If Onions Could Spring Leeks by Paige Shelton

stop.”
    â€œThe town’s layout changed when passenger train travel stopped being so popular. At the time, no one knew that the town would become what it has become, and trains don’t travel through here anymore. It might someday be a good idea to re-create all that, though probably not at the end of your street. We’d need a new location.” Jake pulled the first few pictures off the pile. “Here, look at these.”
    The pictures were all black and white, or perhaps sepiawould be a better description. The building in the first one was definitely the one I’d seen during Robert’s visit.
    â€œThat’s it, the Broken Rope station. I think this was all red,” I said as I pointed to the darker tones.
    â€œReally? Oh, that’s great to know. What else do you remember?”
    â€œThe shutters were white. Not off-white, but bright white. The building that I visited was clean, almost as if it was brand new.”
    â€œWhat year was it?”
    â€œI can tell you the exact day Grace thought it was. August 16, 1888.”
    â€œGood to know.” Jake wrote the date on a piece of scratch paper.
    â€œSomething’s different, though.” I inspected one of the pictures.
    â€œWhat?” Jake inspected it, too.
    â€œI’m not sure. It’s like it’s
almost
the building, but it’s a little off.”
    â€œCould that just be you? Your memory or the fact that it was part of a ghost visit?”
    â€œProbably,” I said. “No, this is the one. Must be. It’s too close not to be.”
    â€œAll right. Take a look at these. One of them might be the other station.”
    Jake pulled out three more pictures, one at a time. “This one is from Vicksburg, Mississippi. I don’t know if she was from anywhere near Vicksburg, but it’s the only Mississippi station picture I’ve found so far.” He pointed to the next one. “This one is from Little Rock; she would have gone throughthere to get to Broken Rope from Mississippi. And, this one is from Frankland, Missouri, right down the road from us—well, by a couple hours; she might have gone through there, too. These are the only pictures I’ve been able to find so far, but I’m still working on it.”
    The three stations were all very different. The Vicksburg station was impressive, wider than the Broken Rope station, two stories with a round balcony coming out from the middle of the top floor.
    â€œNot this one,” I said as I pointed at the Vicksburg station. “It’s beautiful.”
    The Little Rock station was also impressive. It wasn’t wide, but it stood two stories tall with a long platform and what looked like loading docks extending backwards away from the main building.
    â€œNo, this isn’t it.” I pointed at the Little Rock picture.
    The Frankland station might have been the one, but it was difficult to tell from the picture. It was a side view with the building barely visible. I could see it was one story and fairly simple, but not much more than that.
    â€œI don’t know, Jake, this might be it. It’s the closest of these three, that’s for sure, but I just don’t know. Any other angles?”
    â€œNot yet, but I’ll keep looking. That’s interesting to note, though,” Jake said. “If this is the station and if Grace was killed here, that means she might not have made it to Broken Rope. On her route, Frankland would have been before Broken Rope.”
    I picked up the picture and looked even closer. Finally, I shrugged.
    â€œI just can’t be sure. I should have paid better attention to the buildings. Sorry.”
    â€œI can keep looking. I’ll find some more shots of the Frankland station.”
    â€œThank you.”
    The air in the room suddenly changed, and became scented—to me at least.
    â€œUh-oh, I think we have a visitor,” I said as I looked around for Grace. Her