Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
Colt parked at the curb of the Pine Street house and they went inside just long enough for Anna to pack a bag. He couldn’t shake the horror he’d felt when he’d thought she’d been the one attacked, when he’d wondered if he’d be haunted by her ghost for the rest of his life. Bag in hand, door locked behind them, they headed for the depot.
More than once he’d started to tell her who Jack had named as his murderer, but it wasn’t the right time or the right place. He didn’t have the words. She’d be upset at the news, and would insist on confronting her brother’s killer now .
They weren’t ready to confront anyone, and if Sawyer realized they knew the truth he’d be gone, or else he’d turn on Anna.
After a short and silent drive Colt parked behind the depot, as usual. There were a couple of dim lights near the dumpster, but one bulb was burned out and there were too many dark corners. He took Anna’s arm and grabbed her small overnight bag, then led her to the back door, keeping a close eye on the perimeter. He should’ve installed security cameras years ago. That was just one small item on his long list of chores to be done.
Nothing moved in the shadows; all was quiet. He took comfort in knowing the depot was solidly built and they’d be safe behind locked doors. Not everyone knew he and Anna were together. He held out hope that the man who’d attacked Emily wouldn’t think to look for Anna here, even though he’d been watching Pine Street. Tomorrow… cameras.
Until then, if anyone did manage to get in Maude and Nicole would sound the alert. Ghost security. A use for his talents he’d never expected to want or need.
Colt breathed easier when they were inside with the back door locked behind them. He could hardly believe what Jack had told him. A man they’d known all their lives, a friend. Not a close friend, but they’d played baseball, gotten drunk, picked up girls… there were a thousand small memories that now meant nothing.
The past was just that, the past. There had been a time when he’d thought they knew one another, but they didn’t. Not really. Jack was a con man. Colt saw ghosts.
Sawyer was a cold blooded murderer and an arsonist.
He held onto Anna’s arm as they walked up the stairs to his loft. While she took her small overnight bag into the bedroom he stepped into the kitchen area to text Mac. He still didn’t know how to explain. Would he ever? Waiting until tomorrow to ask for help might not be the best idea. His text to Mac asking him to stop by the depot had resulted in a terse reply.
Is there blood and mayhem?
To which Colt had replied, Not at the moment.
A couple more short messages, and the conversation had ended with I’ll see you in the morning .
Just as well. He could use some time to work on the wording. How do you tell a friend you’re a freak who sees and talks to ghosts? That a man they both knew was a murderer?
He hated asking for help even from the police, but he wasn’t about to head to the overgrown land behind The Magnolia with a shovel and start digging.
Anna changed into lightweight yellow pajamas as if it was a normal night, but it was unlikely she’d get any real rest. If she did manage, it might be a while. Colt had no intention of trying to sleep. He needed to be alert, in case Sawyer called or showed up. Would he be so bold? How desperate was he? How could he know Anna was here?
If he’d been watching, he knew.
Sawyer wanted the money Jack had taken, and he wanted the proof that his father had been with Crystal the night she’d been murdered. Once he had that, those pictures would be destroyed. He definitely wanted Colt to stop poking around and asking questions about Jack. After five plus years, he’d probably believed he was in the clear. Maybe he’d relaxed, thinking money or no money he and his father were safe.
If not for Jack’s ghost and Colt’s decision to play private detective, they would’ve been. Now Sawyer was trying to clean up an old mess. And a new one.
Anna grabbed a book off his bookshelf and curled up on the couch. He wasn’t sure if she was actually reading or just using the book as cover so they wouldn’t have to talk about what was going on. Colt paced. He couldn’t read, couldn’t sit in his favorite recliner or next to Anna on the couch. He didn’t want to listen to music.
Even Maude’s favorite Johnny Mathis wouldn’t soothe him at the moment.
After several restless minutes he told Anna to rest if she could, and he left the loft. He went downstairs, headed to the room in the back, and grabbed one of the boxes that held some of the uncleaned records from the Miller house. He’d found evidence of Crystal’s murder in a 3 Doors Down sleeve. Where would the number of that Cayman account be hidden? There couldn’t possibly be anything here about Jack’s murder. According to the ghost he’d been taken, tortured, and killed. There wouldn’t have been time to leave a clue in an album, or anywhere else. But was there evidence of the crimes that had led up to Jack’s death? They might have to hope for physical evidence of some kind in the grave he shared with Crystal, but other than that...
It was called grasping at straws , but at the moment that was all he had.
He wouldn’t sleep tonight; there was no way. Might as well take his time with this effort. It was unlikely he’d find anything, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. In his usual manner, Colt laid microfiber cloths on a waist-high table and mixed up his special cleaning liquid, which was nothing more than distilled water mixed with a little mild cleaning liquid. Another bowl of plain distilled water was set aside, and then he began to clean.
The remaining albums he’d collected from the Miller house had been hastily arranged in two plastic milk crates which were just the right size for an LP. No need to rifle through, since he had no idea what he was looking for. He started with the crate nearest to him.
Tonight Colt didn’t bother to play the albums after cleaning, as he usually did. Instead he cleaned, rinsed, dried. After giving the vinyl a few minutes to make sure it was good and dry, he returned it to its sleeve and then into another crate. He didn’t wait for one record to be completely dry before he started on the next album, so he remained in constant motion, back and forth, losing himself in the task. Some of the covers themselves needed to be wiped down, but they were mostly in good shape.
He figured it was likely anything of interest — like a Cayman account number — would be hidden in Jack’s albums, the ones Colt had listened to himself, so many years ago. Even now, on the occasional afternoon when he was feeling nostalgic, he turned to the music of his youth. It would be easier if the albums were arranged that way, but they weren’t in any order that he could identify. Billy Joel. Metallica. Nirvana. Weezer. A few of the selections might even have come from Nina or Don’s parents. Tommy Dorsey. Benny Goodman. Bing Crosby. Maude would love some of these.
He couldn’t imagine the Millers in their youth, dancing and laughing to the music of the 60s and 70s. The Rolling Stones; The Beatles; Simon and Garfunkel. Like most of the others, these albums were in great shape, vinyl, covers, and inner sleeves.
Until he got to one that looked out of place. Whose would this be?
Duck Rock; Malcolm McLaren. This record had gotten wet at some point. The artwork, front and back, had bubbled and peeled away from the cardboard sleeve. There was a touch of mold in one corner. Normally if he ran across an album like this one he didn’t bother to try and save it, unless the vinyl inside was rare and potentially valuable. In this case, though, he couldn’t toss anything.
Besides… Duck. Jack had said something about duck . Sawyer had killed Nicole over a framed duck photo, or had her killed, perhaps hoping the information he wanted was hidden inside. If he’d found what he was looking for, he wouldn’t have burned the Miller house or attacked Emily.
Duck .
The vinyl was visibly damaged, badly scratched. Colt cleaned it anyway, out of habit. There was no inner sleeve, no paper or plastic protecting the vinyl. No wonder it was in such bad shape.
He set the album aside to dry, then picked up the cover. He was about to toss the outer sleeve since it was in such bad shape, but at the last minute decided to pull at the corner of the artwork that had already started peeling. As he lifted up an edge of the thin, fragile paper, he found evidence of glue around the edges.
He continued to tug gently, easily, and soon there it was, a very small slip of paper folded in half and encased in the kind of plastic wrap you might find in any kitchen. The entire package was flat, small and almost unnoticeable.
Was this the Cayman account number? Duck . Jack had protected his precious money much more securely than the evidence of Crystal’s meeting with Walter.
Colt unwrapped the sheet of paper and unfolded it. Sure enough, a long number was written neatly on that slip of paper.
Below the number was a scribbled note.
What have I done?
Colt grabbed the crate of finished albums, rifled through, and grabbed the 3 Doors Down album where he’d found the pictures. He flipped the album over to read the track titles. Sure enough, there it was. Duck and Run .
“Shit.”
Maude popped into view, much too close to his face. “Someone’s here. I don’t like him, I don’t like him at all. Apparently he picked the lock while Nicole and I were chatting. The intruder was halfway up the stairs before we saw him. How rude…”
A murder mystery was probably not the best choice of reading material, all things considered. Anna hadn’t studied the books closely, she’d randomly grabbed one from the shelf hoping reading, reading anything , would help her unwind. Reality was too much for her to handle at the moment. Fiction or not, this story was not going to help her ease toward sleep.
After Colt went downstairs she set the book aside and closed her eyes. Not to sleep, that wasn’t going to happen, but to organize her thoughts. She’d often thought her life in Nashville was too boring, too predictable. Sometimes she’d actually wished she could shake things up.
Right now, boring and predictable sounded pretty good. The problem was, Colt was neither. No, he had the potential to shake her life up in a big way. She could go back to Nashville where she knew what each day would bring, or she could stay here and see what happened with a man who saw ghosts, a man who kept secrets… his secrets and others.
If she stayed with him, ghosts would be watching all the time. At least, she assumed it would be all the time. Were there ghost-free spaces in Seawolf Beach? When her family home was repaired or rebuilt, could she live there? If she stayed, no matter where they were, she’d always wonder who, what , was watching. When they made love, when they talked about his business or her writing music, when they argued... There would be no secrets. Not from the dead.
Eyes closed, mind on all the choices ahead of her, she almost dozed off. Her thoughts continued to spin, but she was physically and mentally exhausted. She felt herself easing toward the sleep she’d been so sure wouldn’t come. The door to the loft opened with a creak, but she didn’t open her eyes.
“Find anything?” she asked in a sleepy voice.
Colt didn’t answer. She took that as a no.
“It was a long shot.”
Still, he didn’t say a word.
A warm hand lightly touched her face. Anna opened her eyes and jerked back and away.
Not Colt…
She’d seen Sawyer Wakefield a few days ago, at the bakery with Nate Tucker. While they’d been chatting she’d mentioned the stuff that had been taken to Nicole’s shop on consignment. Had she specifically mentioned the duck picture? She thought… yes. Had that led to the woman’s murder? The house, Emily… Where was it leading now?
Sawyer looked different than he had when he’d been enjoying coffee and a muffin. He was angry, frustrated, desperate . There was a touch of sadness and uncontrolled anger in his eyes.
Maybe murder did that to a person.
After a moment of silent shock, she opened her mouth to scream. Sawyer responded quickly, clamping the hand that had been caressing her cheek over her mouth. His other hand swung up; light flashed on the blade of the knife he held, a blade that inched closer to her.
That knife had killed Nicole and threatened Emily.
“Where’s Colt?” he whispered.
“Not here,” Anna said into the palm of his hand. Her words were muffled, but he understood well enough. He relaxed a little, then removed his hand from her mouth.
“Good. This can be simple. Where is the money Jack stole? That’s all I need. I’m done with protecting my father, just done . Bastard wouldn’t get his hands dirty, no, he left that to me. Then and now. Take care of it Sawyer. Handle it for me. Screw him and his loser friends. No more. I’m going to take that money and light out of town, and no one will ever find me. Where is it?”
Anna shook her head. She had to stall, somehow. Would one of the depot ghosts realize what was going on? Would they warn Colt? She could only hope someone, or something, was paying attention.
“I don’t know. He probably took it all with him when he left town. That’s the reason he didn’t come back, I guess…”
“Jack’s dead,” Sawyer interrupted. “Dead for a couple of months more than five years.” He watched her face closely, tilted his head as he studied her reaction. “Sonofabitch, you knew.”
“I suspected,” Anna said. “My brother was imperfect, yes, he had many flaws, but he wouldn’t leave us that way.” She had to believe Colt was coming. The ghosts would tell him what was happening.
His ability wasn’t without benefit…
“You killed him.” She whispered the accusation.
“I had no choice.” Sawyer didn’t look at all remorseful.
“Jack’s last text… that was you.”
Sawyer shrugged. “I sent the text then gave the phone to a homeless guy, along with a wad of cash, and put him on a bus. It was summer, really hot. The old guy was happy to head north. I’d grabbed Jack’s bag from the hotel and handed that over, too, after I’d searched it well enough to know nothing of interest was there. Just clothes and deodorant and shit.”
“You broke my mother’s heart,” Anna whispered.
“This is all Jack’s fault. It was bad enough that he took the wrong people’s money. But when he started blackmailing my dad…”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Oh, he did. I figured the proof was long gone, that it had died with Jack, but then you mentioned the duck picture.” Sawyer laughed. “Before he died Jack kept saying duck. Duck, duck, duck. I thought he just couldn’t speak clearly, by that point, and he was cursing at me. But… duck. If Nicole had just sold the picture to Dad that would’ve been it, but it couldn’t be that easy, no. There was nothing. We tore that picture apart, and there was nothing .”
“You killed Nicole, too,” Anna whispered.
“I didn’t want to,” Sawyer said. “We didn’t know what Jack did with the pictures he took, but they had to be somewhere. I asked, I gave him a chance to tell me where they were, but the bastard died on me. The last thing he said was duck .”
She’d cursed her brother’s name more than once in the past five years. For leaving, for breaking their mother’s heart… and all this time…
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Sorry for what?” Sawyer snapped.
She looked into his eyes. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Colt was on the way, and he didn’t bother trying to be quiet. He ran up the stairs, footsteps heavy and loud. She heard him; so did Sawyer. He released his hold on her, spinning around to face the door just as it flew open.
It was his worst nightmare, watching a woman he cared about being threatened with the knife that had already taken at least one life. Sawyer moved away from Anna; she stood but remained caught between the couch and the killer.
“I have what you’re looking for,” Colt said.
Sawyer’s attention was fully on him now. The man with the knife moved forward and Anna scooted away, as far as she could with the couch behind her. Sawyer took another step forward, which allowed Anna to move even farther. With every small step she took, with every inch of distance, Colt’s panic subsided a bit. Nothing mattered but Anna getting away. He could take anything else, as long as she was safe.
“What is it you think I want?” Sawyer snapped.
Colt reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “An account number. One that will make you very rich.”
“You had it all along,” Sawyer whispered.
“No. I just now found it. It’s yours.” Colt stretched his hand out a little more.
“What about the pictures?”
“I have those, too, but not with me. I’ll hang onto them long enough for you to get out of town, out of the country, and collect the money you killed for. Stay gone, and I’ll destroy them.”
Sawyer had no idea he was completely surrounded by ghosts. How could he? Maude screamed at him. Only Colt heard. Gerald tried to hit him, but the old man’s ghostly fist went right through Sawyer’s body. Maude had to move to one side to keep from taking that blow.
Nicole got right in Sawyer’s face and screamed “Murderer!”
Sawyer didn’t hear or see, but Colt did. He lifted a hand and whispered, “Quiet please.”
“I didn’t say anything!” Sawyer shouted. He wasn’t a practiced, calm killer. He’d panicked. When he’d killed Jack; when he’d stabbed Nicole; when he’d burned Anna’s house.
“Before I hand this over,” Colt said, waving the sheet of paper in the air, “tell me why you burned the Miller house. You had to know this might be in there.”
“I had no choice. The blackmail photos weren’t in the duck picture, like I thought they were. Jack said I’d never find them. At one point when he was rambling on he said something weird about how old things make good hiding places, that no one would ever look behind the ugly picture, that his Mom would never get rid of… Then he stopped, and just kept saying duck .”
“You killed him,” Colt said.
“I didn’t mean to, but I had no choice.”
Again, no choice . “Well, that’s bullshit. There’s always a choice.”
Sawyer moved toward Colt and the bait. With more room to maneuver, Anna stepped back, grabbed her purse, and pulled out her cell phone.
Ghosts continued to close in on the man who threatened Colt. Sawyer firmly grasped that knife in one hand while he reached for the paper with the other. He spun around without the numbers he wanted when he heard Anna punch three quick numbers on her cell. 9-1-1.
“Drop that!” Sawyer said, lurching toward the couch and the woman behind it.
“No!” Colt lunged.
So did Maude.
Gerald screamed, his voice, unused for a century or more, hoarse and filled with anger. The room shook, the windows rattled in response to the ghost’s howl.
Colt’s objective was to keep Sawyer away from Anna at any cost. Maude’s was to use her new-found ghostly powers to assist. And she did. Sawyer was a big guy, a little shorter than Colt but muscled. Strong. Sawyer took him to the ground. They hit the floor hard, but Sawyer managed to hold onto the knife.
Until Maude took the weapon from him and tossed it aside.
The expression on Sawyer’s face would’ve been comical, in a less serious situation. He couldn’t understand how the knife had been yanked out of his hand.
Nicole screamed. “Kill him! That asshole murdered me, he stabbed me in the back!”
“Nicole…” Colt began, hoping to calm the spirit.
“I didn’t want to kill her, but she wouldn’t sell that stupid duck painting to Dad. I couldn’t wait. Dad was worried those pictures would be found and… and…”
Colt held Sawyer down; the man was defeated, in more ways than one. He struggled a little but Colt — with Maude and Gerald’s help — had him pinned on his back.
“Police are on the way,” Anna said.
“Police are here.”
Anna was startled by Mac’s sudden appearance in the loft. So was Sawyer, who closed his eyes.
Colt looked at Anna, assuring himself again and again that she hadn’t been hurt. That had been too close, too damn close. “I called him before I came up.” He’d hated to take even those seconds, but he’d done it.
“How did you know something was wrong?” Anna asked.
Mac took Sawyer into custody, handcuffing his prisoner. He’d arrived just in time to hear the confession.
“Maude,” Colt said as he stepped away from the other men.
“The old lady,” Anna said with a smile. She looked around, with no idea where the ghost might be. “Thanks, Maude.”
“Young lady, you’re very welcome,” Maude said. “Though I have to say it’s rude to call a woman of any age, living or dead, old. I’ll let it go, this time. You’re under a lot of stress at the moment. Once everyone is out of here, you should thank Coltrane properly. We promise not to watch.”
“Speak for yourself,” Nicole muttered.
“She can’t hear you,” Colt said over his shoulder.
Mac, prisoner well in hand, stopped at the door. “Who’s Maude?”
“Later,” Colt said. Then he added in a low voice, “Maybe.” Sirens sounded in the distance. After Mac left and the two men made their way noisily down the stairs, he said, “Maude says you’re welcome.”
“That’s not all I said!”
Things were about to get crazy for a while. There were sirens and flashing lights in downtown Seawolf Beach again. Late night activity was picking up, as people came out to see what all the commotion was about. Mac would have questions, and so would the sheriff.
Most of what he wanted to say and do would have to wait, but some things couldn’t.
“I love you,” he said. “I tried not to; it happened too fast. I don’t know where we’ll go from here, but… I do love you.”
“Ditto to all that,” Anna said with a smile.
“Ditto?”
“You already know I love you,” she said, and then she kissed him.
The kiss didn’t last long enough, but it was nice. More than nice, it was a deep down comfort he’d never thought to know again. Anna came with a connection he’d lived without for a very long time, a promise that he didn’t have to be alone.
“I come with a lot of baggage,” Colt said, trying to give her an out. Maybe she was just caught up in the moment.
“I’m aware.”
“My life is…”
Anna interrupted, “Stop trying to change my mind! I love you, Coltrane Hart, ghosts and all.”
Ghosts and all…