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Then again, Spencer wasn’t sure what else they should do. Placing the artwork on a museum doorstep would only invite controversy—and besides, Aria’s fingerprints were probably all over the canvas. What they needed to do was nail Ali and her helper and force them to confess everything. Ironically, A was their only get-out-of-jail-free card.
An IM popped up on her computer screen. I’m here, said someone with the handle FlyOnTheWall. It was Chase, the investigative blogger Spencer had contacted the other day. They’d planned to chat this afternoon, but Spencer hadn’t been sure whether he would actually sign on.
She checked over her shoulder. Everyone else was intently staring at their own screens, oblivious to her. The IM blinked at her, waiting. I’m here, too, she typed back. I like your site. You’ve done a lot of research.
Thanks, Chase answered, adding a smiley emoticon. So what’s your name?
Spencer hesitated. I don’t want to say yet. I’m trying to think of a nickname.
Are you a guy or a girl?
Girl, Spencer wrote, feeling a little like she was filling out a dating profile.
How about Britney Spears? The reply came right away.
Spencer moved back from the screen and smirked. She’s not your favorite singer, is she?
Hell no, Chase wrote back. It was just the first thing that popped into my head.
Okay, Britney Spears it is, Spencer typed.
So you’re interested in the Alison case? he asked.
Spencer swallowed hard. Sort of. Isn’t everyone?
It’s definitely a weird story, a new message read. There’s something not right about the whole thing. I just don’t know what it is yet.
Are you actively investigating what happened? Spencer asked.
Just as a hobby, Chase wrote. Since the investigation is still open, the cops asked me to keep the details secret so they can catch the real killer. But when I find out everything, I’m putting it up there anyway.
I thought the investigation was closed, Spencer wrote. Ali killed her sister. Didn’t she?
Yes, but there are some loose ends, Chase replied. Like if Ali survived the fire. And the police are still gathering evidence that Ali and Ali alone killed Jenna Cavanaugh and Ian Thomas.
Did you know Alison? Spencer asked.
Nope, but a similar thing happened to me, which is why I’m interested.
What do you mean?
There was a pause, then the screen flashed again. I was stalked. I went to an all-boys’ boarding school, and I had a psycho roommate. He became obsessed with me. He tried to kill me. His parents had a lot of money, though, and they kept the story out of the news.
Spencer sat back. Whoa. I’m so sorry. Were you hurt?
A long beat went by. I don’t like talking about it.
So did that mean his stalker did hurt him . . . or didn’t? Suddenly, Spencer was curious as hell. She clicked on the ABOUT US link of the website again, but it was just that stupid cat video.
Still, Spencer instantly sympathized with him. She certainly knew what it was like to be tormented. Are you still having a hard time with it? she asked. Do people always look at you like you’re . . . contagious, or something?
Totally, Chase wrote back. I’ve definitely lost some friends because of it. But I do a lot of stuff to take my mind off things. Besides being an amateur PI, I’m into snowboarding and guitar. And it might sound nerdy, but I do sandcastle-building competitions in the summer.
I was in one of those! Spencer wrote. She and Melissa entered a competition when they were summering at their nana’s place in Longboat Key, Florida. It was practically the only thing Spencer had beaten her sister at. I got fourth!
Nice—I’ve won a couple, Chase wrote. Everyone thinks it’s dorky—they say I should be playing beach volleyball or something. An eye-rolling emoticon popped up on the screen. But it’s a hobby I’ve been into since I was a kid. I still really like it.
Are you out of high school? Spencer asked.
Yep, graduated last June, Chase wrote. I’m working at a bio lab in Center City for a year before I start college. We research cancer meds.
So you’re smart, Spencer wrote, adding a smiley.
You seem pretty smart, too, Chase wrote. You in college?
Princeton, Spencer replied. She left out the part about not actually going there yet.
Whoa, smart squared, was Chase’s reply. If we got together, the combined IQ in the room would be out of control.
Spencer giggled. Was he cyber-flirting?
The screen flashed again. But enough about me, Miss Spears—how are you connected to Alison?
Spencer hesitated. She wasn’t sure how much she should tell him. She’d never seen him, after all. And even though he said the cops didn’t want him to post anything about the case, what if he exposed her anyway? I’m just a concerned individual who knows a lot, she finally answered. That’s all I can say right now. And I have reason to believe she’s alive, too.
Chase replied quickly. Her bones would have been in the rubble, right? They would have found jewelry or teeth. But there was nothing. I think she got out of the house before it exploded.
Definitely, Spencer wrote, wishing she could tell him that Emily had left the door open for Ali to escape. But the police said that sometimes bones get ground up so finely that it’s hard to distinguish them from ash.
Maybe, Chase wrote back. But it seems convenient—I still think she made it out.
And did what? Spencer typed. The house was on fire. Even if she managed to slip outside, wouldn’t she have been hurt? Did she go to a hospital?
Chase’s answer was instantaneous, like he’d anticipated the question. I doubt it. I think she got a private nurse to take care of her. I also think she has at least one friend helping her out. Someone who was waiting for her in the woods that night the house exploded. Someone who took her away to get her the care she needed.
