Page 7 of Ghost Town Boogie

When it came to ghosts the rules, such as they were, seemed to vary. He hadn’t been able to nail down anything specific, and it wasn’t like there was a support group he could call on for instruction. As far as he could tell ghosts tended to stay near to where they died. Sometimes super close, other times within a mile or so.

Which meant Jack hadn’t run off and stayed gone. He’d never left; he’d died in or near the house where he’d grown up.

Since there was no rule book that was just supposition, but Colt had never known a ghost to travel far from the site of death.

Which left him with a dilemma. Did he tell Anna and her mother that Jack was dead? How could he explain that away? He kept his ability quiet, as much as possible. Over the years the women he’d told about what he could do, what he saw and heard, hadn’t stuck around long enough to spread the word. His mother had known, though to be honest he was pretty sure she believed he was seeing things due to a head injury and losing his wife of less than a year so violently. She’d humored him.

Should he keep what he knew to himself and try to figure out what had happened to Jack on his own? He had no investigative experience, but how hard could it be? He was pretty good with a computer. If he asked the right questions…

Maybe Jack could lead the way. If he knew what had happened to him, where his body was, maybe there would be an alternate way to spin the story.

This house wasn’t a complete disaster, but it was in need of a deep cleaning and some decent furniture. The place had been rented furnished, but all but a few pieces needed to be replaced. The mattress that had once been in the spare bedroom was currently on the front porch, and in no shape to be moved back inside. There was a bed in the primary bedroom, but the mattress dipped in the middle. One leg of the old wooden bed seemed to be shorter than the others. How the hell had that happened? People could be shits when it came to other people’s belongings.

Still, with a little work this place could be home for a while. If he decided he didn’t like it he’d move back to his apartment on the second floor of the depot and rent this cottage out again. There was always someone looking for a place to stay in Seawolf Beach. Short term, long term, his properties were in demand.

Seawolf Beach, home to a kick-ass music festival, the last of the Harts and his record store, and Jack Miller’s ghost.

Unfortunately, Jack was not alone.

CHAPTER 3

Nina Miller had always been an early riser. She actually seemed to enjoy waking early, drinking her weak coffee, and starting the day with the sun. Anna didn’t understand that at all. If it wasn’t a work day she had to force herself to get out of bed by nine. If she could, she’d sleep until noon every day. Her ex had always hated that about her. Among other things that had displeased him, she’d discovered too late.

Her mom had retreated to bed hours ago, but since Anna couldn’t sleep she kept herself busy going through stuff. Piles and piles of stuff. She vowed that once her mom was settled in Florida, she’d go back to her little apartment in Nashville and toss half of everything she owned. Doodads she’d picked up on vacation. Clothes she liked but hadn’t worn in five years or more. Those pretty plates she never used.

If she never saw another plate…

Why had her mom collected these monstrosities? Some of them were pretty, she admitted, but most commemorated some event or place or person, like the Elvis plate that had broken when it hit the floor. Anna picked a New Orleans plate off the top of the stack on the table and stared at it a moment. It was pretty, but no one was going to eat off the thing. These decorative plates were just for show, and not exactly what anyone would consider modern decor. It would take a lot of wall space to display all these plates, even half of them. Who would want to?

She wanted to declare then and there that she wouldn’t do this to her children, but since at the age of thirty-six she didn’t have any kids it wasn’t likely to be an issue. Trent hadn’t wanted children, perhaps because he was an overgrown child himself. Needy. Selfish. Constantly making messes for her to clean up. She should’ve dumped him years before the marriage had ended, but she’d been so certain he could change. For her. For himself. For his parents, who she was pretty sure liked her more than their own son.

Thinking about babies really shouldn’t make her mind turn to Colt, but it did. Had to be a flashback to girlish fantasies. Being in this house, in this town, seeing a grown up Colt, made her remember how she’d scribbled Anna Hart and Mrs. Coltrane Hart among numerous hearts and curlicues in notebooks or her diary.

Surely her mother hadn’t saved any of those…

She wasn’t a besotted kid anymore, and Colt wasn’t a teenage heartthrob. They were both grown, they’d both been hurt, they were not who they’d once been. She didn’t really know him anymore, and he didn’t know her. Still, she thought about him. Who he’d been; who he was today. The connection was strong, somehow. Why hadn’t he come to the door earlier this evening? He’d just stood there on the sidewalk, cursing and looking unhappy. Unhappy because she was here? Because Jack was not?

She placed the New Orleans plate in the bottom of a new box, then picked up another. The Grand Canyon. Her mom had never been, so why? So many whys.

The plate was snatched almost violently from her hand. By… no one. The painted porcelain remained suspended in the air for a moment, then it dropped to the floor, shattering much as the Elvis plate had. Anna blinked hard. Was she so tired she’d started hallucinating? Shards scattered around the small dining room, skittering across the floor to be stopped by a baseboard or a table leg. Great. More cleanup. Just what she needed.

Anna swept up the mess with a broom and dustpan, hoping the noise hadn’t woken her mother. She dumped the shards on top of the New Orleans plate, then grabbed the stack of plates she’d rescued from the back of a closet and dumped them all in the box. No more going through one at a time trying to decide if there was anything of value in the lot. There was not. It was all junk her mom had wasted money on for years.

Colt had a business. She was almost positive there was a dumpster out back, between the old depot and the railroad tracks. If she could sneak this box and a few others out her mom wouldn’t miss them. She hoped.

It was early for her, but like it or not it was time to get to bed. Maybe a good night’s sleep would chase away the hallucinations and the thoughts of babies and Colt, which should not come at the same time. Her life in Nashville was settled; it was orderly. She had good friends and eventually she’d find a man, if she decided she wanted one again. She’d be more careful next time. If there was a next time.

She taped the box shut and wrote Colt across the top. Maybe her mom wouldn’t think to look inside, since it was well taped and not marked Trash.

Anna stood tall, stretched, and surveyed the cluttered dining room. There was a lot to do, but she’d made progress. Even a little progress was worth celebrating. She’d already dismissed her earlier hallucination that the plate had hung in the air longer than was physically possible. She needed sleep, badly.

Boy, did she. She could swear the box flap that had her brother’s name written on it in black marker moved a little. She held her breath as she glanced into the box, searching for a mouse among the random papers, trophies, and pictures. Nope. After declaring the box clear of rodents, she could breathe again.

How sad that there was so little in this box with Jack’s name on it. Did her brother have a decent life somewhere? Did he ever think of the family he’d left behind? She didn’t have kids but did he? Was she an aunt? Was Nina Miller a grandmother?

She thought about him more than he deserved. What he’d done to their parents…

The flap moved again, this time at least a couple of inches. There was no breeze, no fan, no mouse. No reason for that flap to move. She was hallucinating again, that had to be it.