Page 98 of Your Every Wish
I shrug into my denim jacket and on second thought, take it off, and put on my wool coat, then change out of my slippers into a pair of tennis shoes. Something Madge said is niggling at the back of my mind.
I trudge across the driveway and hike over to Misty’s, trying to avoid a succession of mud puddles on the way. Like always, she opens the door before I can even knock.
“I was expecting you,” she says and ushers me inside.
“Why? Because you’re psychic?”
“No, because you’re a pain in the ass. Have a seat and I’ll make tea. Or would you rather wine?”
“It’s not even eleven.”
“Tea it is.” She disappears inside the kitchen.
“Did you hear that Dex wants Emma to move in with him?” I call.
“No, but it was only a matter of time.” She returns a few moments later with a biscotti in her mouth, holding more cookies on one of her dainty blue-and-white china plates, which she places in front of me.
“Why, because you made it happen?”
She hitches her shoulders as if to sayMaybe. I roll my eyes.
“You do realize it’s never going to work, don’t you?” It’s not a very nice thing to say, but it’s the truth. Emma is too good for the dumbass.
Misty wipes some crumbs off her sweater and gives another hitch of her shoulders. “The odds are not good on her end. As for Dex, he’ll love her until the end of time. That’s the way this works. But that’s what she wanted.”
“That’s what she thinks she wants. Hopefully she’ll come to her senses.”
“From here on in, I’m out of it,” Misty says.
Her kettle whistles and she rushes off to the kitchen, returning soon after with a tray laden with tea accoutrements. She pours us each a cup and sags into an easy chair. “I suppose you came to discuss the golf bag.”
“Something my mother said.” Hell, it was something I said time and time again. “Why would Willy Keil, a gambling genius, an investor extraordinaire, a man about to be indicted on insider trading, buy a piece-of-crap trailer park in the middle of nowhere?” I look at Misty sheepishly. “Sorry, no offense.”
“No offense taken.”
“Seriously, though. He had to have had a reason. And the only one I can think of is it’s a good hiding place. Even if the FBI eventually found out about Cedar Pines or any money Willy was trying to hide from them or the IRS or God knows who else, they’d have no clue where to look here. When you think about it, it’s a brilliant move, positively well played. So Willy.”
“I thought you barely knew the man.”
“I didn’t know him at all. Only the stories. And this fits Willy, the legend, to aT. We’ve got to find the golf bag, Misty. It’s here somewhere, I can feel it in my bones.”
I dig through my purse for the notebook with the puzzle, Willy’s puzzle, and flip through the pages until I find it.
“ ‘In the shade of towering pines, a cedar stands tall, its presence defines. Beneath the dry stacks, where courts reside, my gift to my neglected daughters is tucked inside. From the green to the grave, I’m making up for lost time, assisting your swing and guiding your stride. Tucked away with care, in a bag that’s always there. Providing funds for the game, my presence, you can’t disclaim.’ ”
Misty glances at the lined white paper and yawns. “Talk to Azriel. Perhaps he can figure it out.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” I wave my hand at the riddle. “Use your powers.”
She sips her tea and shakes her head. “How many times do I have to tell you it doesn’t work that way?”
“We had a deal, Misty. You find the bag and we don’t sell Cedar Pines. It’s time for you to hold up your end of the bargain.” It’s my desperation talking. But, still, a little nudge never hurts.
She takes another gander at the riddle, scanning it quickly. “My ‘powers’ ”—she makes air quotes around “powers”—“don’t include solving puzzles. I’m sorry, Kennedy, this is not my area of expertise.”
“Well, then seesomething.”
She lets out a long, aggrieved sigh. “I don’t have visions on demand. Really, if I saw something or felt something, I would tell you. I swear.”
