Page 62 of Your Every Wish
“It just seems so pitiful, so lonely.”
I shake my head. “Why are you wasting any sentiment for a man who didn’t so much as give you the time of day? He was your father, for God’s sake, and he abandoned you. He abandoned us. I’m calling Misty.”
“What for?” Emma sniffles.
“To see if we missed anything. To see if she can pinpoint what the key goes to.”
“Would you stop with the key already? It’s obvious Willy saved stuff. The newspaper articles, the poker chips, the pictures. He liked mementos. The key is probably a souvenir from something. A trinket he won in a poker game. Or maybe it was the key to his high school locker. My point is you’re putting way too much stock in it.”
She’s probably right but my gut is telling me that it’s significant. The answer to a question we don’t even realize yet. There’s a reason Misty, the so-called soothsayer, deemed it important enough to mention.
“I’m calling her anyway.”
“Suit yourself,” Emma says. “But hurry up. I’m starved and this place is starting to depress me.”
In the kitchen, I find my phone and dial her number. She answers before it even rings. “Did you foretell me calling?”
“Who is this?”
I can’t tell if she’s joking. “It’s Kennedy. I’m with Emma and we’re at Willy’s house. We’re hunting for whatever the key goes to. Do you have a better idea now of what we should be looking for?”
A long silence ensues.
“Misty?”
“Give me a minute.” There’s a long pause and she finally says, “There’s nothing there. The men in jackets took it all away. ”
“The FBI?”
“One of those agencies. But nothing involving the key.”
“Is there anything left that we should search for?”
“Like what?” she asks.
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
“Well, you’ll have to be more concrete, dear.”
Whatever. She is clearly in a mood. “Okay. Thanks.” For nothing. I start to hang up.
“Wait,” she says. “Did you find the golf bag?”
My pulse picks up. “Not yet.” Unless it’s stashed in a nook or cranny that we haven’t searched yet, it isn’t here. “Do you have any idea where it might be?”
“In the stacks. Look there. I’m late for a meeting. The Halloween potluck is only a few weeks away and we don’t have the music lined up yet. Gotta go.”
She clicks off before I can ask her to explain. The stacks? What in hell’s tarnation is that?
Emma
“You should’ve let me look more,” Kennedy says on the ride home.
“We have more than an eight-hour drive. As it is we left too late and will be making most of it in the dark.”
“So, I’ll be the one behind the wheel.”
This time, I volunteered for the first leg of the trip. I’ve already gotten us through Los Angeles during rush hour and made Kennedy promise that if we encounter more traffic, we’ll stop for the night.
