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A Missing Girl in a Town of Missing People

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Jack St. James, private eye, is looking for a girl missing in a small town in the desert. But missing people seem to be a dime a dozen here as she deals with her own mysterious past. Jack is in the middle of a town-wide mystery, and if she's lucky, she can keep her face off the sides of milk cartons.
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And I saw her photo in the library on the wall. Okay, let's get you set up. Mhm. Mhm, mm. Mhm. Mhm. Yeah. 15 years ago you said fourth of july. Here's 2002. Let's see. It's a shot of a crowd. A bunch of people on the front page. I know the photo you're talking about. I'm the one that took it. You did. Have you worked here forever, essentially. Pops passed it on to me when he retired and my grand pop's before did the same and so on. We're in no hurry to force my stepson to work here. So after me, who knows? He plays tennis and he's good at it. Yeah. Here we are, july 4th 2002. That is. That's it. You really took this. Sure did wrote that headline to fourth of july parade sets records. Artemisia smith baked a record breaking number of peach pies that year two. And there was that very strange incident with the snakes. They said that was because of the cold and the ghosts. Ghosts superstitious nonsense. You live in the right place. What makes you say that the name of the town? People say that they saw the shadows of everyone who had died in the last year. Walk through the town square at midnight and I say Artemisia smith put something in the pies. She is a witch after all. I would have loved to have photographed that. The dead walking among us on the longest day of the year. That's the solstice. Not the fourth of july. You weren't even here, dear, You've moved away, but you were. Did you see anything? No, sorry. Of course, he didn't feel free to ignore him. Duncan collects gossip in weird tales. Like it's his job, which it isn't his job is to edit the sports column this afternoon. I have a nose for news. I love ghosts and I dislike tennis so I respect my son's decision to be good at it. Ghosts. Uh huh. Do you have the original of this photo? But I do. I'll have to search what I'm looking for. It's in the background there. That woman with the dark hair. It's hard to tell. Let me see what I can dig up. The quality of a photograph printed in a newspaper over a decade ago isn't great greenie, black and white pixels. It looked like her, but maybe I just wanted it to look like her. It looked like a blob of black ink in the shape of someone I knew once was I looking at the photograph of a ghost. It felt a little weird to keep looking through the old papers without Ben in the room. But I did anyway, I felt desperate hunting for proof. Of course I forgot I wasn't alone. Oh, look there. That's a great photo of the malay girls. What do you know such a shame about Katie? I hope she's all right. The photo in question show, jennifer malay, age 16, smiling, holding some kind of high school science project. Her sister stood in front clutching part of a hand constructed windmill with a huge grin on her face. Jenny's hand was on her sister's shoulder. You can tell that they love each other. It's all over their faces. What can I say? I'm a sucker. I feel obligated to point out that I don't really believe the Dead Walk the Earth on july 4th 2002. It's a great story, isn't it? But nothing more than that. You think I'm buying into that bullshit. You looked a little spooked is all I'm fine. You're not the first person in the world to tell a ghost story. Certainly not. Superstition has its fair share, though. It's part of the allure. Ben said you moved away for a while. I went away to college. I worked at a paper in Fort Worth than Dallas than Saint paul. I got married, got divorced, moved back. Why the hell did you do that? Because people here believe the dead walked the earth 15 years ago. Oh, they don't. If you ask them out, right? Not most of them, but you can hunt around for the ride. Witness. That should be a reason to get the hell out. Not for me. This town is filled with history, Jack.