shudder. Or maybe that was a crazy image. Helena had been all over the news – if someone had recognized her, Mr. Ingram would have been in major trouble. He’d probably told her never to leave the apartment.
Aerin balled up her fists, fury filling her again.
The building’s public records said that Ingram ow
ned apartment 8B. After an elevator ride, Aerin stood in front of it and concentrated, wondering if she’d be able to tell, somehow, if her sister had been here.
She felt nothing at all.
Seneca slid on a pair of gloves and jammed the key into the lock. The bolt clicked, and the door swung open. Light slanted across a front parlor full of thick, expensive furniture. Silk draperies hung from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The only sound was the swish of traffic.
Until the beeping.
It was shrill to the point of hurting Aerin’s sinuses. She clapped a hand over her ears. Seneca’s skin turned ashen. ‘An alarm system? Are you kidding me?’ Maddox yelled.
‘We don’t have a code!’ Aerin cried.
Seneca turned the envelope upside down and shook it. Nothing came out. ‘I – I didn’t think we’d need one. This is a secure building, with a doorman.’
‘It’s also one of the most exclusive buildings in the city!’ Aerin screamed.
Brett slipped on gloves as well, ran to a panel on the wall, and lifted the little door to look at the keypad. ‘My family has this same system. There’s a way to override it.’ He typed in some numbers. The beeping stopped, but the silence was actually worse. ‘Okay, we have about five minutes until the alarm company calls Ingram to advise him that there’s been a break-in. But if we can get out of here beforehand, I can re-arm the system and we’ll be good.’
‘How are we going to find something in five minutes?’ Madison wailed.
Aerin turned back to the front door. ‘We need to get out of here.’
Seneca spun around, her gaze flicking from room to room. ‘We can still find something. We just have to think. Put on gloves, Aerin. Let’s go.’
She sprinted into a back room. Aerin and Madison followed, pulling on gloves, too. Aerin’s skin prickled as she walked, as if Mr. Ingram was going to pounce on top of her from the ceiling, Spider-Man-style. She knew she was being melodramatic, that it didn’t make any sense, but that didn’t stop her from twitching at every tiny noise.
The large back bedroom contained a king-sized bed covered in a shiny silk comforter – Aerin couldn’t help but picture Helena lying on it. Seneca raced to a bureau across the room and opened the top drawer, then the second one down. Shaking her head, she sprinted to the walk-in closet and flung open the door. Shirts and ties were hanging from hooks. Loafers, wing tips, and Oxfords were lined up on the floor.
Madison made a face. ‘He has bad taste in accessories.’
‘Four minutes,’ Brett called out.
Seneca brushed past her through the kitchen; Aerin trailed behind like a shadow. Madison opened a cabinet and showed Aerin an I Heart NY mug. ‘Ring any bells?’
Aerin just shrugged.
In an office, the girls looked on bookshelves, but all they found were biographies and textbooks. Aerin checked a windowsill, hoping to see the glass dog figurines Helena liked, a bowl she might have made in ceramics, even another paper crane. Nothing. On a far wall, however, were three long swords with intricate handles. Japanese characters were etched into the blades.
She looked at Seneca. ‘Samurai swords?’
‘I think so,’ Seneca murmured.
They looked all around the swords, hoping for some kind of clue to Helena’s presence, but all they saw were their own reflections in the shiny metal. Seneca slapped her hands to her sides. ‘This definitely suggests he’s her Samurai Knight, but it’s not enough.’
‘Two minutes, fifteen seconds,’ Brett said, glancing at his watch.
Aerin padded into the white-tiled bathroom and opened a medicine cabinet. There were pill bottles, but nothing interesting. Creams for dry skin. Tylenol, vitamins. Below the sink, she didn’t find a single tampon or bottle of Proactiv or the Japanese blotting papers her sister used to treat her oily forehead. In the shower, there were bottles of Selsun Blue, shaving cream. Not even a pink razor. But why would there be? Helena had been here five years ago.
‘One minute,’ Brett said.
Seneca stepped into the hall. ‘Anything, Maddox?’
‘Nothing.’
A sour taste welled in Aerin’s mouth. ‘This is ridiculous. There’s nothing.’
Seneca put her hands on her hips. ‘What would Skip hold onto that no one would find?’
‘A letter,’ Maddox suggested. ‘A book. A picture.’
‘Underwear,’ Madison called out. She glanced at Aerin. ‘Sorry.’
Brett opened a hall closet filled with dark overcoats. ‘An umbrella?’
Seneca glanced at the alarm. ‘We have thirty seconds left. We should just go.’
But Aerin stared into the closet, her gaze flicking over the coats on the hangers, hats on hooks. Something brown and floppy was shoved behind a derby and a zip-off fur hood on the top shelf. Aerin pulled it out, pressing her gloved fingertips against the soft suede. It couldn’t be.
Brett was at the front door. ‘We have about twelve seconds before I have to re-arm.’
Maddox and Madison bolted into the hall. Seneca’s gaze was on Aerin. ‘What’s that?’
Aerin held the fedora gently, like it was an egg. When Helena came home with it from the thrift store, Aerin remembered wrinkling her nose. The hat was just so odd, nothing like what anyone else their age would wear. It was like her sister had turned into someone she didn’t know. Someone who wore weird hats, someone who dared to be different, someone who had delved into adulthood and left Aerin far behind. Aerin had assigned the hat way too much meaning, a symbol of just how far she and her sister had drifted. She’d hated the thing.
Until today. Because here the hat was, in Mr. Ingram’s apartment, providing them with all the proof they needed.
CHAPTER 30
Later, on Sunday afternoon, Maddox, Madison, Brett, and Seneca sat on the couch in Maddox’s den, dazedly unwrapping Easter candy and staring at the TV. Aerin had gone home to be with her mom. Maddox pictured the two Kelly women watching the news in that huge house, all of its luxury useless in softening the blow of the dreadful truth.
Huge Break in Helena Kelly Case, read a headline on CNN. A reporter stood in front of the Dakota, her expression sober. ‘Information is still coming in, but sources tell me that a tip revealed that Ms. Kelly and Harris ‘Skip’ Ingram had an affair five years ago, around the time Ms. Kelly disappeared. Detectives searched his apartment in New York City, where they found several personal possessions of Ms. Kelly’s as well as DNA evidence and blood. Testing has not been completed, but officials expect the blood to match Ms. Kelly’s. Ms. Kelly’s body was found in northern Connecticut only last year, and while detectives are still trying to piece together how it got there, linking Mr. Ingram is an enormous breakthrough for this unsolved crime.’
The screen showed more images of the Dakota, and then the Ingrams’ property in Dexby, which they were searching now. Maddox and the rest of the group had worried about how finding the fedora in Skip Ingram’s apartment was going to go down. When they’d advised Aerin to drop the hat on the floor, leave the apartment, and call the police, admitting who she was and what she suspected, she’d shaken her head. ‘I can’t reveal myself!’
‘Yes, you can,’ Brett had assured her. ‘Say you remembered something. Just get them to search the apartment.’
It was a risk – the cops could have laughed. They might not have been able to procure a search warrant. Aerin could’ve gotten into trouble. But everything had fallen into place.
Maddox turned to Seneca. ‘I can’t believe they found her blood.’
Brett scoffed. ‘He was a sloppy, first-time murderer who knew nothing about forensics.’
‘Using bleach to clean up blood does not work,’ Maddox chanted, recalling the discussions on Case Not Closed. There was a chemical that cops used to override a bleach clean-up job, which detected even the tiniest trace of blood serum.
Now the news was talking about how Mr. Ingram had just confessed to having an affair with Helena. He could be charged for predatory sex with someon
e under the age of consent, and he would face a gross misdemeanor charge for the unlawful harboring of a minor or runaway and withholding evidence from the police. That was if he didn’t get smacked with murder in the first degree. ‘Mr. Ingram avows that he did not kill Helena,’ a man identified as Skip Ingram’s lawyer said to the camera. ‘He never even meant for Helena to cut off ties with her family. He was planning to leave his wife by a certain date, and he and Helena were going to return to Dexby after that. He maintains that Helena was the one pushing to move into the city. He was against it.’
Seneca balled up her fists. ‘Then tell her no, dude. You’re the adult in this relationship.’
Madison snorted. ‘And what, he expected that he and Helena would return to Dexby and people would invite them to dinners at the club like everything’s normal? The guy’s cray-cray.’
Maddox’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he shifted to peek at it. I need to see you, Catherine had written.
Speaking of cray-cray … His head had been aching all afternoon, and he wasn’t sure if that was because of what he was learning on TV or because of how many texts he’d received from Catherine in the past day. One hundred and seventy-six. That had to be some sort of record.
He didn’t know what to do. If even an hour went by and he didn’t respond, she found him on iChat. Or Gchat. Or emailed or called. Are you hanging out with that Seneca girl? she kept asking. He swore he’d seen Catherine’s car passing the house several times today, too.
Maddox felt completely trapped. If he did tell her they were truly over – which he desperately wanted to do since he didn’t feel anything for her anymore – would she really revoke his scholarship? He’d worked so hard for it. There wasn’t time to apply to another school for next year. His mom would be devastated.