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still refrain from speaking to her, and I keep a careful eye to make sure we’re not being followed till we’re back at the Bronco.
    When we’re all settled in the car, with Shar lying across the backseat like she needs a cigarette, we stop to assess.
    “What’s your impression?” Moo asks.
    “That I’m worn the fuck out,” Shar says with a contented sigh.
    “About Jodi, Shar,” Moo chastises. “Is she our girl?”
    I pull the camera off my head, fluffing up my hair by running my fingers through it as I consider.
    “I dunno, Moo,” I tell her. “That was definitely something. But it wasn’t anything close to what the real cult is doing. What’s your impression?”
    Moo, oftentimes our eyes in the skies, usually sees things we don’t on the ground.
    Moo thinks for a bit, then answers carefully. “I’m not sure. Jodi has given away nothing. On the one hand, this is very suspicious. She’s doing all the right things for someone who’s looking for another target.”
    “Yup.”
    “But, on the other hand, there is no sign of the other girls or anyone in charge. Jodi couldn’t be doing all the damage or hiding all of those women—she’s just a human. She couldn’t be keeping them shielded. Maybe she’s not in the cult but is trying to be a copycat?”
    “Could be. What do you think, Shar?” I ask.
    “I dunno,” Shar says. “I didn’t feel anything magical. Except those lips. I can say, for certain, that I’m not the first woman Jodi’s been with.”
    “Yeah, but despite what the Republican party would have us believe, lesbianism and Satanism are not the same thing.”
    “I know. But where’d she get that experience?”
    “Um, Shar, she goes to an all girls’ school. You make the connection.”
    Shar harrumphs. “I still think it’s Jodi.”
    Moo shakes her head. “There is no evidence. Only some heavy petting and a little dancing, with girls who are definitively not missing.”
    Shar’s about to respond and I know it’ll turn into a total brawl if I let them get into it.
    “It’s a good lead, though,” I say.
    “Maybe.” Moo’s not the glass-is-half-full kind of girl. “We’ll just have to keep watching.”
     
    * * *
     
    Father Matthews isn’t happy.
    “Sorry, sir. Still nothing to report.”
    “But that stunt with all the dead bats! It was gruesome!” He’s mad as hell and I don’t blame him. I’m mad as hell. I’m the one who had to clean the dozens of dead bats out of the auditorium, after all.
    “I know. And we’ve narrowed down our suspects. But these things take time.”
    Father Matthews grunts. “And who are these suspects?”
    “I’ve told you, sir, that we can’t make any names public till we have more information. We don’t want to cost an innocent man or woman a job.”
    And I mean that. The priest is so panicked at this point he’d fire all of our suspects, just to be safe.
    “Well, I’m expecting results soon.”
    “Sir, we’re making headway. We’re on a stakeout as we speak,” I say. Moo’s watching me talk with a disgusted curl to her lip. For an insane second I consider passing her the phone to let her deal with the priest. But then we’d probably get fired and never paid.
    “Good. Make sure that headway gets somewhere. This week.” With that, Father Matthews hangs up on me. I put my iPhone to sleep, leaning back in my seat with a groan.
    A few weeks after Shar first met Jodi in the cornfield, we’re back to square one. Jodi’s cult appears to be just that—Jodi’s cult. They’re having a grand old time dancing naked, making out, and playing at Satanism. Compared to the real cult, it’s only play—nude boogying and necking. Although they did sacrifice a pigeon. It was an already dead pigeon, however, which was still enough to send Ana headed for the hills. She bailed before she knew the thing in the box had been pining for the fjords for at least a day. So Jodi’s cult is down to three—her, Jenny, and “Starr”—and