Page 34 of Ghost Town Boogie

He wanted a life. He wanted someone to share a bed with. Not just a bed, but breakfast, laughter, dreams, the good and bad that came with every life. Maybe even kids. His mother would be thrilled to know her only son wasn’t the last Hart in Seawolf Beach after all.

Dammit, he’d been marking time for a dozen years, spending more hours speaking to the dead than the living, lost in the past, distancing himself from everyone. Was that all there was, for him? How the hell could he move past the comfortable, quiet life he’d made for himself?

He could only contemplate life for so long, and eventually his attention returned to the vinyl in his hands. There were some really good sixties music in the bunch. The Beatles albums might be worth something, if they played cleanly. Same for the Rolling Stones. Meatloaf! He might keep that one for himself. The Sing A Long with a generic orchestra? That had to belong to the elder Millers or maybe even their parents. It definitely wasn’t Jack’s. Looked like a candidate for the dollar bin.

He remembered Jack’s favorite albums well; some of them were here. Metallica. Kings of Leon. Amy Winehouse. He’d play them later, after they’d been cleaned. Talk about memories. Where Jack was concerned Colt’s memories were both good and bad, clear and fuzzy. He tried to focus on the pleasant memories, but now and then a once-distant bad memory snuck in.

Maybe it was human nature to remember the good and bury the bad deep. Ah, nostalgia…

Some of the albums had their original paper sleeves inside the covers, others were bare. No problem. He always kept spare sleeves, both paper and plastic, on hand. Vinyl that had been protected was always in better shape than those that had been left uncovered.

Cleaning records was almost like meditation. He got into a rhythm, gently cleaning in a circular motion, one side then another. Wash. Rinse. Dry. All the while looking for visible scratches and warping.

He continued in this way for a while, allowing his thoughts to go silent for a while, until his attention was broken. The inner sleeve of a 3 Doors Down album wouldn’t budge. It should’ve slid out easily, the way the others had, but it was being stubborn. Colt had no idea whose album this had been. It didn’t seem to fit the tastes of Jack or his parents. Anna’s? Could be. The vinyl wasn’t stuck exactly, but something held it snugly in place. After a little back and forth and gentle tugging, success. He placed the too-fat paper sleeve flat on the table.

Inside the paper sleeve were three… no four… sheets of paper, folded in half. They were just thick enough to make the contents of the album cover too fat to fit well. Colt carefully unfolded the papers, no idea what he’d discovered. A tingle up his spine hinted that he’d find something important here.

Three of the pages had photos printed on them. Grainy, black and white photos. He set them aside while he studied the fourth sheet of paper. Names and numbers were written in pen, arranged in neat columns. There was nothing to indicate what the numbers meant, but he recognized a few of the names. Local men, some upstanding and others not. A few women, including one of their high school teachers. Could Jack tell him about the numbers, or was that another lost memory?

This looked like Jack’s writing, though the names and numbers were neater than the usual scribble of a man always in a hurry. He’d taken his time with this list.

The numbers made no sense. Maybe the pictures would. He arranged the less-than-sharp photos in front of him.

The pictures were out of focus and looked to have been taken secretly, probably with a phone. They were from odd angles, a car bumper was caught in the frame to one side, and nothing was centered. He hadn’t been to The Magnolia for years, but he recognized the patio at the back. There were sloppily organized Cinco de Mayo decorations hanging here and there which gave him a date to work with, though not a year.

He remembered the woman in the picture, though he’d never known her well. On occasion he’d seen her in downtown Seawolf Beach, shopping at the boutiques, grabbing lunch, just window shopping. The petite brunette had been a waitress at The Magnolia for at least a couple of years.

As he recalled, Crystal had left town a little more than five years ago, just a couple of months before Jack left. A couple of months before Jack was murdered. Had it been in May that she’d disappeared? Since he didn’t know her well and hadn’t been to The Magnolia when she’d worked there, he hadn’t paid enough attention to the news that she’d disappeared to be sure. She’d simply left, so it wasn’t exactly news. She’d left town… like Jack supposedly had.

In each of the pictures Crystal stood beside a man, there on the patio under the Cinco de Mayo decorations. In the first picture the man’s head was turned away, and in the second what little Colt could see of the face was blurred. Crystal faced the man in both pictures.

She didn’t look happy, but then these were secret photos, with no smile for the camera. To be honest, neither of the subjects looked particularly happy.

In the final picture the man’s face was easier to see. Was that Sawyer Wakefield’s father? It was possible, but Colt hadn’t seen Walter Wakefield for years so he took a minute to study the face, to reach back for a memory of the man. So many memories, these days.

The older man had big, unnatural looking dentures, like the man who’d asked Nicole about the duck picture. Coincidence?

In that final picture, Crystal’s head was turned to the side. Her attention was distracted. By what? By whom? Someone or something out of the frame had made her turn her head.

Walter had been a regular at The Magnolia back in the day, when Nate Tucker’s uncle had run the place. Tuck had made improvements in the three years he’d been running the place, or so Colt had heard. Back in the day The Magnolia had been on the wrong side of seedy. It hadn’t been a place you’d send a woman alone, and if you were looking for trouble that was a good place to look for it. These days it was still a bar, but according to anyone who’d been there before and after the drinks and food were better, the atmosphere had improved, and Tuck had made a few long needed repairs.

He wasn’t shy about tossing the troublemakers.

Had Crystal really moved on, as everyone had assumed or been told, or had something happened to her? Maybe whoever killed Nicole had experience. Was Crystal’s ghost hanging out at The Magnolia? Shit. He was going to have to make a trip and see for himself. If she hadn’t moved away, if she was dead and still hanging around, maybe she could tell him what had happened. To her, and perhaps to Jack as well. It was a long shot, but he had to try.

He thought about asking Nicole if this was the man who’d come into Treasures Past, but it would just rile her up. Before he started asking questions, he needed to know more.

Don’t let your Mom leave town yet.

Anna ignored the text from Colt. She wasn’t ready to talk to him, not even to text! A few minutes after the message she’d ignored came in, her phone rang. Colt. She rejected the call as decisively as possible.

It rang again, and she rejected again.

Her text to him was short. Not ready to talk.

I need to talk to Jack. He’s connected to your Mom so don’t let her leave town. Please.

Please. Did he think the magic word would help him now?