16
Julia drove while Courtney was on her laptop, reading about ghost guns in the passenger seat.
They were heading to the police station in Buckley because Detective Kowalski still hadn’t called back and Courtney had lost patience, for which Julia didn’t blame her.
She remembered how maddening it had been not to hear anything about Mike’s case from the D.A. ’s office.
Courtney looked up. “Susan sent me links about ghost guns. She’s baller, isn’t she?”
“Yes, Mona, too.”
“They were my aunties growing up. I can’t imagine losing a friend I had that long.”
“I can’t imagine losing you.”
“I know.” Courtney’s eyes flared. “I want to die before you.”
Julia cringed. “Stop, this is a crazy conversation.”
“Plus you’ll live forever in the astral plane.” Courtney gave her a playful shove, and Julia flashed on her visit to the garden earlier.
“By the way, when I went out to your grandmother’s garden, I didn’t hear anything else, like a scream. Nothing weird happened. Plus I didn’t hear, see, or feel anything when we saw the murder weapon.”
“So no ghost at the ghost gun.” Courtney glanced over with a grim smile.
“Besides that, I didn’t get any vibe about the missing basket or the empty place on the shelf either, or the bloodstain.” Julia had been thinking it over. “So if I’m psychic, I’m not doing that great.”
“Yes, you could still be psychic. You just have spotty reception, but it doesn’t mean you’re not on the call. Besides, I thought we weren’t going to fuss about this anymore.”
“I’m just saying, for the record.” Julia let it go. “By the way, I don’t think we should tell Mona and Susan about my alleged psychic abilities. They already think I’m ageist, I don’t want them to think I’m crazy.”
“Look, we’re entering Buckley. Don’t blink.”
Julia could see the small town up ahead, with a single traffic light on the road.
There were a few houses flanking the street, directly on the curb, the way homes were built in colonial times.
Most had vintage brick facades and peaked Victorian roofs.
Some clapboard needed painting or was replaced with ever-white vinyl siding.
A few had plastic awnings over the windows.
The prettiest house had a wraparound porch, but Julia realized it was a funeral home.
“My grandmother got along here, but she and my grandfather were always on the outside. Everybody glorifies small towns, like it’s so wonderful that everybody knows everybody else. But it doesn’t mean that everybody likes everybody else.”
Julia looked over, not completely surprised at the bitterness in Courtney’s tone.
“Grandma Kay was the last one to think it was because she was Black. She tried not to let it get to her. She always said it didn’t change anything she did.
She lived her life as if she had every right to be here.
Because she did.” Courtney paused, gesturing out her window. “The police station’s on the left.”
Julia spotted a converted Victorian house on the corner, with white shutters and a white front door. An American flag hung over its entrance.
“It bothers me that my grandmother didn’t get the justice, or the equality, she deserved in life. I’m not about to let it happen to her in death.”
“I’m with you,” Julia said, and they drove together into Buckley.