Page 41 of Your Every Wish
I give her credit. She’s good. I return to my original theory. She saw Dex drop Emma off and made an astute observation about what a dumbass he is (and not because he won’t lend me the money to pay off Mr. Sterling). I can hear them on the phone at night, at least Emma’s half of the conversation, and she’s always apologizing.“Sorry I called you when you’re tired, Dex.” “Sorry I’m making you feel pressured. It’s just that I had hoped we could see each other this weekend.” “Sorry I’m breathing too loud, Dex. ” “Sorry, I’m just a mere mortal and not a god like you, Dex.”Ugh, it’s enough to make me vomit.
As far as Misty knowing that I’m running from the law, that detective may be calling people in the park to track me down. For all I know there’s a wanted poster on the internet.
Or perhaps she does have some psychic powers. Doesn’t everyone to some extent? The guy who cancels his flight because he has a bad feeling in his gut and the plane crashes. The mom who has a sixth sense that her child is in trouble. The person who intuits the phone is going to ring before it actually rings.
It doesn’t mean Misty’s a witch.
“Are you sure you don’t have any idea where the suitcase is?”
“Why do you want to find it so badly?” she says, dodging the question altogether.
“Because it was my father’s.” Two can play this game.
She hitches her brows as if she doesn’t believe me, as if she knows the real reason.
This is obviously going nowhere. And as good as Misty’s hospitality is, I’m exhausted going round in circles with her. I’m exhausted in general.
I drain the rest of my wine, which frankly is too sweet and should be reserved for hot summer days.
“I’ll get out of your hair now.” I take my wineglass to the kitchen and wash it out in the sink.
I pack up to go and am out the door when Misty says, “Come back any time. And, Kennedy, it’s not a suitcase.”
* * *
Emma’s mother, Diana, and Diana’s boyfriend, Sam, have a cute house. It’s compact but homey with white slipcover furniture that reminds me of a Florida beach house I once stayed in with Lorelie. Her whale, a wealthy plastic surgeon from Fort Lauderdale, let us have the run of the place after he won half a million dollars at craps.
This cottage may not be as fancy, and the entire space could fit into the Florida house’s living room, but it’s charming just the same. It’s filled with family pictures of Diana and Emma in all stages of life, and a lot of Sam, too.
From the front arched window, I can see a peekaboo view of the Golden Gate Bridge. From the stainless-steel appliances and the shiny quartz countertops, the galley kitchen appears to be recently remodeled. While small, it exudes a certain kind of elegance. The home has only one bathroom, but Diana appears to have made the best of it, papering the walls in a bold, cheerful pattern.
Sam gives me a tour of his garden, which is off the hook. He’s managed to turn a good-sized yard into an urban paradise. A riot of colorful flowers lines a trail of walking stones. Sam ticks off the names of the different varieties of lavender and leonotis. In a sunny corner of the lot are rows of carrots, broccoli, and Brussels sprouts in wooden raised beds.
He leads Emma and me to a flagstone patio with wrought iron table and chairs. “I thought we could talk out here.”
I’m relieved to be outside of earshot of Diana. While she’s been perfectly cordial, I can sense that she doesn’t like me. Why would she? I’m the child of the woman who broke up her marriage, though I suspect a man like Willy Keil strayed long before Madge rocked his world. My mother had only been a short-lived infatuation, anyway. By the time she was six months pregnant with me, he’d moved on to someone else.
Still, Diana probably can’t help but blame her. I don’t need her to hear that in addition to Madge being a homewrecker, she’s a thief. Thank goodness Sam is bound by attorney-client privilege and can’t tell her.
“Hey, Em, how ’bout you take a walk, kiddo,” Sam says.
Emma catches my eye and silently asks if I’ll be okay on my own. I bob my head. In only an hour, Sam has won my trust. He’s warm with kind brown eyes and a demeanor that says he’s seen a lot in his days. I gauge he’s somewhere in his sixties. Unlike Max, he still has a head full of hair and is fit from either working in his garden or exercise. Also unlike Max, he can carry on a conversation without making himself the star attraction.
“Before we start, I want you to understand that I’m not licensed to practice in Nevada,” Sam says when we’re alone. “If a case is brought against you, you’ll have to retain someone who is licensed there.”
“But for nowareyou my attorney?”
He nods. “As a favor to Emma, I’m going to help you through this the best I can. But Kennedy, this is serious business. Grand larceny is a felony. I believe the best way to move forward is for us to contact that detective who’s been trying to reach you and let him know where you are and why, including that you’re in the process of settling your late father’s estate. We don’t want the police to draw the conclusion that you’re running because they’ll use that as a sign of guilt if this ever goes to trial. Do you have a clean record?”
I flinch. “Yes . . . Oh my God, I don’t even have so much as a traffic ticket. I could never work as a casino host if I had a criminal record.”
“Good. That will help you. Do you have the money?” He holds up his hand. “This is a yes or no question.”
“ No. ”
“Can you get it?”
“I’m working on it.”
