Inside the mini-mart, she accosted a man by the stacks of soda—no, he said—and a woman pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Honey, I’m from out of town,” the woman told her in a husky voice. “Sorry.”
Spencer lowered her shoulders. Strike three? Finally, she marched to the counter. “I’m wondering if Marcie is here?” she asked the worker, who had a shaved head and a lazy eye.
He shook his head. “Marcie doesn’t work here anymore.”
She frowned. “Why?”
He looked uncomfortable. “She passed away, actually. Just the other day. It was rather unexpected.”
Spencer blinked hard. “Was she sick?”
He shrugged. “I heard it was a car accident.” Then he looked at Spencer expectantly. She grabbed a pack of gum and paid for it, knowing that she had to get away from the counter and stop asking questions. Her heart banged hard. Marcie had slipped about a blond girl buying water . . . and now she was dead? From a car accident? That didn’t seem like a coincidence.
She was starting the engine as the phone rang. ARIA, read the caller ID. “I feel like I’m losing my mind,” Aria whispered after Spencer said hello. “I was in the Philly Art Museum, and I swear Ali—or maybe one of her minions?—was following me. Tell me that’s not possible.”
Spencer glanced at her iPad on the passenger seat. The surveillance feed was up, but as usual, every single camera angle showed nothing. “It’s not impossible,” she said carefully.
Aria made a small, nervous squeak. “I don’t understand why Ali’s going out in public. I mean, what if someone other than us does recognize her and turn her in? She’s taking a lot of risks. And using her minions is crazy, too. How can she trust those people not to talk?”
“I know,” Spencer said. “Imagine if they did talk and they told the cops she was alive. Even though Nick took the blame for almost killing us, the police still have that letter we got from Ali saying she killed her sister. And Ian and Jenna. She’s still really guilty.” She shut her eyes, drinking in the possibility. It would be so awesome if that happened. Say Dominick or this Robin Cook person from prison really were Ali Cats, but they got tired of Ali’s game and talked. It was possible, right? They’d be such heroes.
Aria barked a laugh. “Maybe we should hope Ali makes more public appearances. She might mess up.” She sighed. “I have to go. My date’s probably wondering where I am.”
Spencer dropped the phone in her lap and rubbed her eyes, feeling even more hopeless than before. Ali wasn’t going to get caught, and her minions wouldn’t turn her in. She’d go to the ends of the earth to stay hidden.
Then a flicker on the surveillance screen caught her eye. Spencer’s heart lurched, and she snatched the laptop from the seat and brought it closer to her face, gazing hard at the black-and-white images on the screen. The camera pointed at the porch was picking up some movement. Something big shifted in the corner. It seemed like a person.
Her heart started to pound. She checked the other screens; no one was inside the house, and there was nothing going on in the yard. Then the figure moved again to stand by a window, providing Spencer with a clear view. It was a person, dressed in a dark coat with the hood pulled tight. By their height and build, it seemed like a guy.
Dominick. Hadn’t he been wearing a dark jacket at the panel interview? This would prove it for sure—he was stalking her.
She jammed the key into the ignition and gunned the car into reverse, almost taking out a pickup truck on its way to the gas pumps. If Dominick was an Ali Cat, maybe he could lead her straight to Ali.
She cut the lights of the car and pulled up the driveway five minutes later. There were no cars parked by the house; Dominick must have parked somewhere else. She glanced at the surveillance screens again. He still stood at the window. Was he looking for something? Waiting for someone?
Spencer slipped out of the car as quietly as she could. The wet grass seeped through her canvas shoes as she trudged through the grass, but she paid it no mind. The pool house came into view. Dominick still stood by the window. Spencer halted in her tracks, unsure what to do next. Dominick froze, too, maybe sensing that someone was nearby. Spencer stepped as quietly as she could behind a big juniper bush. She tried not to breathe.
Beep.
It was her phone. She fumbled for it in her pocket to shut it up, then gazed at the screen. It was an email for her bullying site, from a completely unrelated contributor. If only she’d remembered to silence the ringer.
Leaves crunched. Twigs snapped. She looked up. Suddenly, Dominick was slipping into the woods, as if he’d heard the phone.
Spencer took off after him as silently as she could, smacking stray branches out of the way. It was almost too dark to see where she was going. By the time she reached the top of the hill to see where he’d gone, the woods were empty.
She stood still and silent, listening for footsteps, but there were none. The only sound was the wind whistling through the branches. Spencer wheeled around, wondering if she’d gotten turned around in the woods, but all she saw were trees and stumps and bushes. Nothing else. He had just . . . disappeared.
Disappointed, she tramped back to the shack, thorns hitting her the whole way. The sky was completely dark, the only lights dim flickers from the road far below. Spencer fumbled in the darkness until she found the window Dominick had been standing at, then reached into her pocket for her phone and shone it on the sill. It was filthy with cobwebs and dirt. Something made of glass had broken on the sill, too; when she picked it up, a bubble of blood appeared on her thumb.