Page 12 of Ghost Town Boogie

“But it’s not what you want to do.” Studying her uncertain expression, he knew that to be true.

She took a bite of her cinnamon roll, savored it, rolled her eyes. After giving the sweet roll proper appreciation she placed it back on the small white plate before her and said, “Yeah, I… It’s silly. I should be grateful to have such a good paying job. I like the people I work with. I have a really great apartment. The music in Nashville is fantastic, and honestly, everywhere. I’m within walking distance of several great restaurants. It’s a good life.”

“But,” he prodded.

Anna put her coffee cup down and looked him in the eye. “I write songs. Country,” she added in a lowered voice. “Sorry, I know how you hate…”

“I don’t hate any kind of music, not anymore. Every genre has something to offer. Writing sounds like fun. Have you sold anything? Have I heard your songs on the radio?”

She laughed. “Oh, hell no. Unless someone besides me hears the songs they’re not going anywhere.”

“You’re a closet country song writer.”

That made her laugh. “I suppose. It’s just, in order to sell a song I need a demo. Good ones are expensive, and I’d have to pay someone to perform it for me.” She shrugged. “My songs are really not all that good. It’s just a hobby.”

It made sense that she’d write music. Hadn’t Jack made fun of his little sister writing poetry in her journal? That’s what good music was; poetry set to the right notes. “Don’t you work for a record company?” he asked.

“Yeah, but they don’t want their bean counters approaching the artistic folks with their hands out or a rough recording of their latest song in their hands. It’s just not done. I don’t know why I mentioned it.”

“I’m glad you did.” He could see it, Anna in her apartment, curled up in a chair with a notebook and a guitar, picking out notes and scribbling the verses that came to her. Writing, rewriting, singing.

“Can you sing?” he asked, wondering if what he pictured was anywhere near reality.

“A little.” She laughed. “Not nearly well enough to perform the songs I write in public. I will never have an album in your depot, that’s for sure.”

He wasn’t sure about that. Anna was downplaying what she was capable of, being modest and unassuming. Young Anna hadn’t been shy, she hadn’t been afraid of anything.

“You shouldn’t hide what you do,” he said. “Go for it all, show the world who you really are.”

Great advice. Too bad he couldn’t take it himself.

CHAPTER 5

Why put off the inevitable? He knew what he had to do, like it or not. After closing up shop, Colt started walking. He didn’t rush but he didn’t lollygag, either. Lollygag. A word Maude might use, but it fit. There were opportunities to stop, when he saw friends, when he was tempted by a window display or the smell of baked or fried foods that made his mouth water, but he kept going. All he could do was move forward. If he stopped he might never get started again.

Too soon he found himself on the sidewalk in front of the Miller house, as he had a couple of days ago. Jack wasn’t on the porch today. That didn’t mean the ghost wasn’t here; that didn’t mean he wasn’t watching and waiting.

Jack could tell him what had happened, and with that information Colt would find evidence. Somehow. Once he knew something, anything, he’d come up with a plan of some sort. Didn’t sound exactly like a stellar plan, but it was a place to start. Once the mystery was solved the spirit of his old friend could move on. It would be hard on Anna and her mom to find out the truth, but would it be harder than years of believing their son and brother would walk away from them without looking back? Would it be worse than waiting every holiday, every day really, for him to come home or call or send a freakin’ postcard?

Colt walked up the steps to the small porch and to the front door. He knocked before he could change his mind. As a teenager he’d spent a lot of time in this house. Jack hadn’t always been an asshole. Maybe that was too harsh. He hadn’t always been the easiest person in the world, but he’d had his charm. They’d played baseball on the same team, gone on double dates, just hung out in his bedroom or Jack’s listening to records and avoiding homework until the last possible moment.

Those had been good days. At the time he hadn’t realized how good.

Anna answered the door. Her hair was mussed and she had a spot of dirt on her nose. She wore those same shorts that showed off her legs, but she’d changed from the faded Nashville T-shirt into an oversized Seawolf Beach tank. Damn, she was cute. It was the smile, he decided. That smile was bright and real.

The rest of her wasn’t hard to look at, either.

“Come on in,” she said, stepping back. “You just missed Nicole. She took one framed print and a box of crystal and porcelain stuff that she thinks she can sell on consignment.” Anna lowered her voice. “Sadly it was a pretty small box, and just the one framed picture. A duck, that monstrosity that hung in the den for years. Dad thought it might be worth something one day. I’ll need to make another visit to your dumpster soon.” She glanced toward the dining room. “I think I have the records together. They were scattered all over the house. On a shelf here, in a closet there. I’m sorry to say, they’re not at all organized.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Colt said as he glanced around the living room, checking every corner. No Jack. No ghosts at all. “I’ll clean them, make sure they’re in good shape, and organize as I go.”

“I appreciate this so much,” Anna said. “It’s one more thing I don’t have to do.” She laughed. “Because I put it off on you! Sorry.”

“No problem. I like cleaning an old album, then listening to it to see if it’s going to skip and crackle or play perfectly. It’s like going back in time.” He didn’t mention that he and Jack had listened to a lot of the records in this house together, back in the day.

“Mrs. Miller,” he said when Anna’s mom walked into the room to join them. “It’s been a while.”

“Coltrane Hart, it’s so good to see you.” Like his mother, she insisted on calling him by his full first name. Colt didn’t suit her at all. She gave him a quick hug and a smile. “Call me Nina. You’re not a kid anymore.”