Page 24 of Ghost in the Night

“I’mma tell people where they can find Tim Truman’s spirit.”

I look back at Mrs. Robinson, wiping away tears, and my heart hurts for her. We can’t show her that photo because what if it’snotTim Truman’s ghost? What if it’s just the old-timey ghost of Elizabeth Myers? I would hate to disappoint a grieving family. ’Cause I know all about grief and the way it makes you hold on to hope. And a picture like this can do more damage than good.

I whip back to Myah. “You can’t do that to them.”

“Come on,” Myah says, marching to the front door.

I glance at Robby, who shrugs, and we follow.

Inside it’s narrow and hot, like all the ovens are on broil. A few people are scattered around each room, fanning themselves. Myah zooms around like a shark, searching. It’s almost hard to keep up with her. But in the very back of the house, in a small dining room, Myah stops.

“Hi, Ms. Trina.”

Ms. Trina, bending to grab some cups out of a cabinet, stands up straight.

“Oh! Hi, Myah,” Ms. Trina says, placing the cups on the table. “I didn’t see you out there. Your daddy here yet?”

“Yes. He out there with Mama.” Myah takes a deep breath. “Um, Ms. Trina, you know Mr. Truman’s sister, Mrs. Robinson, well, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. Going on about thirty years. She … not ready to talk to anyone right now.” She wrings her hands nervously, glancing out the window at the cars, flyers flapping in the light breeze.

“Well, um …” Myah looks at me. “We think we know something about what happened to Mr. Truman.”

Ms. Trina’s smile falls. “What? What you going on about, girl? Spit it out!”

Myah pulls the photo out of her pocket and slides it across the table. She points to the lights in the window.

“We think this shadow—and these lights—are Mr. Truman. Well, his ghost.”

“Who iswe?” Robby says under his breath, crossing his arms.

Ms. Trina stares at the photo. I can’t get a good read ofher face, but her body language is giving … angry.

“Hang on,” she snaps, holding her hand up. “Is this about to be some ghost story?”

“Nooo,” I cut in. “I mean, I don’t think so. Well, I guess I …”

Ms. Trina sucks her teeth and shoves the photo toward Myah.

“Chile, I ain’t in no mood for these games.”

Myah stabs the picture with her finger. “This isn’t a game! That’s—”

“I mean it now! Mr. Truman is gone, Jabari’s missing, and you carrying on about some ghost.” She lowers her voice. “And his family is around here. You trying to upset them or something?”

“No. We’re just trying to help!” Myah pleads, seeming desperate.

“Um, ma’am,” I start, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe you could look at the photo again. The ghost tour we went on said—”

“See, now that’s the problem with these ghost tours, letting young kids on them. Filling your heads with all kinds of nonsense. If it’s not ghost stuff, it’s those psychics andvoodoo ladies, claiming they know where bodies are buried, sending everyone on wild-goose chases!”

I clear my throat. “I get not believing in this kind of stuff. But you gotta admit the orbs look very … real.”

Ms. Trina waves her hand. “This photo could have been made using … what they call it, AI, Photoshop, or whatever you kids are into nowadays.”

Robby frowns, speaking up for the first time. “Uh, Ms. Trina, I know a lot about computer programs and let me tell you, these girls wouldn’t know how to do anything like that.” He points a thumb at Myah. “She’s got a computer from the 1900s.”

Myah narrows her eyes at him. But it’s true. We wouldn’t know how to make something like this. And the photo came directly from my memory card.