“My mom would’ve probably done the same thing,” Spencer said. She placed her chin in her hand. “Does your family have big Sunday dinners?”
Chase settled back in his chair. “I have a huge extended family, so it can get pretty insane. I’d miss it if we didn’t do it anymore, though.”
He described the comfort food his mom made, the same old jokes his grandfather always told, and the plays his younger cousins put on during dessert. “It sounds fun,” Spencer said. “I’ve always wanted a family who actually likes one another.”
Chase smiled. “You can come sometime if you want.”
There was a flutter in Spencer’s chest. “First you invite me to the opera, then to dinner . . . what next?”
“I’d say prom . . . but been there, done that,” Chase blurted. “Kind of.”
Spencer giggled. She liked his flirtatious side. And suddenly, when she looked at him again, he had a twitchy, excited look on his face, almost like he might kiss her. Spencer thought about it for a moment, then inched forward.
Beep.
Her cell phone chimed loudly through the room. “Ugh,” Spencer said, peeking inside her bag.
The texter’s number was a jumble of letters and numbers. Spencer’s stomach sank. Quickly, she opened the text.
Do you really want another innocent life on your hands, Spence? Then give up your boy toy. —A
The blood drained from her face. “Spencer?” Chase touched her arm. “What is it?”
Spencer glanced around the little coffee shop. Nico turned on the espresso grinder. One of the couples fed each other bites of cannoli. All at once, the air cleared. She knew exactly what to do.
“It’s nothing,” she said. She straightened up, gripped her phone, and typed in Agent Fuji’s number. Just got another text, she wrote, forwarding the message. Go to it.
15
GALLERY GIRL
Thursday afternoon, Aria pulled into Old Hollis and found a space on the street. Then she got out, retrieved her portfolio from the backseat, and stood in front of her mother’s gallery. It was in a large Victorian with bay windows and a big front porch. There was a sun catcher in the front window, and bronze wind chimes hung from the eaves. Tulips sprung from the flower beds in the front lawn. Today was her first day of work, and she was trying to feel excited, but she just felt numb. Her portfolio felt heavy in her hands. She doubted that Jim, the gallery owner, would actually sell her stuff, but her mother had insisted she bring everything she was working on.
Squaring her shoulders, she started up the front walk, careful not to trip in her brand-new, hot-pink kitten heels. As she passed a large maple with a tire swing and a bird’s nest in one of the low branches, her phone bleated in her bag. She reached for it. AGENT FUJI, said the caller ID. Aria’s heart flipped. Had there been a break in the case?
“Hi, Aria, it’s Jasmine Fuji,” came the agent’s smooth, professional tone. “I have Spencer on the line, too. Do you have a sec?”
“Sure.” A shifting shadow across the street caught her eye, but when Aria looked over, whatever it was had disappeared. She didn’t see her security guy anywhere.
Fuji cleared her throat. “First of all, I appreciate you girls forwarding your notes from A to me. It’s been very helpful.”
“I got one last night, Aria,” Spencer’s gravelly voice broke in. “Have you gotten any?”
“Nope,” Aria said. “What did yours say?”
“It was threatening a friend of mine, Chase—the guy who runs the conspiracy website. I’m afraid he might be in danger. You may want to look into security for him, too.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Fuji said. “But actually, I was calling because I want to clarify something with you girls about Graham Pratt. Aria, you sought out Graham, correct?”
Aria leaned her portfolio against the lamppost. “Not at all. We ended up in the same group on the cruise.”
“Hmm,” Fuji said. “So you didn’t realize until later that Graham was Tabitha Clark’s ex?”
“That’s right,” Aria said, turning away as a girl on a bike passed on the street. “Then I got a text from A almost the moment I found out, like A was watching.”
“Okay.” Fuji sighed. “I wish we could have spoken to Graham before he died.”
“Before he was killed,” Spencer corrected her. “By the way, have you looked into the N clue he gave Hanna at the burn clinic?”
Fuji chuckled softly. “We’re following up on everything, don’t worry.”
“What about a Preserve patient list from the time Ali was there?” Spencer goaded. “That would go a long way.”
“We’re on it.” Fuji sounded a little impatient. There was another muffled voice in the background on Fuji’s end. “Okay, girls, I gotta go,” she said. “Thanks for your time.”
“Wait!” Spencer said, but Fuji had already hung up.
Aria hung up, too, rolling her eyes. Spencer was type A to a fault.
“Aria! Thank goodness you’re here.”
The door to the Victorian had opened, and Ella stood just inside. Her mother was in her “gallery uniform”—a long patchwork skirt, a white peasant blouse, and a pair of blue suede Birkenstocks. She ushered Aria inside the house, which had been gutted into one large room that displayed countless paintings of Pennsylvania barns and wildlife on the walls. “A new artist is coming in a few minutes. We’re going to debut his work in a private show. It’s very exciting.”