Jordan sat down on the side of the bed. “The police say Josh Gibbon committed suicide,” she said. “Did he?”
“No,” Nessa set them straight.
“Who do you think got to him?”
Nessa shook her head. “I don’t want you two getting involved in all of this. You shouldn’t even be here. This town isn’t safe.”
“You think we aren’t involved already?” Breanna asked.
“You think the city’s any safer than the island right now?” Jordan added. “The same man’s been parked across the street from our dorm for the last two nights.”
Nessa’s face must have shown her horror because Breanna jumped in. “Don’t worry, Mama. We know what we’re doing. We saw the man, but we made sure he didn’t see us.”
“We figured it would be best if we all stuck together for a little bit until things settle down.”
“It’s gonna get worse before it gets any better,” Nessa told her two girls. She could feel it deep down in her bones.
“We know,” Jordan said, just as the doorbell rang.
A few moments later, they heard Franklin coming up the stairs. “Nessa?” He kept his voice low. “There’s a lady at the door. She needs to talk to you about a sensitive subject. She says her name is Annette.”
Jordan and Breanna ran to the window.
“You sure have made some weird friends since we’ve been gone,” Breanna said.
Nessa threw on a robe and went downstairs. Before she opened the door, she peeked through the peephole. Waiting on her front porch was an unfamiliar white woman wearing a dressing gown identical to her own.
“Hello?” Nessa said.
“Oh, hi there.” The woman smiled nervously. “You don’t know me. My name is Annette Moore and I live across the street from Harriett Osborne. I saw you both on the news a while back, and I know you visit her house a lot, so I thought maybe you two were good friends.”
“We are,” Nessa confirmed cautiously, wondering what Harriett might have done to the nosy neighbor lady’s yard—and mildly annoyed that the woman had no trouble locating the house where Harriett’s Black friend lived.
“Well, I was making myself a cup of tea about an hour ago when I heard sirens coming up the street. They didn’t pass by, so I peeped out my blinds, and there were three cop cars parked in front of Harriett’s house.”
Nessa closed her eyes and rubbed them with the heels of her hands. “Damn it,” she groaned.
“Harriett opened the door and let the cops in. I thought maybe she’d called them for some reason. Then about fifteen minutes ago, two of them dragged her out and shoved her in the back of a police car. There are still three police officers in her garden. Since pot is legal now, they must be looking for the shrooms.”
“You’re talking about psilocybin? They won’t find any,” Nessa said. “Harriett doesn’t grow mushrooms like that in her garden.”
“I know. Eric grows them for her,” Annette said. “She gave me a baggie the other day. Harriett and I took some together to celebrate my divorce. It changed my life.”
“Harriett.” Nessa groaned again. “Thanks for letting me know, Ms. Moore. I’ll get dressed and go get her.”
“Wait.” The woman reached out and grasped Nessa’s arm. “There’s one more thing. If there’s bail to be paid, it’s on me. I’m afraid I have to insist.”
“Why?” Nessa asked.
“I owe her.” The lady didn’t choose to explain further, but Nessa could see that she took it very seriously. “Women like us need to stick together.”