Page 27 of Jasmine Street Blues

“So, what’s next?” Carrie whispered.

As always, there was no response.

“I screwed everything up, I guess. I’m not sorry I killed Eddie, I’m not. I know he’s the one who got you hooked on those pills, I know he gave them to you. You were gone, they put me in a crappy group home, and he had the nerve to stay in our house like it was his, or something. I went by to see if any of my old stuff was there, before I hit the road, and there he was.” She wouldn’t have hit him with her mom’s cast iron skillet if he hadn’t lunged toward her with a smarmy grin on his face. The skillet had been right there.

Looking back, she realized she should’ve turned herself in then and there. She’d still been fifteen, and Eddie was hardly a good guy. It had been self-defense! Fifteen year olds didn’t think straight, she saw that now. There were many things she should’ve done differently.

Maybe it wasn’t too late, but the idea of confessing terrified her. The idea of what would come after paralyzed her.

Everything would’ve been different if her mom and Mac had worked things out, but that marriage had ended years before things got really bad. Her Mom had told her more than once, whenever she was foolish enough to ask about Mac, that he’d moved on, remarried, had a couple of kids of his own.

Besides, he was a cop and she was a murderer. Even if she’d known where he was it would’ve been foolish to go to him for help.

So she’d run. There had been a couple of decent stops between Missouri and Belle, Florida, but she’d had too many close calls along the way. Somehow she’d always managed to move on, to stay safe.

Maybe she had an actual guardian angel, and maybe her mom watched over her. Still, her life was far from blessed. She’d made a mess of things.

The light by the window flickered pretty hard, this time. Carrie whispered, “Love you, too.”

8

It was amazing he’d slept at all. Between jumbled thoughts of Loran and Carrie, Mac had expected to lie in bed awake all night. He hadn’t. He’d slept hard, if not long, and man, had he dreamed. Of Carrie, as she’d been when he’d been her daddy, and then as the young woman he’d never known. The girl on canvas. Those were followed by dreams of Loran and what might’ve been. What might still be.

He hadn’t allowed himself much of a real personal life for years. Why start now?

Moving too fast with Kylie and getting burned had made him cautious. The result had been he didn’t move at all, not where women were concerned. He saw the worst in everyone, and that was hard to get past. If he was attracted to a woman one night, maybe two, was all it took to get them out of his system.

He wasn’t sure he wanted Loran out of his system.

Mac rolled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. Loran didn’t drink coffee. Could he trust any human being who didn’t prefer their water strained through the bean? As far as he could see that was her only fault.

Well, that and the fact that she painted ghosts. Was that really a fault?

Not if it helped him find Carrie.

Kylie had despised him, in the end. Why would she reach out to him now, in this spectacularly weird way? In the past five years he’d wondered more than once if Carrie was dead. It was a possibility he always managed to dismiss, for his own peace of mind. When he’d found out that Loran painted dead people… and there was Carrie on canvas… his heart had broken. It had shattered for the girl he should’ve protected and for himself. But she wasn’t dead. She was alive, according to Kylie’s ghost. He should be elated, and in a way he was. Knowing she was alive wasn’t the end of it. Carrie needed him. Why? What kind of trouble was she in? How in hell was he going to find her?

While coffee was dripping into the carafe he fed the mutt and added water to the bowl. He thought Bubbles might try to follow him into the house, but that didn’t happen. Mac supposed his back porch was a step up from Sue Eldon’s yard, and the dog was happy there.

It was a simple life. Eat, sleep, walk, chase cats and birds… Oh, to be Bubbles.

Mac showered and dressed in his uniform, then grabbed another cup of coffee just as the doorbell rang. For a second he wondered who it could be, and then he remembered.

The Three Bs, or maybe one or two of them. A wayward kid or two would be preferable to another visit from his ambitious deputy.

To his surprise, all three of the boys stood on his front porch. Billy looked as if he’d been awake for a matter of minutes and wasn’t happy about the fact. The other two were wide awake, but wary.

But they were here.

“Come on in,” he said, opening the door wide.

They weren’t at all subtle about checking out their surroundings as they walked through the open area and then the kitchen.

As they stepped onto the back porch, Bubbles went on alert. The mutt stood, posing almost as if he were preparing to attack. Or to run.

“It’s ok, boy,” Mac said as he leaned down to rub Bubbles’ neck. “These kids are going to be nice to you from here on out.” He glanced back. “More than nice, they’re going to treat you like a king.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Brant said. He got a glare for his comment.