Ghost Town Boogie (Seawolf Beach #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The coffeepot sputtered in the background as the sounds of Simon and Garfunkel filled the main room of what had once been a busy train depot. Half a dozen spirits danced or sang along or ignored the music and everything else around them as if they were not only dead, but elsewhere. Another place, another time.

All the regulars were present. A recently deceased grandmother who loved any and all music. Well, most music. A grumpy old man in an ill-fitting gray suit who remained silent, as he had for years. A young man, maybe twenty years old, who was constantly looking for something. Up, down, all around. Was whatever he’d lost keeping him earthbound? A fisherman; a mother who clutched a child’s toy; a ghost in rags who’d been here so long he’d begun to fade into the woodwork. Others came and went, but most didn’t stay long. Thank goodness.

Coltrane Hart, still among the living, stood in the middle of it all. He was the last of the Harts living in Seawolf Beach, Mississippi. At one time he’d had parents, uncles, and cousins down the street or around the corner, but they’d all died or moved away for better job opportunities. He kept in touch with a couple of his cousins, but he couldn’t say they were close. They had families of their own; he kept secrets that made it hard to be honest with anyone. Even family.

Judging by his love life it looked as if Colt would continue to be the last Hart in town. Forty-two years old, single, and living on the second floor of a two hundred year old once-abandoned train station hardly made him anyone’s dream date.

Not that he had no social life, beyond his ghostly friends. On occasion living females flirted and made it clear they were available, and goodness knows he was no monk. His mother, God rest her soul, would be horrified by how forward some of the women were, but she wasn’t around to disapprove. She’d been gone four years now. Well, he hoped she was truly gone. He’d once believed death was the end of everything, but it wasn’t. He knew that too well.

Now and then Colt would take the bait one of those willing women threw his way. If it seemed there was more than met the eye, if she intrigued him in a way that went beyond the physical, he’d optimistically think this time could be different . Twice in the past ten years it had been… for a while. Until they’d caught him talking to himself, carrying on one side of an often contentious conversation.

Ghosts complicated everything.

If he dismissed his exchanges with thin air as a normal quirk, just simply talking to himself as some people do, the once-willing women thought he was crazy. He couldn’t blame them. They didn’t catch him saying, “Don’t forget to take out the trash,” or “You should’ve known better.” No, it was more likely to be “You shouldn’t be here,” or “What will it take to get you to leave me alone?”

If he bit the bullet and told the truth they still thought he was crazy. They didn’t believe it was possible. If they did believe him they were spooked at the idea of having a constant audience. More than once he’d heard the whispered question, “Are they here right now?”

Usually his honest answer was yes, and that was that. Off they went, immediately or in a day or two. Sometimes it was hard to tell if the women who’d fled were frightened by this new, earth-shattering knowledge or simply didn’t want to deal with his ghostly baggage. Both made sense.

Early on there had been times when he’d grabbed his cell phone whenever he talked to a ghost, pretending there was a living person on the other end of the conversation. A few times he’d forgotten, when he’d been caught off guard, and somehow that was worse. Eventually he’d given up that ploy. There was more than enough deception in his life without adding to the mix.

More than a dozen years had passed since the car wreck that had brought on this gift, or curse, or oddity. The accident had killed Colt’s bride of less than a year and left him dead for a few minutes, before some enthusiastic EMT had brought him back to life. Twelve years. He should be used to his invisible-to-everyone-but-him friends being around all the time. And he did mean, all the time .

The spirits sometimes gave him privacy when he requested it. At least, as far as he could tell. Maybe they stuck around and he just couldn’t see them. He’d like to believe he could shower or take a piss without an audience, but he wasn’t entirely sure that was the case.

Hart’s Vinyl Depot, a business he’d opened ten years earlier, occupied the lower floor of the old train depot. The floors creaked and the pale green walls needed yet another coat of paint, but the place had a nostalgic charm. A few worn wooden benches had survived the years and were placed here and there, battered but sturdy remnants of another time. Four large, square windows evenly spaced across the front of the building let in lots of light on sunny days. The panes of glass in those windows were old, making the view beyond appear unfocused, unreal. Colt lived in his own sheltered world, here with the ghosts. Everything beyond was another world entirely, out of sync and with no place for a man like him.

Until the past couple of years, records alone wouldn’t support the cost of running a business, much less provide a profit, but he’d added the coffee bar a few years back and that was good for a few bucks. He’d even added a small and coffee to the sign out front. That brought people in. He sold quite a few Seawolf Beach souvenirs during tourist season. Coffee mugs, keychains, posters from the latest music festival, which always brought in a crowd. Most of the doodads included some kind of wolf, even though the Seawolf in Seawolf Beach meant pirate, not an actual animal. It was a long standing tradition and seemed to be expected.

Records were enjoying a surge in popularity, so these days that alone was enough to keep him going. He loved music and he’d always preferred vinyl, even before it had become cool again. The kids thought they’d discovered something new. He did not dissuade them.

The rental properties he’d inherited after his mother passed provided a decent income all on their own. Everyone wanted to live near the beach, and why not? There were no cottages right on the water, not in Seawolf Beach, but all seven of his properties were an easy walking distance to the water.

Simon and Garfunkel came to an end. That didn’t mean there would be silence. Not for Colt.

“It’s going to be a lovely day,” Maude said in her usual singsong voice. She’d said that pretty much every day, rain or shine, ninety degrees or a chilly forty for the past two years, since her departure from the real world and her arrival in his.

“Yes, it is,” he responded. “Perhaps you should go outside today.” If she could bring herself to step beyond the shelter of the old train station, maybe she’d move on. The spirits who visited here did, on occasion. Some had been stuck for hundreds of years, others for a handful of precious years. Now and then something in the universe shifted and a ghost moved on to their rightful place. Sometimes he missed them. Most often, he did not.

“Oh, no,” Maude said with a shake of her head. That tightly coiffed gray head looked perfectly solid to Colt, but no one else could see her. Lucky him. “I couldn’t possibly leave the shelter of this lovely place. Could you put on that album I like so much?” she asked in a quick, light voice, changing the subject. “Billy’s Boogie. You know it’s my favorite. It’s not just me. Gerald likes it, too.” Gerald had passed a few decades earlier than Maude, but the two had struck up a kind of friendship. That was surprising, since Gerald was a silent grouch and Maude — living or dead — was a sunny social butterfly. It probably didn’t hurt that she did all the talking.

Maude was a sweet old woman. There was no anger in her, no obvious injustice that held her earthbound. She reminded him of his own deceased grandmother, who thank God had never made an appearance after she’d passed. He couldn’t figure out why Maude’s spirit was stuck.

Building a retirement home a half mile from a train depot that had a tendency to suck in lost souls and hold onto them for a while might not have been the best idea. Not that it had been his decision.

He’d had a dozen years to try to make sense of what had happened to him. Surely there were rules. What held a spirit here? What did it take to release them? Why did some move on instantly while others lingered? Or worse, got stuck where they did not belong. Did they always stay close to the site of their death? That seemed to be true.

He’d tried living in his Pensacola, Florida condo after he’d physically recovered from the crash, but there were ghosts everywhere he turned. Too many people; too many ghosts. His job in advertising had required that he meet with coworkers and clients, all day, five days a week. Ghosts were everywhere , especially in a city of that size.

It had taken him years to learn not to react when one popped up unexpectedly, as they so often did. Back then, he hadn’t had a chance to control his response. Even now, he sometimes failed in that respect.

Friends and co-workers had overlooked his weirdness for a while, but six months after the crash Colt was still jumping out of his skin for no reason, talking to ghosts, and looking for Lizzie.

He’d never seen his wife’s spirit, though he’d gone to the site of the crash more than once hoping to find her. She’d moved on. That was great for her, but he did wish he’d been able to see her one last time. He saw ghosts everywhere. The long dead, the recently deceased, the ones who didn’t seem to realize they were dead. Why not her? Why couldn’t he talk to Lizzie again?

More than once he’d cursed the EMT who’d revived him. Colt had insisted to himself for years… he should be dead; he should’ve gone with Lizzie. If he had, would they still be together? Those thoughts came less and less often, in recent years.

Maude danced to Billy’s Boogie which was, in Colt’s opinion, not a proper boogie at all. The old shellac album had been released in 1947, long before any boogie he’d recognize as such had been written, but he played the record when she asked. He’d seen Maude around town before her passing. She’d had a hard time standing for more than a few minutes, and in her final years when he’d seen her on the street she’d been in a scooter. Now she danced without pain, without stiffness. She moved to the music with joy. If she wanted a boogie, she got it. Even if it was this one.

Gerald tapped one foot and swayed on occasion, which was about as animated as he got.

Tuesday mornings were usually quiet, and today was no exception. Weekends were always bustling, and the shop was closed on Monday because even Colt, workaholic that he was, needed a day off now and then. Wednesday might be a bit more lively, and by Thursday business would start to pick up.

When Billy’s Boogie was done Colt plucked a Frank Sinatra record from his personal collection, which was kept on a shelf behind the front counter, and placed it on the turntable. Ol’ Blue Eyes wouldn’t be his first choice for morning listening, but Maude was thrilled. It could be worse. Much worse.

His dad had loved jazz. Modal jazz and avant-garde stuff, as well as good ol’ Dixieland jazz. Hence the name Coltrane for his only child, in honor of John Coltrane. The name hadn’t influenced Colt’s preferences in music, to his father’s dismay. In his opinion, now and always, a little jazz went a long way.

The front door swung open; Colt turned to watch the pretty blonde walk inside and glance around as if she were entering a museum.

“Ooh, she’s pretty,” Maude whispered, as if there was a chance anyone else could hear. “You should ask her out.”

Colt looked down at the old woman. “Go away,” he said softly.

She did. For now.

Had the man behind the counter just ordered her to leave? Anna almost backed out of the shop. She could get coffee at the bakery down the street. She’d passed by because there was a line at the bakery’s front counter, and she remembered that the sign on this old depot advertised coffee. She was in no mood to wait for caffeine, and her mother’s coffee was terrible. It was like she just waved a bag of grounds over the pot and called it done, the coffee was so weak. What was the point?

There was an eclectic vibe to the record store, a mix of vintage and new in a very old, just short of rundown, setting. Several recent releases were displayed not far from the front door, but she was pretty sure that was Frank Sinatra playing in the background. Weird. There were bins of records, some arranged alphabetically, some by era. A few sale bins seemed to be catch-all.

The man who’d whispered for her to go away fit in with it all in an off-beat way, with his ACDC t-shirt and relaxed pose, with his hair a little too long. He needed a shave. Was that stubble by design or was he lazy?

He smiled a little, in silent welcome. Hmm. Maybe he hadn’t told her to go away. She might’ve misheard, she supposed. That was not a go away grin. It was charming, familiar. And then it hit her. He was older and his hair was longer, but she’d never forget that smile.

“Coltrane Hart?”

Her big brother’s best friend from too many years ago looked startled when he recognized her. “Anna?”

So far the return to her hometown had been nothing but frustrating, but she smiled as she walked toward Colt. What to say? I didn’t think you’d still be here. You’re even hotter than you were at eighteen, and that’s saying something. I had the biggest crush on you, twenty plus years ago…

Instead she said, “Yep.”

He walked around the counter and met her halfway for a quick, friendly hug. She was tempted to hold on for a while, but she didn’t. What would be the point? Like her brother, Colt would be forty-two, now. Years ago she’d heard about the accident and his wife’s death. Surely he’d remarried by now. Married with kids, probably. Guys like this didn’t stay single for long.

“You were fifteen years old last time I saw you.”

“Fourteen,” she said. As teenagers, the six year age difference had been insurmountable. As adults…

Not why she was here.

“What brings you to Seawolf Beach?” he asked.

“Mom’s selling the house. The place needs a lot of work before it can be listed.” She hadn’t realized how much work until she’d taken leave from her job and moved – temporarily – back to Seawolf Beach, back to the house she’d grown up in to help get it ready for sale. Everything was falling apart. And the stuff! So much stuff.

“Where’s she going?” Colt asked.

“To live with her sister in Florida. Aunt Sally hasn’t been well for a while. She needs help, and since Dad passed last year Mom doesn’t like living alone.” Neither do I , Anna almost said, but she bit her tongue. She’d been on her own since the divorce, which had been so ugly she never wanted to go through it again. The occasional bout of loneliness was better than dealing with betrayal and bitterness.

“Is Jack coming down to help?” Colt asked. “I haven’t seen him in years. We emailed and texted for a while, but since the last time he was in town — what was it maybe five years ago? Six? — he’s ghosted me. I guess the big shot investment guru doesn’t have time for his old small town friends.” It sounded like a joke, not a jab or a complaint.

Again, what to say?

She settled on a simple, “Jack’s not coming.”

Anna took a moment to glance around the shop. There was a long counter to one side for coffee. It looked like a simple setup; a couple of coffee pots and the usual fixings, disposable cups and lids. It was the sign advertising that coffee that had brought her in. She’d had no idea what else… well, who … she’d find here.

Colt Hart — Cold Heart in her young mind, since he wouldn’t give her the time of day — was a distraction she didn’t need. He still did something to her insides, even after all these years. It was a revival of memories, she supposed, a call back to the young naive girl with a monster crush on her brother’s best friend. When she’d been twelve and he’d been eighteen, she’d been so sure that one day she’d be Mrs. Coltrane Hart.

Yet another dream that had died hard.

Coffee had called her here, but that was just a small part of the business. The rest of the shop was filled with bins of vinyl records. The walls were decorated with posters, old and new. No Sinatra, nothing that old, but there were colorful posters of well-known groups from the past twenty years or so as well as popular local bands, music festivals, and the beach. A shelf near the window displayed a few touristy doodads and there was a single rack of hanging rock band t-shirts. The vast majority of the store’s contents was records. She didn’t own a turntable, but she was still tempted to leaf through some of the stacks. Talk about memories!

“You were into vinyl before it was a thing,” she said. “Well, after and then before. Everything that goes around comes around.”

“Always,” he said, smiling as he added, “Except maybe 8-tracks.”

“Who knows? Maybe one day,” she joked. “I’m pretty sure Mom still has some of her old collection somewhere. Records, not 8-tracks.” At least, not that she’d found so far. Going through her parents’ possessions had provided more than one surprise.

“Bring them by. I know what your Mom listened to. Some of those albums might be worth a bit. I’m happy to sell them for you, if you want.”

“That would be great.” One less thing to worry about. Her Mom was having a hard time letting anything go, but she couldn’t move everything she’d ever owned to her sister’s house. There simply wasn’t room.

Anna asked for caffeine, and Colt headed for the coffee bar. He seemed to be surprised she took her brew black. Maybe when he looked at her he still saw the teenager who didn’t drink anything other than orange soda and sweet tea.

As much as she loved a good pumpkin spice latte, she simply couldn’t handle all that sugar. Taking her coffee black had been a health decision. It was all about the hips…

“Tell me about you,” she said as she walked toward the bar. “Married? Kids? Did you ever buy that house down by the beach, the one you coveted so much?”

“Not married. No kids. And that beach house I wanted so badly was taken out by a hurricane a few years back.”

Anna grimaced. She’d always liked that little house, so near the water.

He nodded. “What about you? Married? Kids? Are you still living in… Jack said you’d moved north. I don’t think he ever said where, exactly.”

Anna smiled. “I suppose you can call Nashville north . I’m an accountant for a small record company. It’s not exciting, but I’m good at it.” Still, the idea of taking care of someone else’s money for the rest of her life wasn’t exactly appealing. She took a deep breath. Did she ignore the past or meet it head on? Ignoring seemed rude. Thoughtless, even. “I was so sorry to hear about the accident. I know it’s been a while since it happened, but I haven’t seen you since… well, for a really long time. That must’ve been…” Horrific, heartbreaking, devastating. “Hard.”

“It was,” he said simply.

“And your mother! She was always so sweet to me. By the time Mom told me she’d passed, the funeral was long over. I was going through a stressful time, I guess that’s why she didn’t say anything sooner.” Yeah, the divorce had been ugly, and she’d gone a little crazy for a while. These days she had her feet firmly on the ground. Expect nothing and you won’t be disappointed. That was her motto.

“You were the daughter Mom always wanted,” Colt said with a hint of a sad smile. He handed her coffee over the counter, caught her eye, and asked, “Where’s Jack these days, anyway?”

Anna took a sip of hot coffee, in order to delay the inevitable. She should’ve waited; it was too hot. She shook her head, coughed once, and looked over Colt’s head to study a faded eight-year-old Seawolf Beach Music Festival poster. Just a few weeks until the next October event. She hoped to be long gone by then.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What makes you think…”

“You have the same expression on your face as you did when you were a kid who didn’t want to talk about something. In those days it was Did you do your homework , and Did you eat the last cookie , and Who spilled milk all over the floor. I’ll ask again, what’s wrong?”

Anna took a deep breath and looked Colt in the eye. His face was thinner and just a touch craggy. Up close she could see a few gray strands in his dark brown hair and in the stubble on his face, but the eyes hadn’t changed. They were deep brown, intelligent, and piercing. If she looked hard enough she could see his lingering pain.

“Dad and Jack had a nasty falling out years ago. We haven’t seen or heard from him in more than five years.”