Page 24 of Jasmine Street Blues

“She paints…” He hesitated. She paints dead people sounded crazy. Impossible.

“Painting is often what artists do,” Colt said when Mac found himself at a loss for words.

“Might as well just show him,” Loran said, then she turned and walked into the back of the house, leading them to the second bedroom, the space she’d turned into a home studio for this special, secret work.

When she reached the portrait of Carrie on the easel, Loran stepped aside so both men could see.

“Is that your stepdaughter?” Colt asked.

“It is,” Mac answered.

Colt’s eyes were drawn to the back of the room and the latest painting of the pirate. “Giles,” he whispered. Then he held up a hand, as if silencing the air beside him. “Slow down,” he said. “With that accent of yours when you talk fast I’m lucky to catch every other word.” After a moment he added, “Later, okay? Yes, I give my word.”

The ghost whisperer turned his attention to Loran. “You see ghosts too? I never met anyone else who…”

“I don’t see them, exactly,” she interrupted. “I… I sense them. I’m compelled to paint their portraits but I don’t understand how or why.”

Colt accepted that insufficient explanation, perhaps because it was so much like his own. He couldn’t explain what he did either, not in any detail. He moved on from the easel, to the paintings stacked against the wall. He studied one of Giles then glanced at a couple of other portraits. Had Loran brought them with her? Did she carry ghostly portraits with her from place to place?

Terrified of what the answer would be, Mac asked, “Does that mean Carrie is here? Is she really… dead?” His knees went weak. “Do you see her?”

“I don’t know, and no. I see and speak to the spirits who are stuck here, who haven’t moved on. What happened at the wedding was an anomaly. I saw ghosts I hadn’t seen before or since.” Colt glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve never seen your stepdaughter.”

“I need to know what happened to her.” It was the least he could do. If he’d done more, if he’d looked for her sooner, if he hadn’t let Kylie run him off….

“It’s likely that even if I talked to her, she wouldn’t be able to tell me how she died. If she did die, and that’s not a given. In my experience, most spirits don’t remember their deaths. I’ve decided it’s a gift of amnesia so they don’t waste the afterlife living that moment over and over. They need to move on, to be at peace.”

“I need…”

“Think about what Carrie needs,” Colt interrupted. “You want answers and I understand that, I do. I can’t tell you how or where she died. I can’t even tell you she’s dead. I just don’t…” His head snapped around. He saw something in the back of the room, something or someone.

For a split second Mac saw a weird flash of light, a sparkle of pink in the corner of the room. “Is that…” he began.

Colt silenced him with a raised hand. He was silent for a few long seconds, then asked simply, “Where?”

Mac’s thoughts spun out of control, filling his mind with one question after another. He’d been obsessed with finding his stepdaughter for years. His life had all but stopped as he searched for Carrie. How could he live when he’d failed her so miserably? Dead or alive, he wouldn’t stop until he found out what had happened to her. He’d been an idiot to think there was time in his life for a woman, for romance, for anything other than this.

Someone somewhere knew what had happened, and he was going to find the truth one way or another.

Colt turned around to look at Mac with a strange expression on his face.

“Was that… Carrie?”

“It was your ex, the ghost who appeared to you at the wedding. She fought hard to be here, and she didn’t stay long.” He turned his attention to Loran. “She’s been putting the picture of Carrie into your head, she’s the one you’ve been channeling. The girl isn’t dead.”

Mac’s heart dropped to his knees. A few minutes ago he’d been so sure Carrie was gone, truly gone. Now he had hope. As he’d told himself before, not so long ago, hope was a dangerous thing. “Thank God. Where is she?”

Colt shook his head. “Your ex popped out before she could tell me. All she said was She needs Joe.”

* * *

For the past dozen years — twelve years, three months, and five days, to be precise — this ability had turned Loran’s life upside down. She’d been a bright, optimistic twenty-two at the time. Looking back, she’d probably been sketching dead people for years, but she’d had no idea they were ghosts. Twelve years ago she’d been found out, and she hadn’t known true rest since.

She’d never been able to talk about the portraits. She’d tried, with her mother, who’d immediately shut her down and suggested counseling. Which wouldn’t have been a bad idea, looking back, but at the time that hadn’t been what she wanted to hear. Loran had learned not to mention what was going on. During the years before her mother’s death they’d spoken infrequently, and in the end had been estranged. She was an only child, as her mother had been, and she’d never known her father, so there was no family to lean on as she tried to navigate the uncertainty that was her life. She never knew if she should call what she was compelled to do an ability or a curse. Depended on the day…

Here it was again, turning her life upside down, ripping away her chance at a touch of a normal life with the first man she’d been attracted to in years. No, it was more than simple physical attraction. She liked him.

Mac was suffering, and he wanted answers neither she nor Colt could offer. He wanted life to be simple, he wanted to be able to explain what had happened, but that wasn’t always possible. It wasn’t possible now.