Jacob winced—yeah, I was overselling it. But the body looked like it was about to bail, so one of us had to say something.
“Didn’t my sister forget her jacket last visit?” Jacob ad-libbed. “They’re just about the same size.” Pants on fire—you could fit two Sarahs in one of Barb’s jackets. But that wasn’t the point. Never mind that Barb was too tightly wound to forget anything anywhere, ever.
Sarah’s body had its eye on an approaching bus, so I said, “Good idea, that’ll be a lot faster than shopping, anyhow.”
Thankfully, that convinced it. We grabbed an Uber, let it ride shotgun with the driver, and climbed in back. The driver was one of those extreme extroverts who could hardly breathe without commenting on it, so we left him to barrage the body with a bunch of chitchat while we whispered amongst ourselves.
“Why did you let them get away?” I asked.Thembeing Sarah’s ghost…and Boswell’s body.
“What was I supposed to do? I’m lucky no one got Tasered.” He worked his jaw so hard I could practically feel his molars squeak. “They took off while I was paying for all the stuff she opened.”
“Who d’ya like for today’s game?” the driver asked Sarah. “The Packers or the Bears?”
Obviously a trick question. Anyone who said the Packers would be shoved out into traffic.
“There’s a game?” Sarah’s body actually seemed interested in something for a change. “What time?”
“One o’clock. ‘Course, it won’t be as good as a home game, but Lambeau Field is close enough that our guys’ll at least see some decent support.”
“Take us to Green Bay,” the body demanded.
“It’s almost noon,” I told it. “The game will be half over by the time we get there. We can watch it at home.”
And here I’d told Jacob the 80-inch TV was overkill. I suspected it was the only reason the body didn’t eject the driver and head for the border.
“Do you have beer?” the body asked. “We can’t tailgate without beer. Or pigs in a blanket. Or a 7-layer dip.”
There was some guac in the fridge, and we could scrounge a can of refried beans from the back of the cupboard. “We’ll make dip,” I said.
“Okay, then, let’s go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I COULDN’T TELL if the driver was relieved or disappointed he missed out on a fare to Green Bay. But he deposited us back at the cannery without too much grumbling. Once we got Sarah’s body situated in front of the TV with some snacks and a beer and a cat on her lap, I took Jacob aside by the kitchen and said, “Did Sarah give you any idea where she was taking Boswell?”
“No, she just flounced off in his body—god, it’s creepy when you know what to look for. His center of gravity was off and his walk was all wrong.”
Most of the possessions I’d witnessed were by Jennifer Chance—and she was cunning enough to try to mimic her host. Boswell traipsing around like Sarah must’ve been quite a sight. “So, she took off with his van. Would she ditch it once she realized about the bottles? Or would she endure the pee to get where she was going? And…wherewasshe going, anyway?”
“Her body might know,” Jacob said.
True, the body did seem to have some awareness, judging by its insights to the whole Zach-and-Sarah dynamic it had demonstrated at the donut shop. “How can we ask it without tipping it off that we’re trying to unite them?” I wondered. “This is probably the only time you’ll hear me say I’m glad football games drag on like they do. It’s buying us a lot of breathingroom.” We needed to track down Sarah while the body was distracted. “The van is being tracked, right?”
“You closed the case. If you call in for a location—”
Enough was enough. “Okay, Jacob, I know the last thing you wanna do is make yourself look bad in front of Laura.” When you came right down to it, in the don’t-care-what-people-think department, I was more like Sarah’s physical body than her etheric form. At least, I aspired to be. “Don’t worry about Laura. I’m the lead, and I’ll take all the heat. I promise.”
Jacob stared at me so hard, I swore he could see into my soul…or my etheric, if that was the particular thing that makes us all ourselves. And after a long moment, he said, “You just want to get a fix on the van.”
“Right. We don’t have to mention the possession. We can get Sarah back into her own body with Laura none the wiser.”
“I trust you,” Jacob said. “You’ll make the right choice.”
I didn’t know whether to be flattered or horrified. When I put in a call to Records, I found that, yes, a tracking device had been installed while Boswell was signing papers. Apparently, one of those signatures “consented” to it, and Dr. Santiago recommended tracking him for his own safety.
I felt every way it was possible to feel about that.
The van was currently parked at a suburban library. And as they were friendly with the local municipality, the FPMP could tap into their security feed. Did I want to see? Of course not—it brought to mind all the appearances I myself had no doubt made on Candid Camera. But I tamped down my own revulsion and said, “Sure.”
