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.
“Spencer, this is Nico,” Chase said, when the hug ended. “Nico, Spencer.”
Nico looked Spencer up and down, then cuffed Chase on the arm. “Quite a catch, buddy.”
“Oh, we’re just friends,” Chase said quickly, glancing at Spencer. She smiled.
Nico winked like he didn’t believe them, then made a sweeping gesture around the room. A few couples were at the tables. An old man was doing a crossword in the corner. “Sit anywhere you like.”
Spencer settled on one of the chairs and looked around. Metal pots hung from the ceiling. Zillions of black-and-white photographs of serious-looking women holding babies or cooking in kitchens were on the walls. There were also old ads in Italian and posters for operas she’d never heard of. It reminded her of Paris or Rome.
She leaned across the table to Chase. “And you know this place how?”
Chase smiled. “I found this when I was working on one of the cases for the blog. Nico provided me with a lot of insider information—plus he gets me tickets to the opera.”
Spencer crossed her arms. “I thought opera was only for old ladies.”
“Absolutely not.” Chase apprised her. “I can’t believe you’ve never been. I’ll take you sometime.”
Spencer smiled. “I’d like that.” Not long ago, whenever she conceived of the future, she imagined A finally catching up with and punishing them. It was like a huge bucket of dirty water that had taken up way too much space in her brain had finally emptied.
“What are you thinking about?” Chase asked.
Spencer took a deep breath. “The way things have suddenly changed,” she admitted. “I mean, there’s this enormous weight off my shoulders.”
“I can imagine,” Chase said.
“I mean, I know I shouldn’t get too comfortable. They could still be watching me.” With that, Spencer cast a glance out the stained-glass windows. Pigeons shuffled on the street. A Parking Authority worker strolled past, ticket meter in hand.
“Do you know what’s happening with the investigation?” Chase whispered.
“Well, I handed over the Acura keychain,” Spencer said. “It’s up to them to figure out the rest.” Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck rose. She looked up just as a back door creaked open, half expecting Ali to emerge. It was just an old woman, though, scuttling past them to wipe down a table.
Spencer looked at Chase. “I don’t think we should talk about Ali in public.”
Chase nodded. “Got it.”
Nico appeared again and delivered their drinks in delicate little china cups. “Grazie,” Spencer said, trying to get in the spirit of things, and lifted hers from its saucer. It was the most smooth, buttery, heavenly tasting coffee she’d ever had. “Wow,” she said, when she’d swallowed.
“Told you it was good.” Chase pulled a napkin from the silver holder on the middle of the table and handed it to her. They were quiet for a while. Nico whistled as he cleaned the insides of the tiny espresso cups behind the counter. “I invited Nico to Sunday dinner once,” Chase admitted in a low voice, watching him, too. “My parents looked at me like I was out of my mind. They were sure there was going to be a police raid on the house.”