Page 84 of Your Every Wish
“Otherwise, it’ll be impossible, the proverbial needle in a haystack,” I say. Willy never lived here, so it’s not like there’s a trailer or a yard to search. It could be anywhere.
Even in death, Willy was wily.
* * *
For the next three days, we try to crack Willy’s code. Both Liam and I scour the internet, researching every possible avenue: sports betting odds, horse races, baseball player jerseys, football player jerseys, golf statistics, Willy’s favorite roulette numbers, anything that has a number in it and has to do with gambling. While I don’t see how that’s going to tell us where the golf bag is buried, Liam assures me that we’re merely looking for a hidden message disguised as something else. We even try an online code cracker, which turns up nothing. I feel like a kid playing a video game.
Kennedy doesn’t have the patience for deciphering codes and wants to call in excavators to dig up the entire park. That’s obviously not going to happen. I’m still not sold that the numbers mean anything having to do with where the golf bag has been hidden or if there’s a golf bag at all. For all we know, Willy was working on a new algorithm for cards, craps, sports betting. The paper was stuffed inside a book about gambling, after all. The question comes down to: If he was simply perfecting his gambling strategy, why did he hide it in the wall? Unless he was onto something so extraordinary he wanted to hide it from the public, which doesn’t make a lick of sense. But none of it does, really.
Except for Misty.
Originally, I took everything she said with a grain of salt. But the fact that Dex is now calling me ten times a day, wanting to be with me all the time, can’t be a coincidence. No, I chalk up his heightened interest in me to Misty. It’s as if she slipped him an aphrodisiac because all of a sudden, he can’t get enough of me.
If it wasn’t for the stress of finding Willy’s money in time to pay off Kennedy’s debt (Madge’s debt, really), I would be deliriously happy. But here we are. No money, no answers, and no way to crack the code.
“I’m running out of ideas.” Liam sets our two coffees on the table. He’s managed to clear enough space for us to have room.
“How did you learn how to fix all this stuff?” I eye a hair dryer that’s been pushed to the other side of the table and wonder what’s wrong with it. It looks almost new.
“My dad. He was an electrician by trade and to bring in extra cash he would fix all the neighbors’ stuff—lamps, toasters, fans, pretty much anything anyone brought him. Word spread and he had more work than he could handle, so I helped him after school. I worked my way through college doing the same thing.”
“But you do all this for free.” Besides replacing our broken window and checking our heater gratis, I know for a fact that Liam offers his skills to anyone at Cedar Pines who asks and never charges a dime. “What do you do for work? For money? Not to pry but are you independently wealthy?”
He laughs and for the first time I notice he has a slight dimple in his right cheek. It kills me, that dimple.
“Independently wealthy? Right. Let’s just say I’m between projects and leave it at that, okay?” All his previous humor is gone and in the nicest way possible he’s made it abundantly clear that I’ve breached a closed door and he doesn’t appreciate it, which only fuels my curiosity more.
I mean, you can’t get much more intimate than burglarizing a house together. What’s wrong with wanting to know what my partner in crime does from nine to five? After all, I’ve given him my entire 411, including how my late father was a deadbeat dad, a professional gambler, and a felon. And how my half sister is accused of stealing thirty thousand dollars from her client. In comparison, Liam’s choice of careers—or lack of one—seems like small potatoes.
“I think we should talk to Azriel.” Liam takes a long drink of his coffee.
“Come on, you don’t really believe he’s former Mossad, do you?” I’d met him coming out of the men’s locker room last week, dragging a piece of toilet paper stuck to his shower clog. In his lovely accent, he’d said hello and then promptly tripped over his own two feet. If I hadn’t caught hold of his arm, he would’ve fallen on his face.
“Yep, I do.”
“Really? I guess it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him. Then again, if there’s as much money in that golf bag as Misty has led us to believe, is it smart to spread the word?”
“We don’t have to tell him what we’re looking for, only that we’re trying to crack the code. He might have an idea what kind of cipher it is.”
“I’m game but I should probably talk to Kennedy about it first.”
He slides his cell phone to me and resumes drinking his coffee. I dig my own phone from the bottom of my purse and hit automatic dial. No answer, so I leave a message that we’re going over to Azriel’s to pump him for information. “Don’t worry, I won’t give anything away about the money.”
“Should we call him first or just drop in?” I ask Liam after disconnecting from Kennedy’s voicemail.
“Drop in.”
I get the impression that Liam and Azriel are fairly well acquainted. Friends even.
Liam goes to the kitchen and holds up the coffee pot. “You want a topper before we go?”
“I’m good.”
He pours the rest of the coffee into the sink and turns off the machine. “Let’s go, then.”
Azriel’s trailer is in a shady grove of pine trees not far from the pool. It’s a gorgeous spot. Private and lushly green, like his own little forest. His mobile home, an older model doublewide, has seen better days, though. The siding is starting to rust, and his tiny porch is hanging by a thread. The inside isn’t much better and smells like Bengay.
He invites us to make ourselves at home on his recliner couch, which has a compartment for cold drinks and cup holders. Very convenient.
