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A man behind Spencer grunted, but when she turned, he was staring at his screen. She turned back to her own computer, shivering at Chase’s response. Someone else in the woods that night. It made perfect sense, especially given their theory that Ali had a helper.
Do you think she had help killing Ian Thomas and Jenna Cavanaugh, too? she typed.
Absolutely, Chase wrote. I’ve found out some intel about a private nurse, too. I doubt Alison’s nurse went through an employer or medical supplier, so even the supplies she got for Alison would have had to have been bought through regular drugstores. I have a friend who works for CVS who was able to get into the database of a bunch of stores in the area. There’s one in Center City that has regular orders of massive amounts of gauze and bandages and wound-cleaning supplies. He also got me video surveillance of the person picking up the supplies.
Spencer leapt on the keys. Who is she?
A friend from a hospital IDed her as Barbara Rogers. She’s in her mid-fifties, but I haven’t been able to figure out much more about her, Chase answered. One more thing: There’s also the issue of drugs. Ali wouldn’t be using a prescription, so someone would have to be getting it illegally. There was a pharma theft not long ago at the William Atlantic Burn Clinic in Rosewood.
Spencer gasped so loudly that a pale, skinny woman with dishwater-blond hair two consoles down gave her a strange look. This was all connecting in terrible ways.
She checked her watch and realized that it was getting late—she should probably get home. She signed off with Chase, making him promise that they would talk again.
As she stood, a tinkling laugh drifted through the air. Spencer shot up, but the other patrons were still staring at their screens. The pierced barista puttered behind the counter. A girl in a FedEx uniform worked a crossword puzzle at a table.
Spencer pulled out her cell phone, but she hadn’t received any texts. She gazed out the window at the train tracks again. For a split second, a ghostly image stared back at her from inside the station house. Her heart stopped. Ali?
The train rushed past. Spencer didn’t blink the whole time, waiting for a glimpse of that station window again. But when she finally got another look, the face was gone.
14
Hanna’s the Coolest
That afternoon, Hanna and Mike lounged on the couch at her father’s house, watching an episode of Parks and Recreation on DVR. She had her hands in the pockets of Mike’s hooded sweatshirt, and Mike wound his socked feet around Hanna’s bare ones. Mr. Marin sat behind the glass doors of his office, talking to someone about his senatorial campaign.
The doorbell rang, and she and Mike looked at each other and frowned. Hanna padded to it and peered through the glass. Standing on the other side was Chassey Bledsoe, looking perfectly put-together in a silk dress and brown boots and holding a bakery box in her hands. Hanna frowned down at her stained University of Pennsylvania yoga pants.
“Uh . . . hi?” she asked as she opened the door.
“Hey, Hanna!” Chassey smiled. “I was in the neighborhood, and I just wanted to say I’m really honored to run against you for queen.”
Hanna stared at the box she was holding. Through the clear plastic top, she could see twenty iced cupcakes all lined up. Each of them bore the words VOTE CHASSEY FOR QUEEN!
“Oh!” Chassey noticed her looking and opened the lid. “Would you like one? I’ve been passing them around to potential voters.”
Hanna snorted. “They probably have shingles germs all over them.”
Chassey looked confused. “I don’t have shingles.”
Hanna cocked her head. “Then why were you out of school for a month?”
Chassey blinked. “My mom was doing some work in LA, so I went with her and got a tutor. I went to a lot of amazing spas, too—I bet you would have loved them, Hanna.”
Now Hanna really didn’t feel sorry for Chassey. She took a cupcake, trilled that it was nice to see Chassey, and then shut the door in Chassey’s face. She turned around and handed Mike the cupcake—she certainly wasn’t going to eat it. “That was lame.”
Mike peeled off the wrapper and took a big bite. “She’s really working hard to get votes. I thought you’d be more into it, too.”
Hanna pushed a lock of hair over her shoulder. “I guess I’ve been busy.”
Mike shoved another piece of cupcake in his mouth. “With what?”
“Honestly?” Hanna flung herself back on the couch. “I refuse to campaign against Chassey. If I don’t win on my own good looks and popularity, I don’t deserve to win at all.”
Mike stared at her, chewing. She knew how stupid it sounded. But what could she say? Hey, Mike, some psycho stranger who might actually be your best friend, Noel, told me that if I campaigned, he’d tell the FBI we killed a girl.
Mike sat down and picked up the remote. “So how was the salon yesterday?”
Hanna blinked at him, struggling to shift gears. “What?”
“You know, your practice hair appointment for prom?”
Right. Hanna had forgotten about that lie. “Uh, it was good.”
Mike leaned in and sniffed her head. “You don’t smell all fruity, like you usually do when you come home from the salon.”
“That’s because I washed my hair this morning. Duh.” Hanna moved her head away. Then she checked her watch and jumped up. “Shit. I need to go.” Her burn clinic shift started in a half hour.
“Where now?” Mike complained.
Hanna’s mind scrambled for an answer, but it was irritatingly blank. She grabbed her purse and walked out the front door. “I’ve got to do something for my mom. I’ll see you.”
