“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.
17
BUCKLEY POLICEread the sign, and Julia and Courtney stepped inside an entrance hall that was retrofitted with a bulletproof window framed by stainless steel with a metal grate in the center and a tray at the bottom. A bulletin board held random notices for hunting permits, prescription drug drop-offs, and aMOST WANTEDchart of mugshots that made Julia shudder. Underneath was a list of Buckley police officers, and she noted that the Buckley PD was a five-man force, with a chief of police, a corporal, and three officers. There was no mention of Detective Kowalski.
Courtney went to the bulletproof window and introduced herself. “Is Detective Kowalski in?” she asked a uniformed cop on the other side.
“No,” the cop answered, his voice muffled by the grate.
“Isn’t his office here? His business card says it is.”
“He has a desk here. You should call him.”
“I did, but he didn’t answer.”
“I can give him a message. Don’t know when he’ll be in, though.”
“Is there anyone else I can speak to about my grandmother, Kay Patterson? She was murdered.”
“Sorry to hear that. No one’s in but the Chief.”
“Could I speak with him? The state police were in my field today, and I wanted to make sure he knew about it.”
“Hold on a minute. I’ll buzz you in and take you back.” The cop left the window and returned a few moments later, then gestured to a white door with aPOLICE ONLYsign.
Julia and Courtney were buzzed into an empty squad room, its old pine floorboards covered by a ratty black all-weather runner. Four gray desks were topped with boxy monitors, and old-school wooden mail slots sat next to battered gray file cabinets stacked with boxes. The windows were covered by lopsided blinds.
The cop dropped them off at a medium-size office in the back, where an older heavyset man rose behind a cluttered desk, smiling tightly. He had small grayish eyes and he was bald, with a bulbous nose and a large mouth. His uniform was a white shirt and black pants, with a gleaming gold badge and a nameplate that readGLUSHENKO.
“I’m the chief. Nice to meet you, ladies.” Glushenko reached a meaty hand across the desk, and they shook, then he sat down in a black pleather chair and gestured them to wooden chairs opposite him. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
“Thank you.” Courtney sat down, and Julia followed suit, looking around. The office was a square with dingy white walls, and his desk held an old Dell computer, mugs of pens and pencils, and stacks of papers atop a blotter-and-calendar insert, and a large black-and-orange grip strengthener. Behind him was a shelf that held family photos,mounted badges under glass, and a signed Pittsburgh Steelers football deflating in a cardboard holder.
Glushenko eased back in his chair, linking his hands over his belly. “Tell me how I can help you today.”
