Crushed (30 page)

The sun came out from behind a cloud, illuminating the scars on Chase’s cheek. Spencer shut her eyes and tried to process what Chase was saying. In some ways, it wasn’t really so different from what Their Ali did to them. She’d convinced them—
everyone
—that she was someone she wasn’t. And people trusted her because of it. People bought into her lies.

“Why should I believe anything you’re telling me?” she said stiffly. “You could be stalking me, too.”

“I’m not.” Chase shook his head. “I promise, Spencer, I’m not. I would never do that. This has happened to me, remember?”

“Exactly!” Spencer cried. “You know what being stalked was like. Or was that a lie, too?”

Chase set his jaw. “
Look
at me, Spencer. I’m not lying to you. And I’ll never lie to you again. My roommate slashed me—and even
then
, people didn’t believe he could do such a thing. You’re right: I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that, but I was just trying to help. As far as sending my brother in my place, tell me you wouldn’t have slunk away, creeped out by the scars. I saw your face when you met Curtis. We all judge a book by its cover. It’s just how life is.”

A gust of wind blew her hair sideways. How
would
she have reacted? Was she really that superficial?

Chase sighed heavily. “Look, I don’t expect to ever see you again, but I do want to assure you that everything on my site is for real. And I was serious yesterday when I had my brother say I found a picture of Alison on a surveillance video from a building not far from here. Look.”

He rummaged in his messenger bag. Spencer shifted, having forgotten what Curtis had mentioned in the car. Chase extracted a silver laptop, opened it up, and clicked on a folder. “I’m friends with a bunch of cops in Rosewood, Yarmouth, and a couple of other towns outside Philly. I was actually researching that case about the Rosewood Stalker—remember that? Someone thought they’d seen the stalker near Hollis. A cop friend gave me some surveillance videos, and I hit on this.”

The folder opened, and several pictures loaded. Spencer leaned down to look. A grainy, black-and-white shot of a Hollis street appeared. Garbage cans sat at the curb. A girl in a leather jacket was getting into her VW Beetle. There was nothing interesting in it, as far as she could tell.

But then Chase pointed to two shadowy figures in the top right corner. “Doesn’t that girl seem familiar?”

Spencer squinted. Even in black-and-white, she could make out the girl’s long blond hair. She had a heart-shaped face, too, and there was something about the angle of her chin that made her heart seize.

She stared at Chase. “
Alison?
”

“It looks like her, doesn’t it?” Chase clicked to the next photo. This one showed Ali’s back and more of her helper. The person was taller that she was, and broader, too—definitely a guy. Spencer pressed her face so close to the laptop her nose was almost touching the screen. It was impossible to tell, but that could definitely be Noel.

Nausea washed over her. She ran her hand over her forehead. All this time, Ali was in
Hollis
? This was a huge lead. She needed to show this to the cops. Or maybe she needed to stake Ali out on her own. She had to do
something.

Chase shut the laptop and dropped it back into his bag. “I thought you should see that stuff. But as of now, I’m discontinuing the Alison investigation. I think it’s for the best.”

Spencer blinked hard, not expecting him to say that. “Oh,” was all she could murmur.

He looked up at Spencer, his eyes full of sorrow and longing. “I wish we could be friends, but I totally get why you never want to see me again. I just hope you find peace in all this. I hope you guys can nail her for real. That girl did terrible things to you. You’re too awesome to deserve something like that.”

Then he spun on his heel and stepped off the porch. His messenger bag banged against his hip as he headed for the car. His head was still down, and halfway across the yard, Chase’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. It tugged at Spencer’s heartstrings. Okay, so Chase was a little misguided, and he never should have Facebook-stalked her, but she could feel in her heart that he wasn’t a bad person. And if it weren’t for Chase and his connections, she wouldn’t know where Ali was potentially hiding.

And, if she was being honest, she’d tried to Google-stalk him, too.

“Wait!” she called after him. Chase stopped and turned. “We figured out that Ali’s boyfriend is definitely her helper,” she said. “It’s this guy who goes to our school, Noel Kahn.”

Chase’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”

The wind chimes knocked together. Leaves swirled on the street. “I don’t know,” Spencer admitted. “But maybe you shouldn’t stop the investigation so soon. We might need you.”
I might need you
, she was too afraid to add.

Chase walked back to her. “I’ll do anything.”

“Well, do you know the exact address of that house you just showed me?”

Chase nodded. “It’s on Atherton Street.”

“Maybe we could go there tomorrow. Just to see.”

“Of course. No matter how small or big. I’m here.”

Spencer pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. She needed someone like that right now, didn’t she? Someone who truly cared. Standing on the path, the sun at his back, Chase simply looked like he was a handsome college kid who liked her—
really
liked her. Slowly, her icy interior started to melt.

“Have you really had a crush on me since you saw me in
People
?” she asked in a small voice. And when she peeked up at Chase’s bashful, heartfelt, lovesick face, he didn’t even have to say anything. She already knew the answer.

32
Crazy Love

When Emily pulled into her driveway, her mom was bent over in the front flower bed, spreading mulch. She brushed off her hands and smiled at Emily as she got out of the car. “Did you have fun at prom?”

Emily pretended to rub at an invisible stain on her dress.
Fun
wouldn’t quite describe it. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around what had happened. All this time, A had been right in front of them. At their parties. In their bedrooms—well, Aria’s, anyway. She couldn’t get the image of Noel’s body on top of Aria’s in the graveyard out of her mind, either. He’d looked so . . . desperate. Angry. And then he’d run off . . . to where? Ali? The police? Was it crazy that they’d given Aria six hours to find him?

Mrs. Fields pushed the wheelbarrow to the garage, breaking Emily from her thoughts. “Where’s Iris?”

“She went home,” Emily mumbled.

Mrs. Fields pulled off her gardening gloves. “It was nice having her here. I think she was good for you, too.”

Emily nodded. “She was,” she said distantly, realizing she meant it. In the end, Iris had been a good confidante. She was glad she’d shared Jordan’s secret with her.
And
she’d made the Noel connection in the nick of time. Emily felt bad for not seeing her off to The Preserve last night, but by the time she’d returned from the graveyard, Iris had been gone. It wasn’t like Iris had a cell phone, either—Emily couldn’t text her and make sure she got there okay. She headed toward the front door, suddenly dying to know.

She grabbed the cordless phone in the kitchen and dialed The Preserve’s front desk. “I want to check if a patient got in all right last night,” she said after a receptionist answered. “Her name is Iris Taylor?”

The receptionist typed something, then made an
mm
noise. “Yes, Miss Taylor returned safe and sound.”

“Okay, thanks.” Emily pressed the receiver closer to her ear. “Maybe I could set up a visit next week, then.”

After arranging to visit Iris next Wednesday, Emily hung up the phone and slumped into a kitchen chair. She felt good that Iris returned like she said she would. Maybe this time, she’d actually take her stay at The Preserve seriously.

Emily conjured an image of The Preserve with its Grecian columns and small terraces, then pictured Noel pulling his SUV up the drive to visit Ali, his secret girlfriend. Had he set appointments with “Courtney” like Emily just had with Iris? She still couldn’t quite wrap her brain around the fact that he and Ali had been working together for all these years. Watching Emily and her friends’ every move, plotting to bring them down.

She shivered, thinking of all the intimate moments Noel had spied on. How carefully had he watched Emily and Jordan on the cruise? Had he seen them on that glass-bottomed boat in Puerto Rico? Had he seen them kiss on the top deck? She’d known that A had been watching, but that A was someone they knew so intimately hurt even more. It had been Noel who’d called the FBI on Jordan. And it was because of Noel that Jordan had to swan-dive off the top deck, risk those treacherous seas, escape the country forever. Sure, maybe Ali had told him to do it, but Noel had actually
done
it. He hated them that much.

And he loved Ali that much.

Lost in her thoughts, Emily climbed the stairs and padded into her bedroom. She sat down on the bed and stared into the middle of the room, a memory suddenly coming to her. She’d been in the Rosewood Day locker room. The girl she’d thought was Courtney had sidled up next to her and acted devastated that Emily had been with her sister on the night she was killed. Emily had taken pity on Courtney, saying that if she ever needed anything, Emily was there for her.

Courtney’s face had lit up.
Maybe we could get together after school tomorrow?
she’d asked.
If it’s not too weird, that is. With Ali, I mean.
And Emily had said yes, of course, that would be fine, and when she’d looked up at Courtney again, the girl had a gleam in her eye, a twist of a smile on her lips.
Is she flirting with me?
Emily had thought, stunned. Courtney had winked, like she knew exactly what she was doing. And something resembling lust had rumbled in Emily’s chest. Those old feelings had started to stir. That old love.

But even if
she
was the one Ali wanted, she would have never done for Ali what Noel had. She would have never hurt innocent people, her friends.

She whirled around and kicked the bedpost so hard her toe ached. Maybe it was a bad idea that they hadn’t told Agent Fuji about A—both of them—immediately. Because if Ali and Noel were out there, they needed to find them.
Now.

33
Who’s That Girl?

“So you haven’t heard from Noel at
all
?” Hanna said into her burner cell as she walked through the Bill Beach’s back entrance—all the parking at the front was filled again. The entrance bordered one of the community rooms. The place smelled like stale coffee. A baseball game was on the TV in the lobby, and several visiting family members were gathered around in Phillies jerseys.

“Nope,” Mike said on the other end. “Though Aria asked me about it, too. What happened between them last night?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hanna said nervously. “Just a stupid fight.”

“Really?” Mike cleared his throat. “Hanna, all those questions you asked me about Noel and that bomb—”

“I can’t talk about it right now,” Hanna interrupted. Mike would find out soon enough, after all. She didn’t want him knowing anything before he had to. It was going to break Mike’s heart that his best friend had tried to kill his sister
and
his girlfriend.

Hanna still couldn’t believe what they’d come upon in the cemetery last night. She also couldn’t believe Spencer had the guts to hit him with that scepter. And had Noel been hurt? He’d gotten away, but his run had been stumbling and strange.

The most worrying moment of all, though, was the sense Hanna got just after Noel ran off. Even though the cemetery seemed deserted, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else was there with them. She hadn’t mentioned it to her friends, though—and none of them had said anything to her. It was probably all in her mind.

She pulled open the door to the women’s staff room—which, strangely, was empty. Usually there were a couple of nurses hanging out there, watching soaps. “My shift starts soon, so I’d better go.”

“So how long are you going to work there?” Mike asked.

“Actually, I think today’s going to be my last day.” Hanna grabbed her scrubs from her locker and began unbuttoning her jeans. Her investigation into Graham was done. “I’ll call you later.”

She hit
END
. Her phone rang again a split second later. It was her dad’s number. When she answered, her father sounded furious.

“Hanna, someone named Agent Fuji showed up at the house this morning with a team and a search warrant for
your
bedroom,” he said. “I was able to have my lawyers send them away, but they’ll be back. What the hell’s going on? What are you mixed up in?”

Hanna froze.
A search warrant?
Spencer had been right: Fuji was systematically going to each of them, trying to find that painting. At least she hadn’t picked Aria as her next victim.

“I-I have no idea,” she lied. “What was the agent looking for?”

“She didn’t say.” Mr. Marin’s voice was strained. “Is it drugs? There were rumors you had a suicide pact—was it a gun? I can’t believe a news van hasn’t shown up here yet. The last thing I need is an FBI vehicle at the house and a bunch of agents searching the place and me not knowing what to say.”

Tears filled Hanna’s eyes. She couldn’t have her father getting caught up in this. “Whatever she’s looking for, she won’t find it in my room,” Hanna bleated. “I’m sorry you had to go through that . . . but it was just a big mix-up. I’ll be home soon, okay?”

She hung up the phone and took deep breaths. If her father had sent Agent Fuji away, she might try someone else’s house. Like Aria’s, maybe. And then what?

There was no way she could continue her shift now. She walked down the hall and turned toward the lobby, ready to tell Sean she’d do a makeup day another time. It was filled with people, tons of voices shouting at once. Mr. Ackard was speaking to two official-looking men by the front desk. A police officer spoke into a walkie-talkie. A man with a news camera walked in, followed by a reporter in a suit. In the corner, another reporter interviewed Sean, whose face was laced with concern.