Stacia Kane - Finding Magic

The second she pulled the car door shut behind her and reached for her seat belt, Jillian turned to her. “That wasn’t a bad lie, you did well. Now what do you think will happen? What do you think we should do?”

Chess hesitated. Was that a serious question? What shit would Jillian report back if she disagreed with Chess’s suggestions?

“Oh, come on, surely you have some sort of ideas. Right?”

Amazing how Jillian’s eyes could still look friendly, her smile could still look genuine. But then, Chess could do the same thing, couldn’t she? Pretending everything was fine, pretending she actually liked the people around her, pretending—well, pretending all sorts of things, because when the penalty for not pretending was being beaten, pretending became second nature. “I think we should try going to the Rosses’ house and see if Gloria calls them. And ask someone to check on Mark and see if he’s home, because if Gloria calls him, he’ll know we’re on to him and he’ll probably make a move. To finish what he’s started.”

“You’re still convinced he’s behind this? You don’t think there may be some other explanation?”

Bitch. “There might be, sure. I just thought maybe you wanted to have every possibility covered, you know?” She widened her eyes just a touch, hoping she looked innocent and enthusiastic and not like she hated Jillian at that moment. “I mean, if nothing else, he could be in danger, couldn’t he?”

Jillian shrugged. “I’ll give Trent a call and see what he thinks. Unless you want to ask Vaughn about it.”

“It’s probably better coming from you, don’t you think?”

“If you say so.” Jillian made a three-point turn and headed back the way they’d come, back toward 300, or so Chess assumed. “You know, I didn’t have much chance to look at the identities of the ghosts, the ones missing from the City. But they didn’t really live near each other or anything.”

Should she say something? Would it be better or worse? Did it matter? Jillian was obviously going to think whatever she wanted to think. “Um, I had a look at them, too, while you were talking to Elder Griffin. I think they’re connected to Mark Pollert as well. The—”

“Do you really think that if Mark Pollert was involved in some kind of plot against the former members of the Mission—people who are supposed to be his good friends, remember?—he’d be drawing such an obvious arrow at himself? Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?”

Yeah, it was a little obvious, wasn’t it? Chess hadn’t really thought of it that way before.

But then, she’d also been taught that the most obvious answer was usually the right one. And every day of her life had taught her that not only would people do all kinds of shit for the most specious or insignificant reasons, but people always, always thought they were smarter than they actually were. Certainly they always thought they were smarter than whoever was after them. And they were usually wrong.

She didn’t want to argue with Jillian. But neither did she want to just give up. “Maybe he wants us to know it’s him.”

“Why? Because he wants to get busted? Cesaria, I understand, and I appreciate, that you have a different viewpoint on this. I think it’s great you’re forming your own opinions. But really, I have a little more experience here than you do, and Trent and Vaughn have a lot more, and they don’t seem to think we need to keep a special eye on Pollert.”

Jillian was right. Well, no, she wasn’t right, because Chess couldn’t believe it was all a big coincidence. But she was right that there could be another explanation—someone out to get Mark Pollert, for example—and she was right that if three experienced investigators didn’t see what the big deal was, Chess should really just chill out a bit.

“So maybe someone should check on him. For his own protection,” Chess said.

Jillian sighed and picked up her phone. “Let me ask the guys.”

Chess waited, watching the tidy streets go from light to shadow, shadow to light, as they passed the streetlamps. Every street in Triumph City—every street in the world, pretty much—had extra lights, after Haunted Week.

“No, well, she gave us another name, another couple,” Jillian said into the phone. “We’re going to head over there now. But Cesaria says”—she shot Chess a glance—“that she thinks the Summoned ghosts might be connected to Pollert as well. Yeah, I know. But I kind of agree with her that at the very least it’s worth checking on him, isn’t it? Just making sure he isn’t in danger, too. We’re heading over to this other couple’s house now. Yeah, call me then.”

She clicked the phone shut. “Trent agrees that it’s a long shot, but he and Vaughn are going to head to Pollert’s anyway. Just for a minute. Okay?”

“Thanks.” Having to say it made Chess’s skin crawl. But she didn’t have a choice. “Hey, um, something else, too. The Rosses? Gloria said they own Ross Transports.”

“Yeah?”

“They do work for the Church. They move bodies and stuff sometimes. I guess when the Church vans are full, or when it’s a holiday or something.”

Jillian didn’t respond. Chess pressed on. “So they have special vans, you know, iron-lined ones safe for transporting ghosts and bodies. And if Mark Pollert is friends with them, he might have access to those. Right?”

Still silence. This time Chess let it ride.

“I guess he might,” Jillian said finally. They were at the entrance ramp to 300, about to head up to Northside. “We can ask the Rosses about it. But I don’t know why they would loan those vans to someone.”

“Maybe they didn’t. Maybe he stole it.”

Shit, she shouldn’t have said that, at least not so quickly. Jillian frowned and passed another car, almost cutting it off. “I guess we’ll find out.”

The Rosses weren’t as forthcoming as Gloria had been. And unless they normally stood around holding files relating to the Mission, clearly they’d been warned.

“We don’t know anything about anything,” Eric Ross said after he’d invited Jillian and Chess inside—just barely. He didn’t even offer them a seat.

“Did Gloria Paulson call you?” Jillian asked.

“Gloria? No. No one’s called. But we’re not stupid. We know what happened to Shannon and Joe. We’ve been expecting someone to come talk to us.”

“About what?”

Mr. Ross looked surprised. “About their murders. Don’t you usually talk to family and friends of the victims? You’ve questioned Gloria, obviously, since you just asked if she called us. And you’ve talked to Mark because he mentioned it before. So it only makes sense we’d be next.”

“You were close friends, then.”

Mrs. Ross dabbed at her eyes. She seemed sincere enough, too. “Of course. For years. We met … well, we weren’t even married yet, it was so long ago.”

“Were you close to any of the others from the New Hope Mission?”

“A few of us stayed in touch.” Mrs. Ross’s expression hardened. “We didn’t do anything illegal, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jillian smiled, a fake kind of smile. Then again, did she have any other kind? “No, of course not. I wasn’t implying that.”

Was she going to ask about the vans and Mark Pollert? Chess tried to catch her eye but failed.

Okay, fine. She shouldn’t do it, and she knew that, but she was going to anyway. What the hell. Wasn’t like it could make things any worse for her, could it?

Besides, she was feeling kind of weird, kind of edgy. Like something was wrong but she didn’t know what.

“You own a van company, right? A trucking company?”

Mr. Ross looked surprised. “Yes. We’ve been in business almost twenty years now. We started just after Haunted Week.”