Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3) by Gemma Halliday (books for students to read TXT) 📕

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 home 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