Page 26 of Your Every Wish
“Nah, not really. Though she says a couple of different police departments have hired her in the past to help find missing people.” He shrugs. “Don’t know if she had any luck.”
Doubtful. If she truly believes I’m going to stay here, her witching skills are piss poor. I get to my feet. “I’ve got to motor, Harry. Nice chatting with you.”
“You too. Don’t be a stranger.”
I continue my walk, retaking the trail, converting the possibilities of Cedar Pines into dollar signs. Tomorrow, I’ll go to town and talk to a few real estate agents and get a lay of the market. What Emma doesn’t know won’t hurt her. It’s research, that’s all. Besides, a few weeks here in boring old Ghost without lover boy Dex and she’ll be climbing the walls to sell.
I’m getting closer to the creek when I bump into the woman who ratted us out as the new owners on the first day we were here. She’s still in a robe and slippers, though the hot curlers are gone. Her head is covered with a knitted beanie and she’s walking her cat on some kind of harness. Haven’t seen that one before.
“You planning to get the pool fixed soon?” are the first words out of her mouth. “I’d like to get back to doing my laps.”
Laps? It’s in the midfifties and that’s in the sun. Even if the pool is heated, you have to get out at some point.
“We’re working on it,” I say, figuring it’s easier that way.
“Well, how about the locker rooms and the toilets?”
“It’s all on our list.” I tap my watch. “I’ve gotta jet.”
“Oh, okay. My name is Rondi, by the way.”
“Kennedy,” I say as I brush past her like I’m on my way to an important meeting.
“Arrivederci, Kennedy.”
“Arrivederci.”
“And this is Snow White.” She holds up her cat, which is jet black (go figure), and waves goodbye to me with one of its paws.
I make it as far as the bocce ball courts before planting my ass on the stone wall to take a breather. This place is starting to make the Vegas Strip look normal. And let me tell you, there ain’t nothing normal about the Vegas Strip. Between drunken tourists and screaming hucksters there’s never a dull moment. But Cedar Pines Estates . . . well, it’s its own kind of crazy.
Five ladies power-walk past me. One of them waves like we’re old friends. I can hear them discussing the annual Halloween party, talking about what they’re planning to bring to the potluck. It’s more than four weeks away to Halloween but clearly the party is their big event of the year. The Met Gala of Cedar Pines.
“You’re sitting on my wall.”
I whip around to see a tall man in a cowboy hat standing less than five feet behind me, his arms akimbo, like he owns the world. “Jeez, don’t sneak up on me like that. And you’re wrong, this is my wall!” For the first time, I’m willing to lay claim to this terrible place if it means cutting this presumptuous jerk down to size.
“Oh, do you now? Then perhaps you can clean up the goddamn place.”
I squint at him. The sun is shining right in my eye, making it hard to stare him down. “You do realize I can evict you if I want to?” I doubt the truth of that statement. I’ll have to search through the books to see if he’s paid his lot rent. Even then, I’ll probably have to go through a whole legal rigmarole to start the process. I don’t know much about California law, but in Nevada it’s pretty dang hard to evict someone. Thank goodness. Otherwise, Madge and I would’ve been living in a van down by the river for most of my childhood.
“Evict me?” He laughs. “Yeah, good luck with that. Now scoot your butt off my wall.”
That’s when I catch another glimpse of the house that I noticed the first time we were here, the one that’s perched above the trailer park and looks strangely out of place nestled in a thicket of pine trees with miles of green pastureland for its backyard. It’s one of those concrete-and-glass houses that you see all over the ritzy neighborhoods in Vegas. The kind with infinity-edge swimming pools and fake grass.
Well, shit. He must be the guy who owns that. And this probably really is his rock wall, given that it’s the only thing in Cedar Pines that isn’t crumbling.
“Since your rock wall is partially on my property, I’ll keep my butt right here.”
“It’s not on your property. It’s two feet in, which means you’re trespassing.”
“Oh for God’s sake.” I get to my feet and take a step closer to the wall to let him know I’m not cowed by him. “Has anyone ever told you how rude you are? I wasn’t hurting your stupid wall. And what’s the point of antagonizing your neighbor? You must be a lonely, sad, bitter man.”
He grins and his whole craggy face changes. And for a second—maybe it’s more than a second, who can keep track of time?—I can feel my knees buckle. The only thing holding me up is the rock wall, the one I’m now holding onto to keep upright.
“This bitter, lonely man has to get back to work now.” He tips his hat. “Nice meeting you. And keep your butt off my rock wall.” And with that he saunters away.
Okay? What just happened there? Was he just messing with me or is the man legitimately schizophrenic?
