COFFEE TALK
That same Wednesday evening, Spencer lay on her bed, looking at the picture of the Acura keychain she’d taken with her phone just before dropping it off at Fuji’s office. Had Ali meant to drop it? Also, if Ali or Helper A were driving around in an Acura, it meant they had some cash. Clearly that wasn’t coming from Ali—her family was in financial trouble from keeping her in The Preserve for so many years. Did that mean Helper A had money? Maybe Spencer should call Fuji and suggest they get a list of every Acura driver on the Main Line. Maybe it would turn up a rich boy whose first name started with N.
“Spence?”
Spencer shot up. Her sister, Melissa, stood in the hall. She still had on a gray business suit and heels, which meant she’d come from her job at an investment firm in Philly. Only, Melissa didn’t live at home anymore—she’d moved into her city town house last year.
“What are you doing here?” Spencer asked.
“I came to talk to you,” Melissa said softly. She shut the door and walked into the room. “Look, I know what’s going on.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s her, isn’t it?” she said in an almost inaudible voice. “She survived the fire. She’s torturing you again. And now the cops are after her.”
There was a wide quality to Melissa’s eyes that made her look a bit possessed. “How did you know?” Spencer demanded.
“Don’t be mad. I heard about the cops coming after you but you being let go. Wilden still has a lot of connections in law enforcement. I made him ask around, and he found out about . . . you know.” She sat back. “I deserved to know, Spencer. She’s my half sister, too.”
Spencer got up and faced the window, which had a view of Ali’s old house. She hated thinking about how Ali was her half sister. “Don’t ask any more questions. You don’t want to end up in a closet with a dead body again.”
“But I don’t want you to end up dead, either.” Melissa walked up behind her and squeezed her shoulder. “If you need something, anything, I want to help. I hate that bitch as much as you do.”
She gave Spencer a hug, then rose and patted her shoulder. Call me, she mouthed before closing the door.
Spencer sat back against her headboard, blanket in her lap. Had that just happened? Her sister, now her ally? It was about time . . . but it was also the wrong time. Though Fuji had put security on Spencer’s family, too, it didn’t comfort her entirely. Melissa needed to stay as far away from Ali as she could.
A few minutes later, the doorbell downstairs rang. Spencer sprang up again, her heart thudding hard for a different reason. Chase.
She checked her reflection in the mirror, fluffing her blown-out hair. Did an above-knee-length Tory Burch wrap dress scream too formal? Chase was just taking her for coffee, after all. She glanced at her jeans, stacked neatly on a shelf in the closet. She didn’t even know why she was making such a big deal out of this, anyway—Chase was just a friend. A helpful friend, of course—a cute friend—and a friend she felt a bit indebted to, since he knew about Ali. But she had no idea why it had taken her so long to do her makeup or why, whenever she thought about Chase nosing around Mr. Pennythistle’s model home the other day, a small smile came over her face.
The doorbell rang again. Spencer groaned, shoved on a pair of low heels, and clomped down the stairs just as Mrs. Hastings was answering the door. “Well hello, Chase.”
Chase walked into the foyer. He smiled when he saw Spencer, then looked her outfit up and down. “Whoa. You look awesome.”
Spencer blushed. Chase was in cargo pants and a T-shirt. But before she could ask to change, Chase offered his arm. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
He opened the door to his Honda, then pulled away from the curb. He took the exit toward the city, then turned right into a neighborhood Spencer didn’t recognize. “Where are we?” she asked, looking around. Judging by the red, white, and green flags hanging from the porches of the quaint brownstones that lined the streets, half of Italy must have pulled up stakes and relocated here.
“You’ll see,” Chase said as he parallel parked in front of an unassuming-looking coffee shop. Once again, he opened the door for Spencer to get out and took her hand but dropped it fast. Then he pushed open a jingling door to the café. It smelled strongly of espresso beans inside. The room had marble floors, bronzed countertops, and wrought-iron tables and chairs. Opera played over the speakers.
“Look who’s here!” a voice called, and then a silver-haired man in a pinstriped, three-piece suit emerged from behind the counter. He gave Chase a huge hug, giving off a strong scent of cigars. Spencer shifted from one foot to the other. He looked like someone out of The Sopranos.