"Bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad badBAD idea," I said again.
"Take a left," Cathie commanded from the back. "And enough complaining. I'm sick to death of the complaining."
"We're not cops! Okay? In this car is a secretary, a college student, and a part-time horse trainer."
"It would have been full-time," Cathie said, "but now that I'm dead, that bum Gerry's gonna snake the slot right out from under me."
"We should have told Nick the whole thing and let him come into the neighborhood with about nine SWAT teams."
"Never mind how difficult that would be to explain," Laura began.
"Right, and scare the killer off with a bunch of uniforms running around!" Cathie snapped. "No, we have to catch that jerk. Driveway Killer... Driveway Asshole is more like it. Left!"
"Does anything look familiar to her?" Laura asked.
"No," Cathie said. "But I won't forget the smell in a hurry. It stank like nothing else has."
"He stank?"
"No, the neighborhood. Something chemical, something like-"
"The Glazier Refinery?" I read off the sign as we passed it. There were about two hundred smokestacks in the air, and they were all pouring out smoke that smelled like fake pizza.
Cathie retched in my backseat. Could ghosts puke? I tried to stay focused. "I guess this is the area."
"God, that smell! How could the cops not smell it on my-goddammit, because he strips them and then dumps them."
"Still, you'd think there'd be some clues," I said doubtfully.
"This isn't CSI," Laura said, watching out the window. "Not that I watch the show-an hour of people finding new and interesting ways to kill each other? No thank you. But this is real life, not television. And it's a big metro area. Millions of people, doing millions of things, over a large square area. I've lived out here all my life, and I've never even heard of this place. I think when we catch him, it will be obvious what he was doing and where he was taking them, but we have to get him first."
"Whoa, whoa! You guys, I think we agreed-"
"I didn't agree to anything," Cathie said.
"-that this is a fact-finding mission. We're not here to bust the guy. We need something concrete to take back to Nick and then they can come get him. We're just nosing around for clues."
"And if we find him standing over a woman with a big butcher knife?" Laura asked.
"Actually," Cathie piped up helpfully, "he strangles us. With his belt."
I shuddered. "If worse comes to worst, we'll catch him. Don't sweat it, Cathie, Laura and I are totally capable of knocking a guy out and calling the cops. I'll distract him by letting him stab me multiple times and then Laura will kick the shit out of him. We'll just use a nearby phone and do the anonymous tip thing. If Mrs.-uh-"
"Scoman. You really are terrible with names," Laura chided me gently.
"I know. Anyway, if she needs to go to the hospital, we'll take her. We'll-look, we're putting the cart ahead of the horse, here. Let's see if we can find the damn house first."
"He took off his belt, and he strangled me until I shit myself." I was shocked to see Cathie had scooted way over and was whispering in Laura's ear. "He did it because he's weak and because he's afraid of women. And after I was dead, he took off all my clothes and made fun of my boobs."
"Cathie! I mean, jeez, I'm not saying you don't have a right, but cripes!"
"What?" Cathie was smack in my rearview mirror again. "I didn't say anything. I'm looking at houses."
"I heard her that time!" Laura said, excited. "Talking about her boobs and such. I think I'm getting a new power!"
"No," I said, kicking myself for ever thinking things were as bad as they could get. "I think your mother's here."
"What?"
"Surprise," Cathie said, and smiled.
"Mother!" Laura had twisted around in her seat and was glaring at the devil. "I can do this without your help!"
"I'm sure you can," the devil went on in Cathie's voice, smirking with Cathie's face. "But it seemed for a moment like you were going to take the coward's way out. Knocking him out and waiting for the police..." The devil rolled her eyes. "That's just sad."
"Go to Hell," Laura said through gritted teeth, and-I'm not sure how she did this from the passenger seat of a Dodge Stratus-pulled out her sword and stabbed Cathie with it.
Who promptly cried, "What the hell do you think you're doing, you morbid bitch?"
Laura looked at me. "Is she talking again?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Good." The sword disappeared. Laura turned back around. Nobody said a word for five miles.