Page 42 of Ghost Town Boogie

They spent a couple of hours catching up. Colt stuck with them for a while, then retired to the front porch for a bit, then came inside again. Something was off, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what. He was disengaged from the other people in the room, that was a fact. Well, he was disengaged from the living who were present. Was Jack here? Other ghosts?

She’d been back in Seawolf Beach for not much more than a week. She’d reconnected with Colt a mere seven days ago. One week, exactly. It seemed like so much longer, and why not? A lot had happened in that week.

Murder, a fire, ghosts… Colt.

It hadn’t been long but she knew him, didn’t she? Colt was exactly who he seemed to be. He didn’t play games, didn’t put on a show and pretend to be someone he was not. Yes, he hid what he could do but she couldn’t blame him for that. She’d do the same if she was in his shoes. He came off as a little odd at times, but somehow he was also solid. Steady. Honest. Not a player and definitely not squirrelly.

Though tonight…

Emily had been settled in for a couple of hours when Colt stood and claimed their attention. “I’ve ordered dinner. It’ll be delivered at six.”

Nina sighed. “I thought we might go to Biloxi and eat at that… Oh, you know that seafood restaurant I always liked so much.”

“Mom, that place closed years ago.”

“It did?”

After choosing to stay in her home for the better part of five years, Nina was discovering the joys of getting out again. First the boutique, now this.

Or did she suggest going out simply because Colt had ordered in?

Nina pursed her lips, again. “You don’t even know what we want.”

“I ordered a little bit of everything,” he said, patient, calm. And yet there was a spark in his eyes that warned her he was anything but calm. “Anna, can I talk to you outside for a minute?”

She followed him onto the porch. She expected he’d head for the rocking chairs, but he didn’t. He turned, put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her all too briefly.

“I have a couple of errands to run. Promise me you’ll stay here. Stay in the house.”

She’d planned to, but… “Why?”

“I’ll explain later. Please.”

His attention was diverted to someone, something, over her shoulder. “Jack?”

Colt nodded, then spoke… but not to her. His focus was over her shoulder. “Watch them. You know where I’ll be and I think you can make your way there briefly, if you need to. Come to me if there’s any trouble. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Anna was more confused than ever. “Tell me…”

“I can’t. Please trust me.”

“Why are those two little words, trust me, always so terrifying?”

Even though he remained tense, he smiled. “I guess we haven’t been together long enough for you to trust me. Still, give it a shot.”

“Are we?” she asked. “Together?”

For a moment the tension that had changed his facial expressions and his posture and his voice all afternoon melted away. “I hope so.”

Colt hadn’t been anywhere near The Magnolia for years. He rarely left Seawolf Beach, for a multitude of reasons. The Magnolia, Nate Tucker’s place on the other side of the highway from the depot, was technically in Seawolf Beach, but it was out of Colt’s comfort zone. That zone had been shrinking over the years. If he wasn’t careful, there wouldn’t be anything left but the depot.

The last time he’d been in here, maybe ten years ago, Tuck’s uncle had still been in charge. At that time there had been too many ghosts hanging around for Colt’s liking. Newly dead, long dead, ghosts who were very interested in the man who could see them. He’d tried to ignore them all, but sometimes spirits of the dead refused to be ignored. It was a kind of claustrophobia, to be surrounded by the dead. He hadn’t been back.

Tuck had made a lot of changes after he inherited The Magnolia from his uncle. Others had mentioned the updates, but tonight Colt could see them for himself. The new owner had updated pretty much everything. There was now a dance floor. A stage for the bands that played every weekend. The interior walls had been painted, the booths reupholstered and the wobbly chairs at small round tables scattered around the room replaced with matching chairs that didn’t make a drinking man’s time sitting at a table riskier than it should be.

Changes aside, The Magnolia still qualified as a dive.

On a Tuesday night the clientele was a mix of sad gamblers who hadn’t made it far from the casinos where, judging by the expressions on their faces and their slumped shoulders, they’d lost; and a handful of tourists who’d probably seen the place as they drove by and been called in by one of the numerous neon beer signs. No Seawolf Beach residents were here tonight, not that Colt could see. Not that he could say with any certainty. He’d let himself become so insulated in the last twelve years half the patrons could be from his home town and he wouldn’t know it.