Page 24 of Ghost Town Boogie

Trying to make sense of Jack’s final moments were disturbing, but it was his last encounter with Anna that kept Colt wide awake. He’d blown it with her big time. What choice did he have? She wasn’t meant for him. Nothing good could come of them hooking up.

It was getting late, and he hadn’t gotten anywhere near his new bed. No, he sat on the couch, which was firm and comfortable, but not as comfortable as the recliner he wanted to bring over, someday when he had some help. He had the spot for his favorite chair picked out. Maybe tomorrow…

Just as he was thinking about heading toward the bedroom to try to sleep the texts started coming in one after another, in rapid fire. Anna, a couple of shop owners, both his employees. None of them gave him great information. You need to come downtown. You won’t believe what happened. There’s bad news. OMG…

Then Mac’s text came in. Treasures Past, owner stabbed. Shit. Murder in Seawolf Beach.

Instead of texting anyone back he dropped his cell in his pocket and stepped into his shoes.

Colt left his ghost-free house and untested new bed and started walking. Fast. Nicole or her mother? Who’d been stabbed? As he neared the commercial area of Seawolf Beach, he got that run he’d been thinking about earlier. His phone vibrated several times, likely providing more information about what had happened, but he didn’t stop to read incoming texts. Better to just get to Treasures Past.

The narrow downtown street was lit with flashing blue and red lights that looked out of place in the quiet night. There was no other movement, not that he could see as he came to a stop well back from the cars and onlookers. County deputies, the old grump Sheriff himself, both Seawolf Beach officers and Mac, as well as a dozen people who lived or worked nearby crowded the street in small groups. They stared at Treasures Past and whispered to one another. A handful of barely-there spirits wafted around them all, unnoticed by everyone but Colt.

He stayed well behind the crowd, stood separate from everyone else as he tried to figure out what had happened without actually asking anyone. Nicole or her mom? Who’d been stabbed? The answers were probably on his phone, in one text or another. The truth was, he’d know soon enough.

As he decided to grab his phone and check the waiting texts, he got his answer. Nicole wasn’t barely there, the way some of the other spirits were. Ghosts were often faded and fuzzy, like an old black and white movie. Nicole was bright and angry, apparently with good reason; she’d been murdered. Her ghost looked fully formed, to Colt at least; she was royally pissed.

“I’m too young to be dead,” she said, shouting in his ear. Even though no one was nearby he tried to pretend he didn’t hear her. Maybe she’d go away.

She didn’t.

“I know you can hear me, and see me.” With that she started to unbutton the blouse she wore. “Look at this, Coltrane Hart. Look! I’ve been trying for months to get you to notice me, but you were always off in your own little world. Well, look at me now!”

He met her eye as she whipped off her blouse and threw it at him. The silky fabric dissolved in mid-air and in an instant was back where it belonged, on Nicole. Well, shit. People already thought he talked to himself. What did it matter if someone saw him now? He could pull out his cell phone and pretend to be talking to a living person on the other end, like he had in the early days, but he didn’t. That always felt like just another lie. Besides, most of these people had seen him talk to himself more than once. Why pretend now?

“What happened?” he asked, eyes on the new ghost.

“No idea,” Nicole said. “I don’t have any heath issues, or didn’t. I’ve always been perfectly healthy! I exercise, I eat vegetables and almost no sugar!” She studied the chaos on the street. “There are a lot of cops here. Did I fall and hit my head? No, not that. Son of a bitch. I didn’t die a natural death, did I? Did some asshole murder me?” She went from confused back to incensed in a heartbeat. “Why?”

Obviously she didn’t recall her final moments, she didn’t know she’d been stabbed. Maybe that was normal; maybe not. He’d never asked a ghost to relive their moment of death, not until Jack just a few days earlier. Surely such a question would be considered rude. Still… “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Nicole sighed, seemed to struggle to recall what had happened. “The store was clearing out. It was almost closing time when this old guy came in. Right away he asked about one of the framed pictures I had stacked against the back wall. I told him I hadn’t had a chance to clean and research those yet, so they weren’t for sale. I suggested he come back next week. He grumbled, insisted he didn’t care if it was clean or not and offered to pay more than I think it’s worth, which made me wonder if maybe it’s valuable. So I said no. Again. Eventually he left. The store was empty so I got busy dusting a display of vases. After that, nothing. I don’t remember! Do you think the old guy who wanted that picture killed me?”

“You don’t know who he is?”

“Not a clue.”

“How old? Did he have any distinguishing features?” It wouldn’t be easy to share any information Nicole gave him with Mac, but he’d find a way. There was no guarantee the grumpy old man was involved, but he was the last person she remembered being there.

“You’re going to find the bastard for me, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I’m going to try. What picture was he interested in?” And why was it worth killing for?

“A duck from the Miller house,” Nicole answered. “I didn’t think it was all that special but the artist is well known and a few of his prints are valuable. Not that valuable, but the old guy really wanted it. I told Nina Miller I’d find out if it was worth more than a few bucks. Maybe it was.”

He knew the print. It had hung in Donnie Miller’s den for as long as Colt could remember. “You never did describe him for me.”

Nicole turned her attention to the store where she’d spent so much time in the past few years. Her expression was less angry, now, more sad, almost lost. “Like I said, he was an old guy, maybe sixty, maybe mid-fifties. No, more like sixty.”

Fifties didn’t seem all that old to Colt these days, but Nicole was — had been — several years younger.

“He had gray hair with a few dark strands hanging on. Kinda heavyset, but not exactly fat. I think he had dentures. His teeth were just too perfect, if you know what I mean. The son of a bitch actually smiled at me when he asked about the stupid duck picture.” She started unbuttoning her blouse again. “Why did you never ask me out? I made it plenty clear I was interested, but you…”

Colt glanced to the side. A handful of people stared at him. The broken guy who talked to himself. The lost man who lived in his own world. “Considering the conversation we’re having right now, that should be obvious.”

“You see other ghosts?”

“All the time.”