But even when Chase popped the cork of a bottle of champagne and handed Spencer a glass, she couldn’t relax. She turned to Chase. “Now that we’re alone, can you please tell me what you know about Alison?”
Chase sipped from his champagne flute. “I got some interesting footage from a friend. It’s a surveillance video from a building not far from here. There’s a girl in one of the shots who looks like Alison.”
Spencer’s skin prickled. “You’re kidding.” She glanced at Chase’s phone, which was on his lap. “Do you have it on you? Can we watch?”
Chase stared at his phone, too. “I don’t have it.”
“Oh.” Spencer slumped.
“Was that the only reason you came out with me tonight?” Chase’s voice was froggy.
“Of course not!” Spencer cried. “I just . . . well, that sounds huge. I’d love to see it.”
He took her hand. “This is huge too, though. Being with you, I mean. I just want a calm, normal night, one where we don’t talk about Ali or stalkers or the shitty things that have happened to us. One where, like, you don’t almost die from something falling on your head.” He tried to laugh.
Spencer blinked. “But . . .”
“How about this.” Chase squeezed her hand. “How about I access the video after our first dance. That’s, what, an hour from now? I just want a little bit of time with this amazing girl I met named Spencer. Okay?”
Bubbles from the champagne fizzed in Spencer’s nose. She gazed at the blurry highway lights above them. When was the last time she’d just enjoyed something? Even the cruise, which was supposed to be relaxing, had been a horrible, stressful mess. And it was kind of nice to be thought of as just Spencer, a regular girl, not Spencer the Pretty Little Liar.
“As long as you promise to show me everything as soon as that first dance ends,” she said.
“I promise.”
They shook on it. Chase rested his head on her shoulder. They looked out the window as the city of Philadelphia glittered on the horizon, and they started to talk. Spencer asked him about what his prom would have been like, and who he would have liked to have taken, and what he was thinking about studying in college next year. Then they talked about her upcoming semester at Princeton. Spencer even told him a little about the huge mishap at the potluck party the weekend she’d visited.
They talked the whole traffic-jammed ride into the city, and before Spencer knew it, they were taking the off-ramp near the zoo. Her pulse had slowed. Her cheeks hurt from laughing. Talking about everything but the case was a good suggestion.
Then, as they stopped at a light, the driver turned on the radio. And now, turning to the murder investigation of Tabitha Clark. Investigators say they’ve made headway with their questioning and have several potential suspects.
Spencer dug her nails into her knee. Suspects?
“That story is crazy, isn’t it?” Chase crossed his legs. “I’ve been following it a little. A few people have sent requests for me to post about it on my site.”
“Huh,” Spencer said, shakily pushing a lock of hair off her shoulder.
Chase grabbed his champagne flute. “Actually, you were in Jamaica when Tabitha died, weren’t you? Did you see anything?”
Spencer turned and stared at him, a cold feeling trickling down her back. “I never told you I was in Jamaica.”
Chase blinked. “Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t.” She started to shake all over. “I definitely didn’t.” It had been scary enough to admit who she really was. She wasn’t stupid enough to tell him about Jamaica on top of that.
Chase drained his flute in one sip, his eyes not leaving hers for a second. His Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed. Slowly, he reached into his pocket for something. It was the same way someone threatened might reach for a knife, a gun. An entirely new reality formed in Spencer’s mind. What if Chase knew Spencer was in Jamaica because he had been there, too?
Suddenly, Spencer’s blood went cold and the whole horrible scheme clicked into place. How easy it had been to find his conspiracy theory blog. How willing Chase had been to feed her all those details about Ali, secrets no one could just happen upon. Those pictures he’d shown her were obviously from a private collection, too, not randomly mailed to him. And Chase was brilliant at hacking into computer systems, which meant he could have easily planted information on Naomi Zeigler’s laptop on the cruise, Billy Ford’s laptop, and the CVS system. If that address was even in the CVS system. Spencer had just taken his word for it.
He’d been the one who’d taken her to the booby-trapped apartment. And then he’d fallen against that door, knocking on it. He’d made it out to be an accident, but what if it hadn’t been? Had he known that trapdoor was going to fall? Did he somehow trigger it to open with that knock? Or was it a signal to someone inside?
Could Chase be Ali’s secret boyfriend? The other A? All this time, the girls had thought it was Noel . . . and she’d fallen right into Real Ali’s trap.
Spencer’s hand inched toward the door handle. Suddenly, Chase clamped down on her other wrist and pulled her toward him. His eyes blazed. His happy smile was gone. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said sternly.
“I . . .” Spencer trembled. She pointed at something out the window. “What’s that?”
Chase released her wrist and looked. Spencer twisted to the handle and wrenched the door open. By the time Chase realized the trick, she was on the pavement. A cold breeze zipped up her skirt. Her heel turned on the sidewalk, but she kept going.