Spencer crossed her arms. “I thought opera was only for old ladies.”

“Absolutely not.” Chase apprised her. “I can’t believe you’ve never been. I’ll take you sometime.”

Spencer smiled. “I’d like that.” Not long ago, whenever she conceived of the future, she imagined A finally catching up with and punishing them. It was like a huge bucket of dirty water that had taken up way too much space in her brain had finally emptied.

“What are you thinking about?” Chase asked.

Spencer took a deep breath. “The way things have suddenly changed,” she admitted. “I mean, there’s this enormous weight off my shoulders.”

“I can imagine,” Chase said.

“I mean, I know I shouldn’t get too comfortable. They could still be watching me.” With that, Spencer cast a glance out the stained-glass windows. Pigeons shuffled on the street. A Parking Authority worker strolled past, ticket meter in hand.

“Do you know what’s happening with the investigation?” Chase whispered.

“Well, I handed over the Acura keychain,” Spencer said. “It’s up to them to figure out the rest.” Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck rose. She looked up just as a back door creaked open, half expecting Ali to emerge. It was just an old woman, though, scuttling past them to wipe down a table.

Spencer looked at Chase. “I don’t think we should talk about Ali in public.”

Chase nodded. “Got it.”

Nico appeared again and delivered their drinks in delicate little china cups. “Grazie,” Spencer said, trying to get in the spirit of things, and lifted hers from its saucer. It was the most smooth, buttery, heavenly tasting coffee she’d ever had. “Wow,” she said, when she’d swallowed.

“Told you it was good.” Chase pulled a napkin from the silver holder on the middle of the table and handed it to her. They were quiet for a while. Nico whistled as he cleaned the insides of the tiny espresso cups behind the counter. “I invited Nico to Sunday dinner once,” Chase admitted in a low voice, watching him, too. “My parents looked at me like I was out of my mind. They were sure there was going to be a police raid on the house.”

“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.”

Aria touched the top of an old spinning wheel that had sat in the corner of the gallery as long as she could remember—kind of like a lot of the artwork here. “What’s his name?” she asked.

Ella peeked out the front window. “Asher Trethewey.”

Asher Trethewey. Aria couldn’t have made up a more appropriate name for a retired lawyer-turned-artist if she tried. She could just picture him with a box of pastels, dithering over a pastoral scene of the Brandywine Water Gap. “Do you need my help?” she asked.

“Actually, I do.” Ella checked her watch. “I’m scheduled to meet another artist for lunch in fifteen minutes—so I have to go. I’m wondering if you’ll talk to Mr. Trethewey in my place.”

“Me?” Aria thumbed her chest. It seemed like a big responsibility.

“He just needs to pick up some paperwork.” Ella gestured to a stack of papers on the desk. “All you need to do is make sure he gets it, okay?” She checked her watch again, then grabbed her keys and purse from her desk. “I’ve got to run. I’m sure you’ll be fine!”

She flew out the door. Aria walked to the window and watched her scurry down the front steps and climb into her car. The motor growled to life, and her mother was gone. The street was eerily quiet in her absence. A squirrel paused on a branch, its head cocked. Wind chimes on the front porch swayed but didn’t touch. An airplane soared overhead, too high up to hear.

Aria spun around the big room, first staring blankly at a wall of watercolor still lifes, then looking down at the paperwork for the artist. It was full of legal mumbo-jumbo she didn’t understand. What if the artist had questions? This was so her mother. When they were living in Iceland, Ella had broken her leg while trying to catch a lost baby puffin up a tree, and while she was laid up, she’d asked Aria to drive their Saab to the grocery store. Never mind that Aria was only fourteen and had never driven in her life. “You’ll be great!” Ella had insisted. “Just stay on the left side of the road and stop at red lights!”

There was a knock at the door, and Aria turned. Rolling back her shoulders, she crossed the room and tried to prepare what she’d say—only, she had no idea what to say. When she opened the door, a young man in a black T-shirt and skinny gray pants, carrying a large black portfolio, stood on the porch. He had broad shoulders, smoldering ice-blue eyes, a perfect nose, a strong chin, and sensuous lips. He looked like a cross between a sexy British soccer player and a guy from a Polo cologne ad.

Aria raised an eyebrow. “Um, hello?”

He thrust out a hand. “Hi. I’m Asher Trethewey. Are you Ella Montgomery?”

“O-oh,” Aria stammered. She backed up, almost stumbling over her kitten heels. “Um, no, I’m her daughter, Aria. But I can help you. Come on in.” Her voice rose on that last part, making it sound like a question. “I have the papers right here,” she said, walking toward the desk.

Asher walked into the room and placed his hands on his hips. “Actually, I was going to show your mom my work—see what she thought would be best for the exhibit.”

“Oh.” Aria gritted her teeth. See? She knew something like this would come up. “Well, she’ll be back soon, I think . . .”