Hush, Hush Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15
YOU THINK ELLIOT MURDERED SOMEONE?”
“Shh!” I hissed at Vee, glancing across the rows of lab tables to make sure no one had overheard.
“No offense, babe, but this is starting to get ridiculous. First he attacked me. Now he’s a killer. I’m
sorry, but Elliot? A murderer? He’s, like, the nicest guy I’ve ever met. When was the last time he forgot
to hold open a door for you? Oh, yeah, that’s right … never.”
Vee and I were in biology, and Vee was lying faceup on a table. We were running a lab on blood
pressure, and Vee was supposed to be resting silently for five minutes. Normally I would have worked
with Patch, but Coach had given us a free day, which meant we were free to choose our own partners.
Vee and I were at the back of the room; Patch was working with a jock named Thomas Rookery at the
front of the room.
“He was questioned as a suspect in a murder investigation,” I whispered, feeling Coach’s eyes gravitate
toward us. I scribbled a few notes on my lab sheet. Subject is calm and relaxed. Subject has refrained
from speaking for three and a half minutes. “The police obviously thought he had motive and means.”
“Are you sure it’s the same Elliot?”
“How many Elliot Saunderses do you think there were at Kinghorn in February?”
Vee strummed her fingers on her stomach. “It just seems really, really hard to believe. And anyway, so
what if he was questioned? The important thing is, he was released. They didn’t find him guilty.”
“Because police found a suicide note written by Halverson.”
“Who’s Halverson again?”
“Kjirsten Halverson,” I said impatiently. “The girl who supposedly hanged herself.”
“Maybe she did hang herself. I mean, what if one day she said, ‘Hey, life sucks,’ and strung herself to a
tree? It has happened.”
“You don’t find it a little too coincidental that her apartment showed evidence of a breakin
when they
discovered the suicide note?”
“She lived in Portland. Breakins
happen.”
“I think someone placed the note. Someone who wanted Elliot off the hook.”
“Who would want Elliot off the hook?” Vee asked.
I gave her my best duh look.
Vee propped herself up with her good elbow. “So you’re saying Elliot hauled Kjirsten up a tree, tied a
rope around her neck, pushed her off the limb, then did a breakingandentering
job on her apartment
and planted evidence pointing to a suicide.”
“Why not?”
Vee returned the duh look. “Because the cops already analyzed everything. If they’re ruling it a suicide,
so am I.”
“How about this,” I said. “Just weeks after Elliot was released from questioning, he transferred schools.
Why would someone leave Kinghorn Prep to come to CHS?”
“You’ve got a point there.”
“I think he’s trying to escape his past. I think it became too uncomfortable attending school on the same
campus where he killed Kjirsten. He has a guilty conscience.” I tapped my pencil against my lip. “I
need to drive out to Kinghorn and ask questions. She just died two months ago; everyone will still be
buzzing about it.”
“I don’t know, Nora. I’m getting bad vibes about initiating a spy operation at Kinghorn. I mean, are you
going to ask about Elliot specifically? What if he finds out? What’s he going to think?”
I looked down at her. “He only has something to worry about if he’s guilty.”
“And then he’ll kill you to silence you.” Vee grinned like the Cheshire cat. I didn’t. “I want to find out
who attacked me just as much as you do,” she continued on a more serious note, “but I swear on my life
it wasn’t Elliot. I’ve replayed the memory, like, a hundred times. It’s not a match. Not even close. Trust
me.”
“Okay, maybe Elliot didn’t attack you,” I said, trying to appease Vee but not about to clear Elliot’s
name. “He still has a lot going against him. He was involved in a murder investigation, for one. And
he’s almost too nice, for two. It’s creepy. And he’s friends with Jules, for three.”
Vee frowned. “Jules? What’s wrong with Jules?”
“Don’t you think it’s odd that every time we’re with them, Jules bails?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The night we went to Delphic, Jules left almost immediately to use the bathroom. Did he ever come
back? After I left to buy cotton candy, did Elliot find him?”
“No, but I chalked it up to internal plumbing issues.”
“Then, last night, he mysteriously called in sick.” I scrubbed my pencil’s eraser down the length of my
nose, thinking. “He seems to get sick a lot.”
“I think you’re overanalyzing this. Maybe … maybe he has IBS.”
“IBS?”
“Irritable bowel syndrome.”
I discarded Vee’s suggestion in favor of mentally stretching for an idea that floated just out of reach.
Kinghorn Prep was easily an hour away by car. If the school was as academically rigorous as Elliot
claimed, how did Jules continually have time to make the drive to Coldwater to visit? I saw him nearly
every morning on my way to school at Enzo’s Bistro with Elliot. Plus, he gave Elliot a ride home after
school. It was almost like Elliot had Jules in the palm of his hand.
But that wasn’t all of it. I scrubbed the eraser more furiously against my nose. What was I missing?
“Why would Elliot kill Kjirsten?” I wondered out loud. “Maybe she saw him do something illegal, and
he killed her to silence her.”
Vee let go of a sigh. “This is starting to drift into the land of This Makes Absolutely No Sense.”
“There’s something else. Something we’re not seeing.”
Vee looked at me like my logic was vacationing in outer space. “Personally, I think you’re seeing too
much. This feels a lot like a witch hunt.”
And then all of a sudden I knew what I was missing. It had been nagging me all day, calling to me from
the back of my mind, but I’d been too overwhelmed with everything else to pay attention. Detective
Basso had asked me if anything was missing. It just now hit me that something was. I’d set the article
about Elliot on top of my dresser last night. But this morning—I consulted my memory to be sure—it
was gone. Definitely gone.
“Omigosh,” I said. “Elliot broke into my house last night. It was him! He stole the article.” Since the
article was in plain sight, it was obvious Elliot had torn apart my room to terrorize me—possibly as
punishment for finding the article in the first place.
“Whoa, what?” Vee said.
“What’s wrong?” asked Coach, coming to a stop beside me.
“Yeah, what’s wrong?” Vee chimed in. She pointed and laughed at me from behind Coach’s back.
“Um—the subject doesn’t appear to have a pulse,” I said, giving Vee’s wrist a hard pinch.
While Coach probed for Vee’s pulse, she made swooning motions and fanned herself. Coach flicked his
eyes to mine, looking at me over the top of his glasses. “Right here, Nora. Beating loud and strong. Are
you sure the subject refrained from activity, including talking, for the full five minutes? This pulse isn’t
as slow as I would have expected.”
“The subject struggled with the notalking
step,” Vee interjected. “And the subject has a hard time
relaxing on a rockhard
biology table. The subject would like to propose switching places so Nora can
be the new subject.” Vee used her right hand to grab me and pull herself upright.
“Don’t make me regret allowing you to choose your own partners,” Coach told us.
“Don’t make me regret coming to school today,” said Vee sweetly.
Coach shot her a warning look, then picked up my lab sheet, eyes skimming the allbutblank
page.
“The subject equates biology labs with overdosing on prescriptionstrength
sedatives,” Vee said.
Coach chirped his whistle, and all eyes in the class swung our way.
“Patch?” he said. “Mind taking over here? We seem to have run into a partner problem.”
“I was so kidding,” Vee said quickly. “Here—I’ll do the lab.”
“You should have thought of that fifteen minutes ago,” Coach said.
“Please forgive me?” she asked, batting her eyelashes angelically.
Coach tucked her notebook under her good arm. “No.”
Sorry! Vee mouthed over her shoulder at me as she walked reluctantly to the front of the room.
A moment later Patch took a seat on the table beside me. He clasped his hands loosely between his
knees and kept a steady gaze on me.
“What?” I said, feeling unnerved by the weight of his stare.
He smiled. “I was remembering the shark shoes. Last night.”
I got the usual Patchinduced
flutter in my stomach, and like usual, I couldn’t distinguish if it was a
good thing or a bad thing.
“How was your night?” I asked, my voice carefully neutral as I attempted to break the ice. My spying
adventures still hung uncomfortably between us.
“Interesting. Yours?”
“Not so much.”
“Homework was brutal, huh?”
He was making fun of me. “I didn’t do homework.”
He had the smile of a fox. “Who did you do?”
I was speechless a moment. I stood there with my mouth slightly open. “Was that an innuendo?”
“Just curious what my competition is.”
“Grow up.”
His smile stretched. “Loosen up.”
“I’m already walking on thin ice with Coach, so do me a favor and let’s concentrate on the lab. I’m not
in the mood to play test subject, so if you don’t mind …” I looked pointedly at the table.
“Can’t,” he said. “I don’t have a heart.”
I told myself he wasn’t being literal.
I lowered myself down on the table and stacked my hands on my stomach. “Tell me when five minutes
are up.” I shut my eyes, preferring not to watch Patch’s black eyes examine me.
A few minutes later I opened one eye a slit.
“Time’s up,” said Patch.
I held one upturned wrist out so he could take my pulse. Patch took my hand, and a jolt of heat shot up
my arm and ended with a squeeze in my stomach.
“The subject’s pulse increased on contact,” he said.
“Don’t write that.” It was supposed to sound indignant. If anything, it sounded like I was repressing a
smile.
“Coach wants us to be thorough.”
“What do you want?” I asked him.
Patch’s eyes connected with mine. On the inside, he was grinning. I could tell.
“Except, you know, that,” I said.
After school I swung by Miss Greene’s office for our scheduled appointment. At the end of the school
day, Dr. Hendrickson had always kept his door wide open, a nonverbal invitation for students to stop by.
Every time I passed down this stretch of hallway now, Miss Greene had the door closed. All the way.
The Do not disturb was implicit.
“Nora,” she said, opening the door after my knock, “please come in. Have a seat.”
Her office was fully unpacked and decorated today. She’d brought in several more plants, and a panel of
framed botanical prints hung in a row on the wall above her desk.
Miss Greene said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said last week. I came to the obvious
conclusion that our relationship needs to be built on trust and respect. We won’t discuss your dad again,
unless you specify.”
“Okay,” I said warily. What were we going to talk about?
“I heard some rather disappointing news,” she said. Her smile faded and she leaned forward, resting her
elbows on the desk. She was holding a pen, and she rolled it between her palms. “I don’t mean to pry
into your private life, Nora, but I thought I made myself perfectly clear concerning your involvement
with Patch.”
I wasn’t quite sure where she was going with this. “I haven’t tutored him.” And, really, was it any of her
business?
“Saturday night Patch gave you a ride home from Delphic Seaport. And you invited him inside your
house.”
I fought to hold in a choke of protest. “How do you know about that?”
“Part of my job as your school psychologist is to give you guidance,” Miss Greene said. “Please
promise me you’ll be very, very careful around Patch.” She looked at me like she was actually waiting
for my oath of promise.
“It’s kind of complicated,” I said. “My ride left me stranded at Delphic. I didn’t have a choice. It’s not
like I seek out opportunities to spend time with Patch.” Well, except for last night at the Borderline. In
my defense, I honestly hadn’t expected to see Patch. He was supposed to have the night off.
“I’m very glad to hear it,” Miss Greene answered, but she didn’t sound fully convinced of my
innocence. “With that out of the way, is there anything else you’d like to talk about today? Anything
weighing on your mind?”
I wasn’t about to tell her that Elliot broke into my house. I didn’t trust Miss Greene. I couldn’t put my
finger on it, but something about her bothered me. And I didn’t like the way she kept hinting that Patch
was dangerous but wouldn’t tell me why. It was almost like she had an agenda.
I hoisted my backpack off the ground and opened the door. “No,” I said.