Julia’s heart sank. “Now Leni thinks I’m in danger?”
“There’s still a chance that she didn’t overhear them. They’re not sure.”
“She must have. Why else would she be afraid for me? It’s one thing to miss me, but it’s another thing to be afraid.”
“My mother’s going to talk to her today and ask if she overheard.”
Arg.“Really? I wish she wouldn’t. Talking more just makes it bigger, and I’m the one who should be talking to her. Can’t we let it be, for now?”
“Okay, I’ll call my mother. I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful.” Gianluca sounded genuinely regretful. “How are you?”
“Fine,” Julia lied. She wasn’t about to tell him the truth, especially now.
“And Courtney?”
“She’s hanging in.” Julia hated lying to him. She wanted to hang up. “You must be at work by now.”
“Yes, I’m parked.”
“So you should go.”
“Yes, I love you, Julia.”
“I love you, too. Goodbye.” Julia pressed End, upset. She hated to think Leni was worrying about her. It wasn’t a burden a young child should bear. She could only hope she’d be home soon.
She closed her eyes, holding her phone like a security blanket. The scream in the garden reverberated in her ears. She couldn’t explain what was going on, and she was starting to worry that Kay was trying to contact her. Julia wanted to help Courtney, and it was the only way to get back home.
Julia realized she could use some advice, and she knew an expert.
She scrolled through her contacts for the phone number.
9
Julia listened to the phone ring. She was calling Helen Davenport, the psychic medium she’d met with in Florence, five years ago. Helen’s bona fides were well established, and she was consulted by the Italian police and Scotland Yard. Helen had offered her “mediumship lessons” to help her explore her “gift,” but Julia had been so disturbed that she hadn’t accepted the offer, a choice she hadn’t regretted until now.
“Helen Davenport,” she answered, her voice familiar, with an Irish lilt, and Julia pictured the chic seventy-something woman with her large hazel eyes, lovely, lined face with delicate features, and grayish-white hair cut in a hip bob. The last time Julia had seen her, Helen had on a black turtleneck and black slacks, and they’d met in Helen’s classy Florentine apartment.
“Helen, this is Julia Pritzker. I don’t know if you remember me, but I came to see you, about five years ago?”
“Yes, I remember you.” Helen’s tone warmed. “How have you been?”
“Not good, that’s why I’m calling. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“Yes, briefly. I have an appointment in a few. How can I help you?”
“Well, I’m calling you from the States, in Pennsylvania. I’m here visiting my best friend. Her grandmother Kay Patterson was murdered.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, and tonight I heard a scream in Kay’s garden, which she really loved, and before that, I saw a fire while I was driving, but nothing was there. What does this mean?” Julia didn’t know where to start, so she got to the point. “Was the scream Kay trying to communicate with me?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m asking you.”
“It’s not something I can answer. It’s something you have to interpret.”
Julia remembered that Helen always wanted her to figure everything out for herself, like therapy. “But you’re the expert. Police consult you on murder cases just like this one.”