How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead (9 page)

“I rue the day you dated that
Star Wars
geek.” There was a
Star Wars
analogy for
everything it turned out.

“I rue the day I got you that word
of the day calendar which makes you use words like ‘rue,’” Jenny
countered. “Now, go. Get out of here. I’ll put out fires, and you
can go start some up. You could use a little
excitement.”

*****

Shane watched a few people come and
go from the private collection room. In his ghostly state during
the day, his memory was sketchy at best. There was a girl in his
mind. She had curly, red hair. He needed to watch for her. He had
no idea why. People came and went every day, and he only paid the
barest amount of attention to most. She was different. He wanted
her to come here. Really, really wanted her to come. There was no
doubt in his mind that she hadn’t come through yet today. She was
special and more beautiful than any of the visitors to the C.
Franklin private collection. Franklin. There was something
important about that too. Hopefully, he’d remember after
sundown.

*****

Ana was flipping through the book on
hauntings, and it was useless. Utterly and completely useless.
There was no way this was describing a ghost like Shane. Stupid
book. She tossed it onto the stack. They were all useless. It was
like no one had spoken to a real ghost.

Real ghost?

Wow, what a difference a day
made.

“Can I help you?” one of the
librarians asked, stopping beside her. She gestured at the stack of
books. “Or have you found enough books?”

Okay. Maybe she’d gotten carried
away with yanking the books out. Carly, this librarian, was a real
witch, though. Ana could have two books beside her, and Carly
would’ve stopped by to complain about something. Carly with her
short, perfect hair that always looked straight from a salon, and
that waif-thin body that said, “I don’t exercise or diet…I’m just
this way.”

“No, I’m fine,” Ana said. “Wait,
actually, I’m looking for the history on a local man, Shane Blythe.
Where would I find that?”

Carly was a few years older than
her, and she added a patronizing air to every breath and her smiles
were all snide. Her smile right now said, oh, you, sweet
simple-minded fool, while her voice said, “He got to you too,
huh?”

Ana’s eyes widened. Shane haunted
everyone? Wait. Was the private collection room like his nightly
harem? She’d totally fell for a line! That was both insulting and
very, very strange. Still, she had some pride and besides she
really didn’t like Carly. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,”
Ana said, going back to glancing at the book. She cleared her
throat.

Carly sniffed, once, a nasty little
disgusted sound. They were two seconds from a cat fight over
nothing.

Ana clenched her teeth.
Must not
commit homicide. Must not commit homicide…yet
. In a few more
minutes, it would be justifiable. Carly was such a brat, and Ana
certainly wasn’t in the mood to deal with any more insufferable
people today.

Insufferable—troublesome;
intolerable; unendurable; see also Carly.

She’d been hoping Carly would leave
the whole time she’d been here today, but snipes like Carly sensed
and tried to thwart all plans for peace and happiness—to annoy you
more. It was working.

“The painting,” Carly said. The
“duh” was implied.

So, this conversation had turned
weird. One minute they’d been talking about Shane the hot ghost
with his made-for-sin body and his arrogant attitude that made you
want to slap him and drag him closer…and now Carly wanted to talk
about paintings? “What painting?”

Carly no longer looked snide, only
baffled. Then, her eyes narrowed as if she was staring straight
into Ana’s soul—right before she sucked Ana’s humanity out with a
horrible suctioning, squelching noise.

“That’s not how you know him?” she
asked Ana.

“Know who?”

Was Carly completely unable to speak
clearly? This coyness made her want to rip Carly’s arms off and
smack Carly upside the head with them. It wasn’t her fault Ana was
out of sorts; people were just being extraordinarily annoying
today. And Carly was Carly. They’d once worked together on a
fundraiser for the library. It was the longest two hours of Ana’s
life, and it ended with them both muttering obscenities under their
breaths. Ana had used her entire knowledge of profanity that
day…and she’d briefly dated a Marine—it was extensive.

Carly gestured for Ana to follow
her. They walked back into the private collection room which Ana
had been avoiding until dark. It felt pathetic to hang around when
Shane wasn’t here. In the corner of the room, amongst a dozen
landscapes portraying lame rural scenes, sat a full-size painting
of her ghost. In the portrait, he was standing in the C. Franklin
Collection room, staring into a book with a thoughtful frown on his
face. The painter had managed to capture a lot of his personality
in there. You could see the arrogance in his stance and the frown
that was charming and a bit of a pout. It was as if being painted
had pissed him off. You could tell he was a bad boy. A scoundrel.
Her hormones sat up at attention.

“How did I miss this?” Analise
asked.

Carly was back to looking snide.
“Beats me. We used to get teenage girls mooning over him in here so
we made this a room that needs approval.” The Franklin Collection
room housed all the rare books for the entire library as well as a
plethora of small printings of local books. There was a velvet rope
across the entrance with a sign that said “See front desk for
approval.”

“So, who was he?” Ana asked. The
hair on the back of her neck was prickling up as if someone was
watching her. Was he here?

Carly laughed—a stupid grating laugh
that sounded like a horse neighing. Was it wrong to smack someone
just for an annoying laugh? Of course, one didn’t need the
accompanying eye roll from Carly to know that she was laughing at
you—and never with you. “Your great, great grandfather’s business
partner.” Once again, the ‘duh’ was implied. How did people like
her make it to adolescence? If they ever were put on a committee
together again, Ana would have to renege or face a prison sentence,
and the feeling was obviously mutual. “He disappeared shortly after
this painting was completed and was never seen again.”

That shows what Carly knew. Ana had
certainly seen him since. Not only had she seen him, but she’d
gained some carnal knowledge of him. Hah. Take that, Carly. Still,
mentioning that might negate the approval she’d gotten to stay
another night after-hours in the collection room working on
“research.”

“That’s about all anyone knows but,
still, as he had a connection to your great, great grandfather,
you’d think you’d know that,” Carly said. “He was his partner after
all. Their business made your family rich.” She looked down her
nose at Ana. She had a really long nose to look down too. “I guess
maybe you don’t care where the money comes from as long as it keeps
coming?” There was that horsey laugh again. Gah. Ana had heard
rumors that her cousin Max dated Carly on and off, and how could he
stand it? That laugh! Ana was two seconds from braining her with a
nearby book.

But she didn’t. She took a deep
breath and focused on the painting in front of her.

Having disavowed being “rich” after
Keaton, Ana could shrug off Carly’s comments, literally and
figuratively. Whatever. Ana wanted to live without money for a
change. It’d never made her happy. In fact, finding out Keaton was
more attracted to her money than her, had set her self-esteem back
to junior high when she’d had braces and even less control on her
unruly hair than she did now. No one likes to know that given the
choice between a hundred thousand dollars and the person you’ve
professed to love…well, Keaton had taken the money and run. Ana
hadn’t touched a penny of her family’s money in over a year. And
she was doing great. She was earning her own place in the world,
and it felt like a hundred thousand bucks.

“It must be nice having money,”
Carly said.

Ana shrugged again, just to be
annoying. It worked.

With a growl of irritation, Carly
stalked off muttering about restocking all the books thoughtless
people yanked out.

Finally. After she’d left and Ana
had looked around to ascertain she was the only one there, Ana
whispered to the painting, “Shane?” She swore she could feel a
presence. She might be crazy. Hell, she might be certifiable. After
all, she was talking to a ghost—or hoping to anyway. Her skin
shivered with what felt like a caress, but maybe that was her
imagination.

*****

Shane jumped at her voice, though he
could do nothing. Well, nothing that wouldn’t scare her. He could
make the air colder and sometimes blow things around. If he really
concentrated, he could make the air around him freeze long enough
that someone saw a vapory form, but that seemed mean. Shane
normally reserved that for the librarian who had just left the
room. He didn’t dislike many people during the day, but he didn’t
like her. Not at all. That other woman. Carrie? Catty? No, that was
what he called her in his head.

“Shane?” the redhead whispered
again. Then, she smiled at the painting—not realizing he was
watching from a few feet away beside her.

She talked to paintings—that was
funny. Maybe she only talked to paintings of living things, though.
There were sheep in the painting next to him. It would be funny if
she walked up to the painting and said, “Sheep!” Yeah, that would
be funny.

The pretty redhead was the one he’d
been watching for all day. She was the one. He had no idea what
that meant, but she was the one. She’d come with that other woman,
the catty librarian, who used to take her lunch breaks in front of
his painting. Just having the pretty redhead here made him feel
better. It felt as if he almost had form. That was nice. Hopefully
she’d stay around longer. His nighttime self wanted to see her. His
nighttime self would know why too.

Shane looked at the painting of the
sheep.
Sheep
. It was even funny when he did it. His
nighttime self wouldn’t find it as funny. His nighttime self was
boring and stuffy.

Sheep!

Then, he looked at his painting and
thought
Shane!
but it wasn’t as funny—not really.

*****

It was as if Ana could feel him
nearby, but he couldn’t communicate. Clearly that whole sundown
thing was a hard and fast rule as it seemed. Still, it felt strange
to walk off after calling his name without letting him know that
she wasn’t brushing him off.

“I’m going to go find out more about
you,” Ana whispered.

The private collection was primarily
about the city’s history and books by notable authors who’d lived
there. There were older books that had come from her family’s
personal collection also, but the bulk of the books were about
Seaside’s population of eighty thousand that her great, great
grandfather had been a founding member of. History—it had a lot of
history in it. Some of the country. Some of the county. A lot of
the city of Seaside. As Shane had also been a part of the original
town’s ancestors—there should be something in one of these books
about him.

Since she didn’t want Carly back in
there following her, Analise was more careful about which books she
pulled out. There was no more of the quick flipping through she’d
been doing with the books on ghosts. The town’s history was
colorful and seemed thorough—with one exception. Besides the
painting, it was as if Shane had never existed. Even accounts of
her great, great grandfather’s business and its overnight success
didn’t include more than a mention of Shane. She was only able to
find where Charles Franklin had insisted he be declared legally
dead after a decade of being missing. So ended the sad short
history of the man haunting her. How had he disappeared for so long
without anyone searching for him? His family had died in a cholera
outbreak when he’d have been a teenager, but did he have no one
else?

It made her chest ache. Maybe that
was why he’d acted so arrogant. When you were on your own, you put
up a good front…or façade. Ana would use the word façade, but Jenny
would punch her for it. That word of the day calendar
was…insidious.

Insidious—sinister; devious;
stealthy.

Insidious was last Tuesday’s word.
Everything had smacked of insidiousness ever since then.

She shook her head to clear
it.

Right. Shane. Her ghost.

Someone must have cared that Shane
had disappeared. There was no way the man she’d met could have
little to no impact on those around him. Even his painting had a
following. If the women of Seaside hadn’t noticed he’d gone
missing, they all deserved to be dead because, really, he was a
guard-your-daughters type of sin on legs.

No. People must have noticed. In
fact, she was beginning to suspect his history had been
purposefully left out. It was the only explanation. When she found
a few books with missing pages, she was sure of it. Hmm. A missing
business partner. Missing history. Missing pages. There certainly
was no shortage of mystery revolving around Shane.