by Catie Rhodes
“I’m sorry he turned out to be such a pud.”
She let out a brittle laugh. “There’s more where he came from. Forget Jay Harris. I want to know what my father’s ghost showed you.”
The coffee maker beeped to let us know it was finished doing its job. I got up and poured two cups of coffee and gave one to Hannah.
“It was just the same vision as I had when we were little girls.” Careful to include all the details I could remember, I told Hannah the vision.
She set her coffee down and leaned across her desk, her caramel gaze fixed on my face. She stopped me a few times and asked me to repeat a couple of parts. She shook her head and set her coffee on the desk hard enough to slosh it. “Damn. Damn. Damn.”
“What? I thought you told me you ended up getting all your father’s belongings.” My nerves twisted. This wasn’t going the way I’d hoped. “The movie poster with the drawing on the back ought to be with them.”
“It ought to, but the framed poster of The Jazz Singer isn’t. Mama insisted we leave it in Daddy’s secret office.” Her mouth turned down. “I was a little girl. I didn’t know to fight her for it.”
We both sat in silence for several minutes. I was too disappointed to bother speaking.
Hannah broke the silence first. “Do you remember what the drawing was of?”
“It was an odd drawing. Pencil. Some parts were shaded in, but most weren’t. And parts of it were missing.”
“Missing?”
“It looked like a puzzle with pieces missing.”
She shook her head. “You know it’s important. And somebody’s probably carted it off by now. Threw it away.”
“Nash might let us in there to look. Surely he knows your father used to own the Panther.” I needed to see Nash after last night’s fiasco almost as much as I needed Wade Hill’s hands all over me again. My ego was ready to go tits up. But this was important, damn it.
“Yes. I went in the first day I saw him in there working and introduced myself.” Hannah gave me a dismissive wave and went right back to sulking.
“So let’s ask him.”
“Oh, hell. That’s been so long ago. More than twenty years. Surely one of the owners found the office and tossed the print.”
I shook my head. “Benny Longstreet’s the only person who owned the Panther all these years. There’s a chance it’s still there. Let’s try.”
“I thought you and Nash pretty much wrote each other off after Michael Gage attacked y’all at the cemetery?”
“I think we did, but maybe he’s still speaking to me.” I took out my cellphone and called Nash's number. It went to voicemail. I shrugged.
“You really know how to make an impression on a man.” Hannah flopped back in her chair.
My cellphone rang, and it was Nash. I shushed Hannah and answered. We said our hellos, and I got right down to business.
“Nash, I’m sorry about last night. It was stupid for me to take you to the cemetery. Is your shoulder okay?”
“I went to get a tetanus shot this morning like the EMT recommended. Hurt like a bitch.” He made it sound like they’d skinned his penis instead of just giving him a damn shot. “Did you go get yours?”
“I don’t need one.” I said the words without thinking and cringed. “I don’t want to keep you, so I’ll just go on and spit out the reason I called. Hannah and I were reminiscing about her father. You know he owned the Panther Theater way back when.”
“Yes, Hannah told me about that.”
“We hoped we could meet you at the theater and see if something Hannah remembers from her childhood is still there.”
Silence met my request.
“No big deal if you want to say no. This is all last minute.”
“Of course I’ll do it.” He laughed. “I’m at my apartment right now. Fifteen minutes?”
I agreed and ended the call.
NASH STOOD UNDER THE MARQUEE, spinning his keys around one finger. Hannah parked, and he hurried over to the passenger side, opened my door, and helped me out. He drew me into a soft hug.
“Uh…” I stood with my arms at my sides. After the way we left things last night, he wants to hug me? Give me a break.
“I am so sorry I flaked last night. Are you okay?” He pulled back enough to fix his gaze on me, brow furrowed in what looked like concern. When I stared into his eyes, searching for some hint where he was coming from, he dropped his gaze to the tattoo on my chest.
I itched to pull myself out of his embrace. Flaked out? Is that what he called going on silent mode and getting a ride home without even saying goodbye? I still didn’t fault his reaction, but I couldn’t deny the way it stung. The way Nash made me feel didn’t matter right now. Getting our hands on Adam’s drawing did. I could act like a grownup long enough for that.
“Today’s better.” I gently disentangled myself and forced a smile onto my face. “Are you okay?” I gestured to his shoulder, where he’d taken the blowgun dart.
“Other than feeling like a pincushion?” Nash stayed where he was, still too close for comfort. I took a step backward to put some distance between us. “First the antibiotic shot last night. Then the tetanus shot this morning. Not to mention the injury itself.”
“Please accept my apology for getting you into that.” I touched my lip, already swollen from Felicia’s lucky hit. “But remember what I told you about the Mace Treasure? That it’s not a game? Michael Gage is proof.”
“So this guy Gage…he’s really after you?” Nash folded his arms over his chest and glanced around as though Michael Gage might come skulking out of some dark corner with “Bad Guy” flashing in blue neon above him.
I was ready to end the interrogation and go inside to take care of business but realized this conversation was my admission into the Panther Theater. I can do this, even if it gives me a permanent case of the red ass. “Yeah. He’s out to get me.”
Instead of leading us inside, Nash stayed fixed to the sidewalk. “May I ask why?”
“Gage wanted the Mace Treasure. Thought he could force me to find it for him.” My fingers twitched in the direction of my cigarettes. I held back the urge. If I burned one, Nash would stand out here asking questions even longer. “So I bashed the son of a bitch’s head in with a glass ashtray. Got him arrested.”
“You ever wonder why he wanted the treasure?” Nash stared at my face. “What claim he thought he had on it?”
“Naw. Just figured he’s another greedy bastard. A murdering one too.” My voice tightened. “You know what? I ain’t sorry I beat him in the head. I’d do that shit again.” The words were out before I thought about not saying them.
Nash's face went slack.
“So about going inside. You really don’t mind?” Hannah pinned me with a glare as she spoke. She would probably lecture me again on saying inappropriate things on the way back to the museum. I didn’t care.
“Of course not.” Nash pulled his keys out of his pocket and led us to the front door. He unlocked it and held it open for us.
The smell of new paint and freshly sawed wood filled my head. My feet wouldn’t move. The Panther had sat empty and rotting for most of my childhood and all my adulthood. It held a large percentage of the few happy memories I had of my childhood years. I thought I would enjoy seeing it brought back to life. Instead, the smells of renovation instead awoke a fear of seeing a place I’d loved so much changed, the way I remembered it forever lost.
Hannah and I joined hands and entered the Panther together. We stopped in our tracks. The lobby had been stripped to the bare floors. Scaffolding stood against the wall, which sported a fresh coat of flat white paint. Nash hurried to stand next to me.
“The former owner—Hannah’s father—had the walls painted a dark maroon, common for the era.” Nash shot Hannah a quick smile. “The workmen had to apply three coats of primer to get it covered.”
“What’s the new color going to be?” Hannah craned her neck to stare the high ceilings.
“I chose a yellow paint for the lobby with gold foil trim. I’m also having gold tin ceiling tiles put in.” Nash led us past the spot where the concession bar had once been. “I’ve found a company that makes retro style concessions with all the modern fixtures.”
“This is going to be awesome.” I had no trouble seeing the potential. People came to Gaslight City to feel nostalgic for a time that never really existed. This theater would be like a fantasyland for them. “Tourists will love it, but I think you’ll get some locals in here too.”
“I’m hoping to have it ready for the Gaslight City tourist rush. I keep telling my workmen we’ve only got a few more weeks.” Nash turned a slow circle around the room.
“Even if it’s not ready for History and Heritage Week, it’s still busy up through the end of the year.” Hannah walked around the room as she spoke.
“I hope so. I’ve got plans to have theme nights. Maybe even a costume ball for New Year’s Eve.” He took us into the theater itself. It was completely bare. Hannah and I both gaped. Nash laughed at our shock. “I sent away the seating for reupholstering and refinishing. Should be back this week.”
I tuned out Nash's excited chatter, itching to get into Adam’s private office so we could see if his drawing was gone. “Hannah, why don’t you tell Nash why we came. I’m sure we’re keeping him away from something exciting.”
“Actually, you’re not.” He laughed and kicked at the floor.
Hannah gave Nash the smile that made her almost famous. “I spent a lot of time here when Mama and Daddy owned the Panther.”
“Mama and Daddy. Texas is great. Yeehaw!” Nash clapped his hands. “Yes. You told me on our first meeting.”
“I’m not sure if you know much about the building’s history, but the owner during prohibition allowed illegal hooch to be stored here.” Hannah poured on the drama.
“Fascinating,” Nash said. “I had no idea.”
“There’s a secret office behind the projection booth. My daddy used it when he wanted to hide from people.” She giggled way more girlishly than she needed to. “There was a framed poster of The Jazz Singer right behind the desk.”
“Let me guess.” Nash winked at me. I almost choked on all the smarm in the room. “You want to look in your Daddy’s old office to see if that picture’s still there.”
“Would you let me?” Hannah clasped her hands under her chin like she was praying and danced around. I watched the whole thing, puzzled. Did this really work on men? Maybe I needed to experiment with it. I tried to imagine me putting on a show like this for Wade and had to choke back laughter. Hannah and Nash both stopped talking to check on me. I forced myself to cough.
“Might be the new paint or the dust. Sorry.”
Nash clucked over me, actually patting my back, and Hannah led the way upstairs to the projection booth. She turned the wall-mounted light fixture just like I remembered, and the hidden door popped open.
“Well, I’ll be,” Nash said from behind us. “Mr. Longstreet didn’t show me this room when he sold me the theater.”
Hannah smiled and reached one hand inside and flipped the light switch. My mouth popped open, a yelp of surprise ready to come out and say hello, but I got it under control before Hannah or Nash saw my shock.
Four men, all wearing hats, sat around a small table, smoke from their cigarettes rising to the ceiling to pool around the single bulb hanging from the ceiling on a cord. Their lips moved, but I couldn’t hear their words. Closed boxes lined the room. An open box sat next to the table. Inside were bottles I associated with amber-colored liquor. One of the men glanced over at us, eyes widening, mouth dropping open. He saw me. I was sure of it. The surprised man raised one finger, pointed at me, and said something to his companions. They all turned to look, eyes widening with surprise, and then the men faded away.
With them gone, I saw Adam Kessler’s secret office for the first time in more than twenty years. Dim light came from the fixture underneath the dust-furred ceiling fan. The emerald green carpet I so admired as a child was the color of chalk dust. Hannah went in first, tiptoeing as though afraid of disturbing something. She turned to me, and I noticed tears brimmed in her eyes again.
“It’s like a time capsule.” Her voice warbled, and I figured actual crying wasn’t far behind.
“Except for the dust.” Nash stepped into the office, his nose wrinkled.
My gaze went straight for the spot where Adam’s desk once stood. The wall was so dusty, I couldn’t tell if the print was still there or not. Hannah crossed the tiny room, which had seemed so much bigger when I was a lonely kid. Using one hand, she swiped her palm over the wall. She stilled so completely I just knew it was gone, but she turned to me and nodded.
“It’s here.”
“Wait a minute,” Nash said. “The contractors left some rags downstairs. Let me go get them.”
I rushed to Hannah and we hugged, jumping up and down the way she liked to do. She released me and turned back to the wall. I thought I saw her shoulders shake with a few sobs.
Nash came back into the room and raised his eyebrows at me.
“We were just remembering.” Hannah wiped her cheeks and smiled. “We had so much fun up here.”
“Adam—Hannah’s father—was great,” I said. “My dad died when I was four. Adam treated me like part of the family.”
“He had candy in a jar on the desk.” Hannah smiled. “Remember?”
I nodded. “Adam would let us eat candy until we got sick.”
Satisfied Hannah wasn’t going to have a breakdown, Nash took the handful of rags to the wall and began wiping. Little by little the framed print of The Jazz Singer came into focus. He lifted the print off its hook and turned to us holding it.
“I’ll buy it from you,” Hannah said.
“You’ve shown me a fascinating part of the building’s history. I’d feel like a jerk if I asked you to pay me.” He pushed it into Hannah’s grasp. Her fingers closed on the frame. Nash turned to me. “But I don’t feel like a jerk asking if you’ll go on another date with me. Give me a third chance?”
The “no” hovered on the tip of my tongue but wouldn’t come out. Why couldn’t I just say it? He was better off staying as far as he could get from me. Last night was just a warm-up. Michael Gage would shit the bed as thoroughly as he could. My gaze found Nash's hands. His psychometry. That’s what stopped me from blowing him off completely. He’d never dump me for seeing ghosts. Hannah’s gaze darted over me and back to Nash.
“Of course she will.”
I stared at her, still unable to get my shit together.
“Peri Jean?” Nash smiled gave me a shaky smile. “You willing?”
“Sure.” I nodded to reinforce it even though I still wanted to tell him to run while he could.
“How about tonight? I can take you to Shreveport or Tyler if you don’t want to risk running into your ex again.” He barked a nervous laugh.
“I gotta work at Long Time Gone tonight until closing time. Tending bar.” My muscles relaxed a little. Good. Maybe he’d think better of it and cancel. Didn’t he remember all those graves I showed him?
“How about I pick you up at the bar, and we’ll go for an early breakfast?” Nash shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “There’s an all-night diner right outside town. What time does the bar close? Around two?”
I nodded again, words still stuck in my throat.
“All right. See you around one-thirty.”
Hannah and I got out of there while we were ahead of the game and raced back to the museum, eager to see if Adam’s drawing was still hidden behind the movie poster.
7
“I’m glad you accepted another date with Nash,” Hannah put the BMW in reverse and backed out of the parking spot. “The two of you could be great for each other.”
“The truth is, I probably should have told him no.” My body ached with fatigue. Tending bar all evening wouldn’t help. Burnout sent my brain on vacation, m
ade me do stupid stuff.
“No, you shouldn’t have.” Hannah faced me, mouth fixed into a stern line. “He’s six million times better than Corman Tolliver.”
Ugh. Corman was a perfect example of my kind of stupid. I didn’t want to talk about him, let alone think about him. “I don’t know. Nash has his moments.” I lowered my voice to imitate Nash's deeper tone. “Mama and Daddy? Only in Texas.”
“Okay. He’s clueless.” She waved one freckled hand at me. “But he has good qualities too. Did you see his butt in those jeans?”
“Yeehaw,” I hollered.
Hannah’s eyes widened, and she snorted. “You ought to be ashamed, Peri Jean Mace.”
We cackled. Hannah pulled into the parking lot of the museum. She popped the trunk, and I got the print while she unlocked the museum. We went straight to Hannah’s workroom on the first floor.
I stood next to Hannah at the worktable where she processed pieces for the museum. She turned the print glass side down on the table. I used my pocketknife to strip off the brown paper someone had pasted to the back of the frame.
“It’s just these staples holding the back on.” She fingered one. “I’ll get a screwdriver.” She dug around in the old-fashioned physician’s cabinet in the corner until she found a flathead. I held out my hand for it, but she elbowed me aside and began doing the work herself.
“So are you going to take some clothes to change into at Long Time Gone before Nash gets there?” She glanced at me through hooded eyes. “Maybe wash off your vamp eyes?”
I shrugged. I pretended to be someone I wasn’t for Dean and look where it got me. Dumped.
“You mad I answered for you when he asked you on another date?” She very slowly bent the staple, careful not to look at me. I itched to grab the screwdriver away from her and do the job myself.
“I don’t understand why you did it.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets to keep from getting into a fight with her over the screwdriver. She put it down and faced me. I wanted to scream at her to hurry the hell up. Discussing Nash was not at the top of my To Do list right then.
