Sara Shepard - Crushed

“Oh!” Noel looked surprised. “I was just seeing if Aria was here. I want to take her to breakfast.”

Aria had rushed to Noel’s side, and the conversation had ended. Spencer hadn’t thought much of it—she’d just been glad Noel hadn’t overheard anything. But what if he had overheard? What if he already knew what they were talking about because he’d been there the night before?

“What about your search?” Emily whispered. “Have you figured anything out?”

Spencer straightened up. “Well, if Ali did escape the explosion, there might be a lead on a private nurse she hired to help her recover from her burns. I’m trying to track down where the nurse lives and what she knows.”

“Wow.” Emily sounded amazed. “How’d you figure all that out?”

“Oh, you know.” Spencer nervously folded the hand towel again and again. She could just hear Emily’s response if she told her she was corresponding with a conspiracy blogger: Are you out of your mind? That’s so dangerous!

“Do you think Ali knows you’re looking for her?” Emily whispered.

Spencer picked up a scented candle and put it back down. “I hope not.”

Emily glanced at the Nike watch on her wrist. “I’d better get back to Iris before she decides to drive off without me. At least we’re making progress, though.”

“We just have to keep pushing,” Spencer said.

She walked Emily to the door, her brain swimming. When she turned the lock again, the telltale ping of an IM rang through the hall. She ran back to her mom’s office. The screen was flashing. Chase had written back.

Okay, Britney. Let’s meet. Mütter Museum in an hour?

“Yes!” Spencer whooped, exiting out of IM. She strolled out of the kitchen, a huge smile on her face. Amelia smirked at her. “What are you so happy about?”

“Nothing,” Spencer snapped, sashaying down the hall. But there was a little spring in her step and a zillion butterflies knocking against her stomach. Okay, maybe she was happy to be meeting Chase.

Just a little.

Forty-five minutes later, Spencer paid the parking meter on Twenty-First Street and headed for the brownstone down the block. MÜTTER MUSEUM OF MEDICAL ODDITIES, read an old-fashioned sign on a post. Spencer had been here once two years ago on a school trip and almost puked several times. Not only did the place smell overwhelmingly like formaldehyde, but one of the attractions was a large set of drawers of various objects people had swallowed. There was also a huge human digestive tract stored in a large jar. Not exactly her thing.

She plopped a blond Britney Spears wig on her head—it only seemed fitting, after all—and pulled a pair of Ray-Bans over her eyes. Even though the museum docents looked at her like she was crazy, she paid the fee with her head held high.

The museum was essentially only one large room with displays around the perimeter. A couple stared at the hanging skeletons. An old woman examined the world’s largest colon. It seemed pretty clear that A wasn’t here, but what about Chase? Spencer eyed a stooped, lecherous-looking old man grinning at the preserved Siamese twins and got a sinking feeling.

“Um, hello?”

She jumped and whirled around. Standing next to a security guard was a tall guy with tousled brown hair, a square jaw, broad shoulders, and long, lanky limbs. He pulled off his sunglasses, revealing piercing green eyes.

“I’m Chase,” he said. “You’re . . . ?”

Spencer walked toward him dazedly. Chase had thick, expressive eyebrows. His body was strong and taut under his T-shirt and cargo pants. And when he smiled, his whole face lit up.

“H-hi,” she said shakily when she got close, feeling ridiculous in the wig and sunglasses. “I’m, um, Britney.” She motioned to her wig and smirked.

“It’s great to meet you.” Chase held out his hand for her to shake.

“It’s great to meet you, too,” Spencer said back, her hand tingling where Chase had touched it.

They stared at each other for a few beats. Spencer was glad she’d worn a printed silk minidress, which showed off her long legs. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Chase’s biceps. He looked like the type of guy who could lift her up and spin her over his head without breaking a sweat.

Then Chase smirked. Spencer giggled nervously in response. “Sorry,” Chase admitted. “It’s just that I normally don’t meet people like this.”

“I know. Me, neither,” Spencer said.

Chase sat down on a bench near the gift shop, his eyes still on her as though she were the only interesting thing in the room—maybe the world. When his phone buzzed, Spencer smiled awkwardly and stepped away. Chase glanced down at the screen. He flinched and immediately started typing.

“Sorry,” he muttered, tilting the screen of his phone away. “This’ll just take a second.”

“No problem,” Spencer said. “Got a conspiracy theory blog emergency?”

“Something like that,” Chase murmured.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and gazed at her again, from her blond wig to her pointy Loeffler Randall boots. After a moment, he touched the silver bracelet around Spencer’s wrist. “That’s really pretty.”

“Oh, thanks.” Spencer spun it around. “My mom gave it to me. It’s from Prendergast’s.”

“On Walnut?” Chase asked. “I used to get my girlfriend stuff from there all the time.”

Spencer peeked at him. “Is this a . . . current girlfriend?”

“Nah.” Chase wrapped his hands around his knees. “It was over a long time ago. Before the, um, stalker thing.”

Spencer nodded quickly. By the look on Chase’s face, it seemed like he didn’t really want to talk about it. She didn’t blame him; she didn’t like talking about what Ali had done to her, either.

“What about you?” Chase asked. “Dating anyone?”

Spencer studied her feet. “There was someone, but . . .”

Suddenly, the Reefer story spilled out of her. As she explained it, though, she realized she didn’t really miss Reefer as much as she had even a few days ago. She’d had too much else on her mind to think about him.

“That sucks,” Chase admitted when she finished. “He’s got to be a real idiot to drop someone like you, Miss Spears.”

Spencer wound a piece of fake hair around her finger. “You know, the worst thing about being dumped was that he did it two weeks before prom. There’s no one for me to ask. I’m going to have to go stag, which is just beyond depressing.”

“What a jerk,” Chase said, shifting his weight. When Spencer looked up, there was a hopeful little smile on his face. Suddenly, an idea flickered in her mind. Could she ask Chase to the prom? He would look amazing in a tux. But no, that was crazy. They barely knew each other.

Buzz. It was Chase’s phone again. This time he stood and walked a few paces away before checking the screen and typing back.

When he was done, he was all business again, reaching into his pocket. “Anyway. I have the photos you wanted to see.”

He handed her three glossy five-by-sevens. They were various images from parts of what she assumed was Real Ali’s life. The first one was a picture of blond twin girls of about five. Both wore purple overalls, had pink ribbons in their hair, and were smiling. Spencer could see a hint of Ali in both their faces. It was impossible to tell who was who.

“I think this is from when they lived in Connecticut,” Chase explained. “It doesn’t really tell us much about the case, just that the twins didn’t always hate each other.” He sniffed. “They sounded psycho, didn’t they? Then again, those parents must have been whack-jobs, too. Who doesn’t notice when their daughters switch places?”