This Is My America(76)

I shift uncomfortably.

“His words. Not mine,” Mandy says. “She told him she’d return the gun if what they were doing at the Pike was harmless.”

“They killed her instead?” I rub my head trying to make sense.

“I wanted to go to the police, but they are the police. Who were they going to believe?”

I’m realizing it’s not just us who are skeptical of going against the sheriff’s family. Mandy is, too.

“My grabbing her things was a last-ditch effort to look for something to prove it. I had nothing. Especially after the newsroom got trashed. Her small purse she always carried was never found, either.” Her lower lip trembles. “Then after the party, Chris, Scott, and Justin stuck around asking if I knew about the gun. I kept denying it, but they threatened me until they believed I knew nothing.” Mandy looks away.

“What?” I ask.

“By the way they were acting, they weren’t being friendly with each other. They were arguing, like it was only the gun drawing them together.”



“Wait.” I put my hands on my head. “The gun is still missing?”

“I searched everywhere. Her house. Car. Locker. School. The Susan Touric Show studio. It’s nowhere.”

“Did she say where she’d been hiding it?”

“She was bringing it with her to the Pike. She figured the closer she got to their circle, the more information she could have for her story. Giving back the gun was supposed to prove she was on their side. I think she was going to work with you to get the truth into ‘Tracy’s Corner.’?”

Mandy looks down at her watch. “I’m sorry. I gotta go. If I knew anything more, I’d tell you.”

“Mandy.” I pause. “Be careful.”

Mandy looks over her shoulder, nods, and then returns to the coffee shop. I text Jamal’s new burner, the one I provided in the backpack full of supplies I took to him after Mama left this morning.

Then I call Quincy; he picks up on the first ring. I don’t wait for him to ask. Jump into everything Mandy told me.

“We’ve got to find that gun,” I say.

“How’s a gun supposed to help us?” A car door slams. I know Quincy’s already getting in his car. He knows me too well. I’m not gonna sit back and wait for answers.

I think about that box of things that Mr. Evans pulled out after the cross burning at the house. Quincy said people like to keep memorabilia. It’s also evidence. And the gun might be evidence of something Richard is hiding.



“What if that gun was used to shoot the girl’s car the night of the rally? If the gun is found and ties Richard to it, that’s not good for his hate group, and the larger organization he represents, Liberty Heritage.”

“Maybe,” Quincy says. “Or it’s even deeper than that.”

I swallow hard. The same thought crosses my mind. Maybe the gun isn’t about Jamal but about Daddy.

Richard Brighton’s been scoping out Steve’s office. He has no reason to care about my daddy’s case—unless his gun makes him a suspect.





I AIN’T NEVER SCARED

I don’t know how, but I persuade Quincy to join me at the Pike. This time, it’s closer to dusk. He parks his car farther away than I did, near some large brush so it’s hidden from view. Quincy is shaking his head when we walk across the grass. As much as Quincy doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t leave a gap between us.

“Where we looking?” Quincy says.

“The path. The building. Until we cover every inch.”

We take slow, methodical steps. I retrace my route where I found the splatters of blood and flattened path in the tall grass. This time it’s darker inside the building, with less light coming through the dusty windows.

We stop in front of the warehouse doors. I look to the parking lot that’s completely empty, hoping it stays that way.



“Let’s walk the perimeter of the building. Maybe Angela got around here first before she got caught up in trouble.”

“Bet.”

We pace around the building, kicking the tall grass down and stepping over it to make sure we don’t miss a gun tossed in the grass.

“Wouldn’t the police already comb through this area again after Beverly turned in Angela’s phone?” Quincy asks.

“They don’t know to look for a gun.”

“They weren’t not looking for a gun.”

“I didn’t know you scared so easily.” I chuckle, and Quincy gives me a side-eye.

“This would be much easier if it was daytime,” he says. “It’ll be pitch-black out here in a few hours.”

“I know,” I say. “But I’ve tried morning—I was held at gunpoint by Galveston’s finest.”

“I notice how you remind me of that after we’re already out here.”

Once we search around the building, we enter through the wooden doors.

“Over there.” I point to the small opening I crawled through the first time. “That’s where I found her phone.”

“You fit through that?” Quincy asks.

The space looks smaller, but I was so desperate at the time. I shoved myself through, had the bruises the next day to prove it. Angela could’ve been in a worse situation. She made herself fit.