Everyone paused to think. Then Spencer’s gaze drifted to a light on inside Mr. Pennythistle’s office in the house. “The other day, Mr. Pennythistle told me that his model home at Crestview Estates has a panic room. Aren’t those places, like, soundproof?”
“I think so,” Hanna said. “And sometimes they have video surveillance, so you can see if someone is on your property.”
“Perfect,” Emily said. “A will never hear us in somewhere like that.”
Aria squinted. “Crestview Estates isn’t far from here, right? In Hopewell?”
“Yeah,” Spencer said. Hopewell was a town about fifteen minutes from Rosewood. “And I bet I could steal the key to the house.” Mr. Pennythistle kept copies of all of his properties’ keys in his home office. It would just be a matter of finding the right one.
Emily’s eyes gleamed. “Should we drive together?”
Spencer shook her head vehemently. “We need to all go separately to confuse A. It would be even better if we could go by different modes of transport—like bus or SEPTA or car.”
Aria ground her toe into the grass. “Well, the public transport goes to Hopewell.”
“And if some of us drive, we can take different routes,” Emily said. “A won’t know which one of us to follow. And if it seems like someone is following us, we could speed up or pull off or do a quick turnaround, maybe catching A in the act. Then we might see who A is.”
“Great,” Spencer said. She looked hard at the others. “How about tomorrow night?”
Everyone nodded. Then Spencer caught sight of a black sedan rolling up the long driveway. Her stomach turned over. Showtime.
The car cruised to a stop at the front of the house. A tall, thin woman with long, wavy, black hair and sharp features started toward the front door. When she noticed Spencer and the others in the backyard, she stopped and waved.
“Miss Hastings?” She looked questioningly at the leaf blower. “Doing some yard work?”
Spencer turned off the leaf blower and dropped it to the ground. She tramped through the wet grass toward the house. “Something like that.”
The woman extended her hand. “I’m Jasmine Fuji.” She looked at the others with wide gray eyes. “Let me guess. Hanna, Aria, and Emily,” she said, pointing at each girl in turn. Then again, it wasn’t hard—the four of them had been plastered all over People magazine last year after Real Ali allegedly died. Even a made-for-TV movie called Pretty Little Killer had been filmed, documenting Real Ali’s torment and near killing of the girls.
When no one said anything, she cleared her throat. “How about we go inside and talk?”
Spencer led the way through the kitchen, nervously trying not to trip over anything. Then they lined up on the living room couch, squeezed together tightly. Aria flicked a tassel on a pillow. Emily crossed and uncrossed her legs. Everyone’s hair was a windswept rat’s nest from the leaf blower.
Fuji sat across from them on a striped ottoman, pulled out a yellow notepad, and flipped to a clean page. Her nails were impeccably groomed and painted pink. “Well. Okay. Thanks for meeting me, for one thing. This is just a formality, but I appreciate your cooperation.”
“Of course,” Spencer said in her most mature, professional tone. She wished she had something to do with her hands.
“Your names were on a list of guests who were staying at The Cliffs resort in Jamaica the same time Tabitha Clark was murdered,” Fuji said, looking at a separate sheet of paper. “March twenty-third to March thirtieth. Can you confirm that?”
“Yes.” Spencer’s voice cracked, and she started again. “Yes. We were there. We were on vacation for spring break with a lot of our classmates.”
Fuji gave them a tight smile. “Must be nice.”
Spencer twitched. That sounded kind of bitter. Must be nice for you spoiled rich girls, maybe. You think you can get away with anything, huh? But then Fuji pointed to a watercolor of a pastoral farm scene above the piano. “My grandmother has one a lot like that, except a little bigger.”
“Oh, neat. I’ve always loved that painting,” Spencer said quickly. Calm down, she scolded herself.
“So.” Fuji took out a pair of glasses from her purse and perched them on her nose, then studied her notes again. “Did you meet Miss Clark while you were staying there?”
Spencer exchanged a look with the others. They’d briefly talked through what they’d say on the phone last night, but her mind suddenly was blank. “Sort of,” she said after a moment. “I had a passing conversation with her, nothing big.”
Fuji removed her glasses and put one of the stems in her mouth. “Can you tell me what it was about?”
Spencer’s insides fizzed. “She thought we looked familiar. Like long-lost sisters.”
Fuji cocked her head. Her teardrop earrings fluttered. “That’s a strange thing to say.”
Spencer shrugged. “She’d had a lot to drink.”
Fuji wrote something down and turned to the other girls. “Do you remember Tabitha as well?”
Emily nodded. “We danced near each other.” She swallowed hard.
Fuji turned to Hanna and Aria, and both of them said they’d met Tabitha in passing but didn’t have a long conversation. Fuji didn’t ask them to elaborate, so Emily didn’t mention Tabitha’s eerily similar Jenna Thing bracelet, Aria didn’t talk about how Tabitha had hinted that she knew her dad was a cheater, and Hanna didn’t tell her that Tabitha had known Hanna used to be a loser.