I licked my lips. "I played around on my phone a little."
"You didn't text anyone about what we did? Post anything on social media?"
"No! Come on, I'm not stupid. I did some homework, then I played that game Phoebe downloaded for me. Then I—"
"The game." Chase's whole demeanor changed, his eyes blinking rapidly. "Hartley, hand me your phone."
"Why?" I asked. Even though I was already unzipping my backpack to pull it out.
"She's been spying on us." He paused as I handed him my phone in its pink sparkly case. "Well, on you."
An involuntary shiver ran down my spine, and I felt distinctly violated. "Through my phone?" I asked as Chase scrolled to the app Phoebe had downloaded.
Chase nodded. "This isn't the official game." He pointed to the icon for the app. "Phoebe just accessed this from her own files, right?"
I shrugged. "I dunno." I thought back to what I'd seen her do when she'd put the game on my phone. "She got it from her website, not the app store. From some password protected part of it."
Chase shook his head. "She wasn't just showing us the game. She was putting something on your phone."
Again that violated feeling washed over me. "Like a virus?"
"Or some sort of mirroring program." He opened the game app, though it looked just as innocent as it had when I'd played it the night before. "Something that lets her see what's on your phone remotely."
A chill slithered down my back, turning into goosebumps along my arms. Phoebe had been "watching" me the whole time.
"Like screen sharing?" I asked, as he clicked around the game screens.
"Kind of." He shook his head and closed the app. "It's like a back door that lets her access everything on your phone. Hackers use it all the time to get people's passwords and credit card info. It's why you never click those links in spam emails."
He handed my phone back to me.
I gingerly took it, as if it were contaminated now. "Are you sure?"
He shook his head. "No. Her skills are obviously light years beyond mine. But it's the only thing that makes sense."
He was right. It made perfect sense. And I felt like an idiot for trusting her with my phone in the first place. "So she could see everything on here? Like texts, pictures…everything?" I mentally went through my photos. Like the ones of Raley's notebook. Okay, so they were in code, but it hadn't been hard for Sam and me to crack it. Had Phoebe seen them? I tried to remember if she'd been mentioned anywhere.
Chase nodded. "Yep, everything. Including your notes."
Which had not only led her straight to Tyler but had totally clued her in that she was on our suspect list too.
I held my phone in my hands like it was suddenly a ticking time bomb. "What do I do now?"
Chase was still frowning, looking deep in thought. "What else was in your notes?"
"I-I don't know!" I stammered. "I mean, just some of the theories we talked about. Jason Pruit, Phoebe, Tyler." I swiped my phone back on, going immediately to the game app.
"What are you doing?" Chase asked, leaning over my shoulder.
"Deleting this thing!"
"Wait!" Chase put his hand over mine, stilling my actions before I could send it off into the great app graveyard in the sky.
I froze. Both at the intensity in his words as well as the warmth of his hand suddenly touching mine.
"Don't delete it," he said, pulling my hand away from the screen.
"Why? You think it will do something bad to my phone? Like is the whole thing infected?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe."
"Great."
"But maybe we can use this to our advantage."
I cocked an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, if she's watching your every move on there"—he nodded toward my contaminated device—"she'll see whatever I text you."
I mentally went through what I had texted in the last few days. Luckily, nothing too embarrassing, but I still felt like I'd been the victim of a Peeping Tom. Or a Peeping Phoebe, as the case may be.
"So what is it we want her to see?"
Chase licked his lips. "Look, I think you've been right about her all along. That she's not innocent in all this."
"You think?" I held my phone up, not able to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "Innocent people don't bug other people's phones!"
"I think she might have even had something to do with Connor's death," Chase admitted.
"So what do we do?" I asked.
He squared his jaw. "We set a trap for her."
I cocked the other eyebrow. "I'm listening."
But instead of explaining, Chase grabbed his phone and quickly shot off a text. A beat later, I felt my phone buzz in my hands and glanced down at the screen.
I know who killed Connor. I found evidence
I shot him a look. "Are you sure about this?"
He nodded. "No. Just play along."
I did, typing, what is it? into a text window and hitting Send. A moment later, I heard a muted ping from Chase's phone.
He typed back a reply, and I watched my screen.
You need to c this in person.
"See what?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Nothing. But Phoebe doesn't know that. If she killed Connor—"
"She's at the top of my list," I interrupted.
"—if she did, she'll want to get to that evidence before anyone else does."
He finished the thought by typing onto his phone again. Almost immediately after he was done, my phone buzzed.
meet me at vizasoft booth 2nite. after pixel ball starts. i'll show u then.
I looked up at Chase. "You're using yourself as bait?"
He shook his head. "She won't even see me. We'll hide somewhere nearby where we can watch the booth, and as soon as she shows up, we'll know she's the killer."
"Or just curious to find out who killed Connor?" I reasoned.
But Chase shook his head. "No, if she's curious, she'll call you. But if she wants that evidence before I show you…"
"She'll be at the VizaSoft booth when the ball starts."
Chase nodded. "And so will we."
* * *
I slipped into sixth period extremely late, which earned me a hard stare from Mrs. Blasberg. Before I could even think twice about it, I blurted out the excuse of female problems. Luckily, it had the desired effect of Blasberg turning red, mumbling something about tardy slips, and moving on to the subject of sines versus cosines as quickly as humanly possible. It did earn me a couple of snickers from two of Kyle's fellow rugby players, but it was better than explaining what I'd really been doing.
Laying a trap for a murderer.
A trap that, as soon as the final bell rang and we were all released into the wild again, I laid out for Sam and Kyle. The plan was simple: the four of us would stake out the VizaSoft booth so that we had it covered from all angles. We'd watch for Phoebe, and as soon as she appeared, we'd film her entering the booth. Of course, she wouldn't find me, Chase, or any evidence there, but the very fact she'd shown up to retrieve it would be enough to point to her guilt.
What to do with the footage once we got it was the subject of debate as the three of us met up with Chase at the coffeehouse down the street for pick-me-up lattes and muffins. I wanted to use it to put up on the Homepage. Sam said we should turn it over to Raley and let him arrest Phoebe. Kyle said we should post it on YouTube and let it go viral. Chase was conspicuously silent. Part of me wondered if he was still not convinced of Phoebe's guilt. Or worse yet, upset about it. Lamenting the fact he'd no longer have a chance to work "directly under her" all summer.
Since our plans hinged on all four of us being at the con as the Pixel Ball took place, I called my mom to ask if I could spend the night at Sam's house. I felt a little guilty leaving out the part about where we'd be leaving Sam's house to go catch a killer, but I figured the less Mom knew, the better for her health. Mom agreed on the one condition that I come h
ome for dinner first. Probably so she could interrogate me about what I'd be doing at Sam's. I steeled myself for the SMother attack as we all parted ways and I walked the few blocks home.
Where I was less than thrilled to see Raley's car once again parked at the curb.
Didn't this guy have anything better to do? Like, maybe, go look for Connor Simon's killer? No wonder there were so many unsolved crimes in San Jose.
I could feel the frown on my face as I unlocked the door and took a deep breath.
One that did not carry the scents of Mom's usual vegan fare along with it. In fact, whatever was happening in the kitchen smelled almost…yummy.
"Is that you, Hartley?" Mom called out.
"Unless you've given your key out to anyone else," I shot back. Then instantly regretted even planting the idea of giving out keys to anyone while Raley was in earshot.
But luckily Mom glossed over the snarky comment. "David brought us dinner," she called.
I scrunched up my nose, hating that David was the source of the yumminess in my house. "What is it?"
"Chinese."
"Like, real Chinese?" I asked, poking my head into the kitchen. The delicious aromas were stronger there. Spicy, salty, and greasy. My stomach growled. It was such a traitor.
"Yes, real Chinese," Mom said with a laugh. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing personal, but the way you steam edamame and call it Chinese food doesn't count," I told her, though clearly that was not the case tonight.
"I hope you like spicy," Raley said, opening one of the white containers. "I have kung pao tofu and Szechuan-style egg drop soup."
My mouth watered just thinking about it. "Sure." I gave a nonchalant shrug even as my traitorous stomach growled louder.
Mom handed me a plate and pulled one down from the cupboard for herself.
"Wait—you're eating this?" I asked her.
She blinked at me. "Sure. Why not?"
"Uh, because it's probably full of gluten and msg." I looked from her to Raley. "And I doubt the egg drop soup is vegan?"
Raley had the good grace to look a little sheepish. "Not exactly."
But to my utter shock, Mom waved that detail off. "Don't worry about it. I'll just stick with the tofu. I mean, you gotta live a little, right?" She sent Raley a big toothy smile.
I blinked at her. Who was this woman, and where was my mother?
Raley grinned in response then leaned down and gave Mom a kiss on the cheek.
I closed my eyes. I didn't want them to ruin my appetite. Especially since we were having real food.
"Kung pao?"
I opened my eyes to see Raley shoving a white container toward me.
I gratefully took it and loaded some of the tofu dish onto my plate. It was triangular chunks of lightly fried tofu with broccoli, onions, carrots, and mushrooms in a thick orangey-red sauce. And it smelled like heaven. Okay, so it would have been slightly more enjoyable with chicken than tofu, but this was a start.
"Did you get any noodles?" I asked, peeking into the other white containers on the counter.
"Veggie chow mein." Raley shoved a container my way.
"Thanks," I said, scooping some onto my plate.
Mom patted Raley's chest and whispered, "I think you scored a point."
I pretended to not hear them as I took my full plate to the table and sat down. Okay, so the detective was bribing the teenager with food. No need to make a big deal of it. I'm sure it was a one-time thing.
Mom and Raley filled their plates and sat too, and I tried to largely tune them out as I focused on the meal. Which was actually delicious. Okay fine—score one small point for Raley. The man knew good takeout. Of course, with a generous midsection like his, I'd expect the man to know his fast food. In fact, I bet he knew every good burger place in town. The greasiest french fries, the most jelly-filled donuts, the most chip-laden chocolate chip cookies—
"Earth to Hartley?"
I must've tuned them out completely because I looked up with an extra long noodle hanging from my mouth and found both of them staring at me. I bit the noodle with my teeth and felt it sideswipe my chin on its way back down to my plate. "Huh?"
"I said that your boyfriend seemed nice," Mom said.
I stopped chewing and allowed the food to sit in my mouth. I was afraid I'd choke if I tried swallowing.
Raley nodded while shoveling sauce soaked rice into his mouth. "A solid young man."
I finally swallowed, the noodle sticking in my throat. "Chase is not my boyfriend."
Mom just smiled and stabbed her fork into a tofu wedge. "Right, right. Just a friend." She gave me a completely not subtle wink.
I rolled my eyes.
"Well, her friend," Raley said, matching Mom's exaggerated wink, "is very nice.
Oh brother. Now he was in on it too?
"Chase is not my boyfriend," I reiterated, completely without a wink. "And he's not nice."
Mom frowned. "What do you mean? What did he do to you?"
I shook my head. "No, I didn't mean he's not nice like that. He's just not like one of those nice guys, you know?"
"No, Hartley, I don't know." Mom was still frowning. "What are you trying to say?"
"He's just…" He was just kind of into death metal and drove an old sports car like a maniac and wore dark and dangerous clothes and sometimes even guyliner. Bad Boy Chase was so not who I thought my mom expected me to date. Not that we were dating. I mean there had been one date. But that didn't mean we were dating.
I realized Mom and Raley were both looking at me expectantly.
I sighed.
"I have to get to Sam's. She's waiting for me to start our homework."
Mom pursed her lips. But since I'd used the magical "H" word, there wasn't much she could say as I gathered my plate and took it to the sink.
I ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. I quickly packed a change of clothes in my backpack, along with the homework that I did, in fact, actually have for that evening—see, I wasn't a total liar—and made my way back downstairs. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mom and Raley leaning close together at the table, mumbling about something.
"ByeMomloveyouseeyoulater," I said all in one rush as I closed the front door behind me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As soon as I knocked on Sam's front door, I could hear the sounds of Mr. Kramer's deep baritone mingling with Mrs. Kramer's twilling soprano. Sam answered the door with a pair of ear buds in, quickly ushering me upstairs.
"Little Shop of Horrors," she explained loudly, leading the way to her room.
"Little house of horrors is more like it," I mumbled as Mrs. Kramer hit a particularly high, off-key note.
"You're telling me," Sam yelled back, her hearing clearly muted by the earbuds. "If I hear 'Suddenly Seymour' one more time, I'm moving out."
"I take it Kevin did not find a buddy to rent a room from?"
"Negative," Sam said, shaking her head. "Turns out all his buddies know Kevin as well as we do."
I stifled a snort. "Meaning they know he's broke?"
"And will monopolize the TV. And the couch." She paused. "And the food."
"Gee, I can't imagine why your parents want him to move out," I said.
She shrugged. "Could be worse. At least he's quiet."
Thankfully, in Sam's room with the door closed and the stuffed snake she'd won at Paramount's Great America the summer before shoved at the bottom of the door, the showtunes were only slightly annoying. Down to a level where we could get our homework done quickly before dressing for the grand finale of Gamer Con—the Pixel Ball.
Sam dressed in a red and black plaid mini skirt, black boots, and a sleeveless black top. She fashioned a couple of brown belts loosely around her waist and turned to me. "What do you think? Pretty legit, right?"
"You're going to hate me, but who are you?" I asked.
She sighed. "Iris Amicitia. We're both from the Final Fantasy franchise, and we're supposed to match."
She eyed my outfit. "Speaking of which, you did not take my wardrobe notes."
I glanced down at my ankle-length gray skirt and white tank top. "What, you said a white tank?"
"I said a tight white cropped tank."
I shook my head. "You know I don't own any cropped tanks."
She pursed her lips. "Didn't I say a black mini skirt? Since when does Tifa Lockhart wear a peasant skirt?"
"Since she wants her mother to let her out of the house," I explained. "I didn't have a black mini skirt. I have black booty shorts on underneath though."
To be honest, they weren't initially booty shorts. I'd bought them two years ago before I'd gone through a growth spurt. But, they were short enough now that they fit the character Sam had assigned me: Tifa Lockhart from Final Fantasy VII. I'd had to google the character, and I'd totally said no at first. "Scantily clad" was an understatement. But Sam had assured me we could pull it off in a tasteful, subtle way and that she'd supply everything else I needed.
As I shimmied out of my skirt, Sam handed me a pair of long black socks and gloves. "What's this?" I asked, watching her grab a pair of suspenders.
"They're my dad's. He won't notice them missing." She helped me put them on, and then I checked myself out in the mirror.
Mom would have a coronary if she saw me with so much exposed skin. Truth be told, I wasn't feeling totally comfortable. A little chilly even. But, I tried to reason with myself, I was wearing more than I did at the pool during the summer. And that was considered decent, right? So, this was fine. I mean, all the important parts were tucked and covered. Barely.
I held on to that thought as Kyle texted to say he and Chase were outside.
Of course, Sam had also coordinated the outfits for the rest of our crew, and as we approached Chase's car parked at the Kramer's curb, I was impressed that she'd been able to rope him into it as well. Chase wore a black T-shirt under a black vest, pants that were cuffed up to just below the knee, black boots that almost met the bottom of the pants, and one black leather glove. Leave it to Chase to find a costume that was in his favorite color.
Kyle was standing by the hood of Chase's car, talking to him. His back was to us, and whatever they were discussing, Chase's lips were moving fast. When he spotted us though, his mouth stopped moving and hung open for a moment.
Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3) Page 15
