Page 71 of Your Every Wish
“Okay, what do we do now?” I hear myself ask, realizing just how crazy this is. I’ve officially lost my mind.
“Find the golf bag,” Misty says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“I doubt we’ll be able to get back into Willy’s house again.” For all I know it’s already been auctioned off and the new owners are preparing to move in.
“Look, I can lead you to where you need to go but how you get there is your problem.”
On our walk home, Emma says, “I don’t think you should abandon the idea of applying for a loan. This thing with Misty is fun and all but it’s—”
“Ridiculous. Absolutely insane.”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “It’s not that I don’t believe her. She definitely has some kind of sight or telepathy, or clairvoyance . . . I mean, we’ve seen it with our own eyes, the way she can read our minds. But the idea that she’s going to find a fortune that probably doesn’t exist is more than a little far-fetched.”
“I know. What about Dex? You think she can work her magic there?”
“I doubt it. But it’s worth a try. Even if she can’t, at least I’m back where I started. You, on the other hand, have a deadline.”
I let out a long sigh. “Do you think Mr. Townsend can get us back into Willy’s house one more time?”
* * *
“Don’t you have at least one credit card that isn’t maxed out? Or one that has enough of a balance that I can add it to mine?” I ask Madge in a fit of desperation after our trip to Misty’s.
“Honey, if I did, I would’ve volunteered it from the start. And if Max didn’t have this deal pending and didn’t have to worry about his books looking clean, he’d give you the money without hesitation. Now tell me about Willy’s house. Surely there was something there that you could sell or hock. The man could buy and sell Dubai. Was it incredible?” Madge yawns, reminding me that it’s nearly midnight.
“Not really. The location, yes. Ocean views from every room. But the house was nothing to write home about, just a box really.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Willy I knew,” she says. “He always liked a little flash. He grew up poor, you know? That’s why money was so important to him.”
I’m not in the mood to hear another Willy Keil story. Or about Max’s nonexistent deal—the one that’s been “in the works” for three years now. Or how my mother can’t manage to scrounge up the money she stole in the first place. I’m not in the mood to hear how this is all on me.
“It’s late, Mom, I should turn in.”
“Busy day tomorrow, hon?”
“Yeah, busy day.”
“You know you could always sell that trailer park. What do you need it for anyway? I bet it’s worth a pretty penny. You can’t even buy a barn in California for less than a couple of million. Imagine what all that land is worth. We could buy a place here, you, me and Max.”
“Good night, Mom.”
“Good night, baby. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I click off, roll over on my side, and stare at the paneled walls. The rain is coming down in sheets, making a tinny sound on the roof. I pull the blanket over my head and burrow in. It’s surprisingly homey here in the trailer in a way my Vegas apartment never was. Then again it was just a place to lay my head while I spent most of my days and nights at Caesars so I could be at my clients’ beck and call.
I check the digital clock (another leftover from Ginger) on the bedside table. It’s now past two and my mind is working too hard to fall asleep. Oddly enough, it’s not filled with Brock Sterling or nutty Misty and her three wishes. I’m wound up over Bent McCourtney and his twenty-thousand-dollar offer. Twenty thousand, my ass. Either he was intentionally trying to insult me, or he thinks I’m as stupid as one of his cows.
“Looks like you screwed yourself, dickhead,” I say aloud. If he ever had hopes of restoring the property to his family’s name, he can forget it now.
I must nod off sometime in the wee hours of the morning because when I wake up the next day the sun is streaming in, and my clock says it’s after ten. Late for me, an early riser. I swing my legs over the bed and pad barefoot to the window (God only knows what’s living in this carpet). It’s clear outside, not a cloud in the sky.
I can either go for a run or talk Emma into going out for breakfast.
The water is only lukewarm in the shower. The hot water heater is probably on its last legs. Hopefully, Emma can sweet-talk Liam into taking a look. He seems to like her.
I dress quickly, pull on a pair of boots, and go in search of Emma only to find her sitting at the kitchen table, typing away on her laptop.
“Did you eat already?”
