“Boo,” a voice said. Spencer whirled around and put up her fists.
“Just me, Britney!” Chase held up his hands in mock terror, backing away.
“Don’t do that.” Spencer gave him a playful shove. Then she examined him more closely. Today, he wore skinny-ish jeans, a button-down polo, and a down vest that made him look rugged and tough. Was it possible he looked even better than he had the last time she’d seen him? Spencer had been thrilled when he’d sent her an IM yesterday saying, My connection at CVS found an address for Barbara Rogers in their system. 2560 Spruce Street, Apt. 4B, 4 PM tomorrow?
She looked at the brownstone. “Now what do we do?”
“Knock on her door,” Chase said matter-of-factly.
Spencer gave him a crazy look. “Are we sure she even lives here?”
“Let’s check.” He climbed the steps and looked at the names on the buzzers, then frowned. “Hmm. There’s no Rogers listed.”
“It could be an outdated directory,” Spencer suggested. “Or maybe she’s not on the lease.”
“Let’s buzz.” Chase reached toward the 4B button.
Spencer caught his arm. “Wait! Maybe we shouldn’t let her know we’re coming.”
Chase squinted at her. “Then how are we going to get into the building?”
At that very moment, the red door opened, and an old man with white hair walked out. Spencer tried to catch it, but the door banged shut and locked behind him. She turned to the man instead. “Um, I’m Barbara Rogers’s niece. Can you let me in?”
The man glowered at Spencer’s Britney wig. “Never heard of her.” He shuffled down the stairs.
Spencer exchanged a look with Chase. Something told her the guy was lying. “Are you sure?” she called after the man.
“I said I don’t know anything,” he called over his shoulder, practically diving into a parked Audi. In seconds, he started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Black exhaust sputtered out of the tailpipe.
Chase climbed down the steps and stood by Spencer. “Oh-kaaay.”
Spencer leaned against the wrought-iron railing, trying to get a look at the vanishing license plate, but it was already too far away. “It seems like he wanted to get away from us really quickly, didn’t it? Almost like someone got to him, told him not to talk.”
“And if people got to him, they had to have a reason,” Chase went on. “Maybe Barbara Rogers is Alison’s nurse.” He glanced up at the brownstone again. “Let’s wait for someone else to come out and catch the door before it shuts.”
“Good idea.” Spencer sat down on the first step and stared fixedly at the door, willing someone to appear. Cars honked on the main avenue. A couple of pigeons fought over a bread crust on the sidewalk. But no one emerged in the foyer. How long would they have to wait?
“So did you get your blog emergency sorted out the other day?” Spencer asked.
Chase looked at her blankly. “What?”
“You know, the reason you had to cut our first meeting so short,” Spencer prompted. “Was there breaking news about Benjamin Franklin secretly running a meth lab? Independence Hall once being a whorehouse?” In some of their chats, Chase had revealed some of the ridiculous myths that his readers debated.
“Oh.” Chase stared at his hands. “Actually, it wasn’t a blog emergency at all. It was more of a family thing. My brother needed my help.”
A trail of pale green leaves swirled down the street. One of them flew right into Chase’s cheek. Spencer resisted the urge to brush it away. “Is your brother older or younger?” she asked.
“A year younger,” Chase said. “We’re pretty close. We weren’t when we were little, but after the stalker thing . . .” He trailed off, his gaze suddenly distant.
Spencer rolled her jaw. “That must have been intense,” she said quietly. “What happened, exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Chase’s gaze slid to the right. “At first, the guy and I were friends. But then, something changed. He threatened me. Tried to kill me. Messed me up pretty badly.”
“There’s not a mark on you.” Spencer allowed herself a few moments to stare.
Chase ducked his head. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Yeah, well. Most of the scars you can’t see.”
Spencer knew exactly what he meant. And she hated that she knew. She watched the pedestrians on the street, lost for a moment in memories of Ali. “Do you know what happened to him?” she asked after a while. “Did he go to jail?”
Chase looked pained. “He was under eighteen, so no. And like I said, his parents were loaded. They kept this out of the press, paid off the cops. He left school, but that’s all I know.”
Spencer shook her head. “That is so unfair. So he’s just walking the streets?”
Chase nodded. “I guess so.”
He turned his head away then and made a pained noise that broke Spencer’s heart. She touched his arm, all at once so sad and heartbroken, both for Chase’s experience and her own. How dare someone torment him? How dare someone torment her?
“I know what it’s like,” she whispered. “I’ve been stalked, too.”
Chase turned around, his brow furrowed. “You have?”
Quickly, before she could change her mind, Spencer removed the Britney wig and took off the sunglasses. “I’m Spencer Hastings,” she said. “One of the girls Ali tried to, uh, kill.”