Before It’s Too Late
It took Spencer forty-five minutes, several hiding spots to avoid the dicey-looking locals, and a fifteen-block walk in the direction of the city before she found a cab that would take her to the Four Seasons. She’d brought some emergency cash and her credit card—A hadn’t found a way to shut that down. She’d tried to power on her phone again and again during the ride, but it was useless. A had jammed her in-box.
Something hit her, too: A knew of her in-box. Which meant A knew this phone number. Of course A did: A was Chase. He’d probably peeked at her phone when she was hanging out with him. She’d stepped right into his trap, and her friends were going to die because of it.
She glanced out the window as the Art Museum swept past. Couldn’t the driver get to the hotel any faster? She needed to find Aria, Hanna, and Emily before Chase found them first.
Finally, the Four Seasons appeared on the right. “This is fine!” Spencer shouted on the corner, shoving some money at the driver and launching out of the backseat. She ran haltingly down the block in her narrow-fitting maxi gown. Several cabs and limos were parked at the hotel entrance. A familiar black car screamed past Spencer, lifting the ends of her dress. Was that . . . Fuji?
Spencer peered into the tinted windows but couldn’t see the driver or any passengers. Were Hanna, Emily, and Aria already in there? Had Fuji already gotten them?
She barreled into the Four Seasons lobby and then into the ballroom. The first person she spied was Reeve Donahue, one of the girls on the decorations committee. “Have you seen Aria Montgomery?” she asked breathlessly.
Reeve looked Spencer up and down, curling her lip at Spencer’s torn hem and mussed hair. “That girl has been AWOL all night. She so didn’t deserve to be decor chairwoman.”
Spencer eked out a thank you, then did another round of the dance-floor perimeter. Naomi Zeigler was dancing with Henry Bennett. Sean Ackard and Kate Randall were whispering at a private table in the corner. Iris had her head on James Freed’s shoulder.
Spencer was about to run to Iris and ask her where Emily was when Emily herself appeared in front of her.
“Oh my God,” Emily said, grabbing Spencer’s forearms. “Where have you been? And what happened to you?”
“It’s a long story,” Spencer said. “But I have something to tell you.”
“Ali’s boyfriend was most definitely Noel,” Emily blurted out at the same time.
Spencer backed up and looked at her. “Wait, what? Are you sure?”
Emily nodded. “Iris made the connection that Noel visited Ali nonstop at The Preserve.”
The strobe light flickered across Spencer’s arms as she canvassed the ballroom. If Noel was Ali’s boyfriend . . . then Chase wasn’t. She’d been wrong. She squirmed uncomfortably, not sure if she should feel horribly embarrassed . . . or relieved . . . or still annoyed that Chase knew about Jamaica another way.
“Where is Noel now?” she asked absently. “And Aria? And Hanna?”
“I’m here,” Hanna said behind them, rushing into the room as breathlessly as Spencer had a moment before. Her face was drawn, and her hands were shaking. “We came back as fast as we could.”
“Back from where?” Emily asked.
“The Bill Beach.” Hanna’s voice swooped up and down. “Graham woke up.”
“And you took Mike?” Spencer was horrified. She peered around the room again. “Where is he now?”
“He’s . . . somewhere.” Hanna looked around, too, then shrugged. “I didn’t tell Mike what was going on. And he stayed in the car—he didn’t see anything. But guys, Graham saw A. That’s what he wanted to tell Aria.”
“Was it Noel?” Spencer demanded.
Hanna nodded. “Well, all he said was N . . . . I’m sure he meant Noel. But then I had to get the nurse, and when I came back, he was gone.”
Emily stepped back. “Gone, as in died?”
“Jesus,” Spencer whispered.
Emily looked at Spencer. “What did you have to tell me?”
Spencer’s stomach clenched, her mind on Chase again. “Uh, nothing.”
“Guys, we have to go to the cops with all of this,” Hanna said, peering around the room. “Noel might have a spy at the Bill Beach. He could know we’re on to him. We’ve got to go to the police now and tell them everything we know.”
“We need to go to the police for another reason,” Emily said. “Fuji knows that one of us has the painting . . . but she doesn’t know who. She thought I was hiding it—she asked if there was any reason they should search my house.”
Spencer slumped against the wall. “Which means she might want to search my house next. Or Hanna’s.”
“Or Aria’s,” Emily whispered.