Page 2 of Jasmine Street Blues

The statement wasn’t intended to be funny, but Colt laughed. Joseph Maxwell, Seawolf Beach Police Chief, down to earth law-and-order guy, believed only in what he saw with his own two eyes.

His ex-wife Kylie had appeared to him that day, the day Colt and Anna had gotten married right here in this depot. He’d seen what was left of her, anyway. A spirit, a soul, a ghost. He hadn’t seen his ex for years before she’d died, but when she’d appeared to him she’d looked just as he remembered her. Gorgeous, tempting, promising. Devious. He wished he could explain it away, as others had.

Had Kylie popped in just to torment him? He wouldn’t put it past her.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to find Carrie after he’d learned of Kylie’s death. He was still trying, but maybe not hard enough. Years of disappointment, of finding nothing, of not knowing where to look next, took a toll. Searching for Carrie was his reason for being in Seawolf Beach, it was the reason he’d left a demanding job in New Orleans for a low paying, low stress job in a small town.

The move hadn’t paid off, but still, here he was. Carrie and Kylie had both started to fade from his mind, so that there were days when he didn’t think about either of them. At least, not much… The search had drained and frustrated him.

During the first year of his search he’d spent every night on the internet, combing social media. He’d been so desperate he’d even hired a private investigator who’d traced Carrie to Seawolf Beach before losing the trail. She’d been here, right here, not much more than a year after she’d run away, though that had been old news by the time the PI reported those findings.

Which is why when the Police Chief position opened up, Mac applied for the job. He’d been here almost four years, now. He should’ve moved on as soon as he’d realized Carrie was no longer in the area. If she’d been here he would’ve found her.

“Time to let it go,” Colt said. “If your stepdaughter wanted to be found, you would’ve found her by now. You did everything you could. And let’s face it, you’re easy to find on the internet, if she wanted to see you again.”

“Unless she’s in trouble.” Or in the ground. He couldn’t make himself say that aloud. If she was dead, why hadn’t he seen her ghost at the wedding? Why would Kylie tell him to find her? “I need to know.”

“No, you want to know.”

Need and want were sometimes the same thing.

“From what you’ve told me about Kylie since we saw her in March, it’s also possible she came back just to torture you,” Colt said. “That wasn’t the vibe I got from any of the other ghosts, but if there was a crack in the veil, a doorway between worlds, whatever, maybe she took advantage. Not all ghosts are well-meaning.”

“Kylie was a shit wife and a shit mom, most of the time, but she loved Carrie.”

“This isn’t hurting Carrie, it’s hurting you.”

His friend made some sense, with that observation. Mac glanced around the dim space. “Anyone here now?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Did he? “Not really.”

He didn’t want to believe that Carrie might be dead, but he had to at least consider the possibility. Would Kylie spin him up by pushing for him to intensify the search when she knew there was no one to be found? Yeah, she would. But he couldn’t be sure…

He should quit this small town job and move on. Back to New Orleans, maybe, or on to a different place entirely. Forty-four wasn’t too old to start over. He could get a new job, a fresh start, maybe even a life of his own without this obsession coloring every minute of his day.

But not yet. As far as he knew Seawolf Beach was the last place Carrie had been. Where had she gone from here? Colt suggested he should move on, but how? Mac had been so wrapped up in finding Carrie that he had nowhere to go. She’d been his focus, his reason for being for so long, he had nothing else.

* * *

During an afternoon lull, Loran moved a few of the smaller pieces around a display area. She’d been told that the summer months would be busy, but she hadn’t been prepared for the weekend rush. She’d sold more in the past week than she had since she’d opened her studio in this charming but creaky pink house in downtown Seawolf Beach. Half of those sales had happened today. If all summer Saturdays were this busy, she’d be doubly glad to be closed Sunday and Monday.

It was almost time to lock the doors. Tonight it would be a relief to crash on the couch and watch a little mindless TV. She really should cook, but that probably wasn’t going to happen. So, takeout from one of the great restaurants in town, or a sandwich cobbled together from what she had on hand? She could open a can of soup, if she was so inclined.

Decisions, decisions.

Loran almost groaned when the front door opened. She loved it when business was so good that she didn’t worry at all about making rent on her little blue house on Jasmine Street or this business space, but she was ready to get home, take off her bra, and sit a while.

She breathed a sigh of relief when Olive walked in. A visit from her neighbor was preferable to a new customer who might browse past closing time.

Loran worked hard, but Olive… the woman was a force of nature. She had a new, small dance studio that had attracted a good number of children. In her spare time Olive helped her sister at the boutique down the way, and she was talking about going back into her old profession. Event planning.

“Hey, neighbor. What are you doing for dinner?” Olive asked. She veered off as she walked toward the table where Loran had been reorganizing jewelry and small porcelain boxes and stopped before a large oil painting of mixed flowers in vibrant colors. “Oh, I like this one. Is it new?”

“Yes. I just hung it this week.” All the paintings on display were florals or landscapes. Sometimes both. The colors were spectacular; that was Loran Raine’s trademark. Well, it was the trademark she was willing to display publicly.

“Dinner?” Olive prompted.