in there, she imagined, although for winter it was actually rather balmy outside.
She rolled her window back up and followed the drive farther until it cut back behind a copse of pine trees. There a garage sprawled, large enough for six cars, with a wide blacktop in front of it. Several more guards stood at the edge waiting for her. Was this a private home or a fucking prison? They looked like they were expecting a riot any minute.
For a moment she sat there in her car, feeling a little like she was in a standoff, before turning the key. The engine coughed into death and she opened her door, feeling their eyes on her. She should have bumped up before she arrived; comedowns made her edgy.
“Chessie?”
Her bag fell from her hand as she spun around, into the face of one of the guards. He looked familiar, yes, even under that damned hat, but she couldn’t quite place him…
“Merritt Hale, remember me?” He took off his hat, and the memory snapped into place.
“Merritt? Wow, how are you?”
They shared an awkward moment, unsure if they should hug or kiss or shake hands, and finally settled into a clumsy half-embrace.
“Been a long time, huh?” he asked, his face splitting into the wide, crooked grin she remembered. “Ten years? Nine?”
“About that, yeah.”
“Since you left to study with the Church.” He nodded at her bag. “Guess you made it, huh? I finally got out when I hit seventeen. Well, you remember, they’ll only keep you until then.”
“I remember.” She didn’t want to, but she did. Corey Youth Home, they’d called it, but it wasn’t anything like a home. More like a zoo, but instead of standing and watching the animals they locked you in with them.
Merritt seemed to be thinking the same thing. His blue eyes clouded for a moment, and he put the hat back on to cover his sandy-blond hair. “Anyway, I guess you’re here about the ghosts.”
She nodded. “Have you seen any?”
“I haven’t, but I’m day shift. I know a couple of guys did, or thought they did, anyway. Come on. I’ll escort you in.”
His hand on the small of her back guided her across the blacktop and past the other guards watching with narrowed eyes. Merritt held up a hand. “I know her.”
“Why are they watching like that?”
“Normally they’d search you, make sure you don’t have weapons or anything, you know.”
Chess thought of her knife, tucked into the side pocket of her bag, and of her full pillbox. If she was going to get searched every time she came here…she’d have to be careful.
“What, just my bag, or my person?”
His glance flicked over her entire body, from feet to top of head, while he grinned again. He always had been a hound. And she should know, having given him a try once or twice. There wasn’t much else to do in the Corey Home, and sex was the most valuable currency she’d had.
Still was, if she thought about it, but she didn’t really want to. She wasn’t with Lex for drugs. Technically.
“Everything. Mr. Pyle doesn’t take chances, and neither do we.”
She filed that away for future use. She wouldn’t be spending long hours here, that was for sure, not if she couldn’t bring her Cepts. The last thing she needed was to start itching and getting sick while with a subject.
Merritt led her to what looked like another room attached to the far wall of the garage, with an outside door. It turned out to be a hallway. Fluorescent bulbs cast a garish, shadowless light along its length; it felt like walking through an operating room. She pulled her sunglasses back down.
Merritt smiled. “Mr. Pyle likes bright lights. And with everything going on…”
That was a point in Pyle’s favor, certainly. It was something those who faked hauntings never seemed to think of, people’s almost instinctual desire for light when scared. Odd, but true.
Of course a point in Pyle’s favor was a point against her, but no way was she giving up this early.
Merritt opened the door at the end of the hall and ushered her through to a small, plain room, still blindingly light but empty. He gripped the bright gold doorknob. “Ready?”
“I don’t know, what do you think?”
“I know I am,” he muttered, but before she could respond he stepped through the doorway, tilting his head to the side to indicate she should follow.
The ceiling rose above her, cresting so far up it was hard to see the ridge. Pale wood beams crisscrossed below it, giving an illusion of intimacy Chess wouldn’t have thought possible.
That bleached wood was echoed in the huge mantel over the fireplace, big enough Chess figured she could almost stand in it, and the chairs and couches with their ivory cushions and pale orange throw pillows. The carpet was the same pale orange. It was a beautiful room, ostentatiously cozy.
In the center of it stood Roger Pyle. He exuded charisma the way Bump oozed sleaze; it felt like he’d physically hit her in the chest with charm, and she fought the reaction. Wouldn’t do to start liking the subjects.
But she couldn’t help liking him a little when he crossed the room with his hand outstretched and an eager, uncertain smile on his face.
“Miss Putnam, is it? Thank you so much for coming. We’re really…we’re really at loose ends here, don’t know what else to do.” He raised a hand to scratch his stubbled chin, and she noticed the bags under his eyes she hadn’t seen when he was smiling.
“I’m here to help any way I can, Mr. Pyle.” They always thanked her for coming at first. Very few of them thanked her later.
“Please, please, call me Roger. And, oh, sit down. Where are my manners—Merritt could you ask one of the maids to get Miss Putnam a drink? Drink, Miss Putnam? What would you like? We have everything, you only have to ask. Snack? There’s plenty of food, all kinds of things, cold meats and chips and shrimp cocktail, it’s all in the kitchen, we can get you anything you like…” He looked around, shoved his hands in his pockets like a guilty child who’d just been caught talking during class and was being made an example of.
Chess took pity on him and pulled her water bottle from her bag. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“Oh, you have a drink. Excellent, excellent. Well, let’s see, where do I start? What do you need to know? Did you look at the file I gave you? I mean, not you, but the Church? I put everything in there, everything I know, and the pictures and everything.”
“I’ve looked at it, Mr.—Roger. It’s very detailed. Before we discuss it, though, we really should get your family in here as well. Are they available? It saves time to talk to all of you together.”
It also made it easier to gauge their reactions and see if they tried to help one another out, but she didn’t mention that.
“Oh, of course, of course. Merritt can you please get Kymmi and Arden? I think Kym’s upstairs trying to get some sleep, and Arden—I don’t know. Maybe the rec room, or something? Her room? She could be watching TV, that’s possible.”
Merritt nodded and left the room, giving Chess a reassuring glance as if he thought she’d be nervous at being alone with Roger.
Nervous wasn’t the word for it, though. A suspicion, one that didn’t surprise her but piqued her curiosity, had already started worming its way into her head. Perhaps most celebrities talked this much. She didn’t much care about them or their lives, but it was difficult to escape the occasional headline or news story or bit of gossip, and she knew most people assumed famous people had incredible egos and talked just for the sake of it.
She didn’t think that was the cause of Roger