Page 22 of Ghost Town Boogie

Tuck? Sawyer? Both good-looking guys, for sure, but when she’d looked at them her insides hadn’t reacted the way they did when Colt was around. She really did have bad taste in men. The one she was drawn to wouldn’t give her the time of day.

It was after nine when the doorbell rang. Anna didn’t stop her work. Her mom was still organizing spices, for some reason, and the kitchen was much closer to the front door than this spare room upstairs. The spices were all expired, and most of the bottles were at least half empty. Some had nothing more than dregs, but according to her mother they were good dregs. At this point Anna wanted to toss everything and move on, but Nina was determined to save everything she possibly could. Even a quarter teaspoon of five year old oregano at the bottom of a jar.

If Colt was at the door, looking to change his mind or apologize, she didn’t want to see him. Too late, buddy. Adios. You had your chance and you blew it. How would she explain that to her mother?

Sure enough, Anna’s name echoed up the stairs. She didn’t immediately respond. That call came again, and this time it sounded more urgent.

Anna went to the doorway and stuck her head into the hall. She was not going to run downstairs and talk to Colt. She would not answer when called, like an obedient and needy pet. “I’m busy! What is it?”

Nina stood at the foot of the stairs. She looked concerned, almost the same way she had when Jack had disappeared. “There’s, uh, someone here to see you.”

“Tell them to come back.”

Nina shook her head. “I can’t do that.” She glanced to the side, into the living room, and then hissed, “It’s the police.”

Her first thought was Jack. The second… something had happened to Colt. Her heart skipped a beat and her shoulders stiffened, but she soon dismissed that idea. If Colt was hurt or in trouble, why would anyone come to her?

There was only one way to find out what the police wanted with her.

Anna brushed off her t-shirt and scurried down the stairs and past her mother, who almost blocked the way. She took a turn into the living room, and there he was.

She remembered all the Seawolf Beach police officers being either old, as in past retirement age old, or else super young and enthusiastic. This guy, the man she’d glimpsed in his squad car that afternoon, was neither. He was clean-cut, muscular, and good-looking, with narrowed eyes that studied everything as if there was going to be a test later.

Nina moved into the room. “Anna, this is Chief Maxwell. Everyone calls him Mac, but maybe if he’s here on police business you should call him Chief.” She looked at Anna and lowered her voice. “What have you done?”

The chief — she couldn’t bring herself to call him Mac, not even mentally — stepped toward them. There was no smile, no friendly greeting. Jack or Colt? Which one brought this man into the house? He looked at Anna with those narrowed eyes. “Ma’am, can we have a moment alone?”

Colt, then. If the news was about Jack he’d want their mother to hear the news. Was he hurt? Dead? Yeah, she was mad at him at the moment, but he was still Coltrane Hart. She didn’t want him to be hurt or dead or…

“I’ll go upstairs and look through those dresses you’re packing away to donate,” Nina said. “There might be a few I want to keep.”

Well, shit.

“Call if you need me,” she added before heading for the stairway.

When they were alone the chief gestured for Anna to sit on the couch. She felt the need to remind him that this was her house, not his, so she gestured for him to sit. That got a glimmer of a smile from him, before he lowered himself into a wing chair across from the couch.

Anna took a seat on the couch, facing him. Her heart started pounding. She needed to know why he was here, but at the same time she didn’t want to know. Something was wrong! What? Who?

She had the comforting thought that maybe her ex was dead and the chief been tasked with informing her.

“You were at the antique shop downtown this afternoon, I hear,” he said. “Treasures Past.”

Not what she’d expected. “I was.”

“You saw and spoke to Nicole Woodward?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Can I ask why?” she repeated.

He didn’t skip a beat. “Not just yet.”

At least it wasn’t bad news about Colt. “Nicole is selling some of my mother’s things on consignment. I stopped by to see if anything had sold, and ask if she’d take more.”

“How did that discussion go?”