Page 75 of A Box of Wishes
“You made a wish and someone listened,” Ryan said with as much authority as he could muster. “That I’m sure of. What shape the result will take? I really don’t know.”
“Would you recognise Troy? If he walked into your coffeehouse?”
Ryan thought of a pair of piercing green eyes and pitch-black hair softening high cheekbones. He found a smile. “I should. He could dye his hair and wear contacts, of course, but he couldn’t disguise those cheekbones. Not that I think he’d walk into the Top o’ the Morning.”
“Why not?”
“Because it was your wish. Troy would only turn up at my place if you were there.” He threw another glance towards the passenger seat. “Changed your mind over coming with me?”
“No. But I will be home when you get in from work. No funny business. I promise.”
“Okay.” Ryan negotiated roundabouts, turned left into Alastair’s street. He stopped outside the block of flats. “Want me to make you a coffee?”
“That’d be ace.” Alastair tumbled out of the car, clutching the door for support.
Ryan had no idea how much he’d drunk, but he didn’t want to ask. Better not to remind him. He got the door open, Alastair inside, and the coffee started.
“You never needed the box for your gift to work. How had I forgotten that?”
Ryan poured coffee into two mugs and slid the sugar bowl towards Alastair. “I’d forgotten it, too. For four years, it worked the way I’d set it up. Now something’s changed.”
“Changed how?”
“The last few weeks have been… different.” He thought of the couple who’d come into the coffeehouse distraught and had left comforted. Was that when it had started? Or had he missed other instances? “I felt when people needed help, even though the box wasn’t out. I panicked that it wasn’t the time for wishes and almost didn’t try to… Do you remember the old man in the shop? He told us a story. I’d forgotten that itwasjust a story.”
“It had its uses.”
“More than you know. It let me fashion the box into a shield I could hide behind.”
“Sometimes, kiddo, hiding is all we can do while we grow stronger.”
Ryan threw a sharp glance Alastair’s way, but his cousin’s expression was calm.
“Don’t worry about me. I have faith. I’ll wait for your gift to surprise me. After all the trouble I put you to, it’s the least I can do.”
“Okay.” Ryan pushed away from the kitchen counter he’d been leaning against. “I’ll love you and leave you, then. Because there’s something I must do.”
“Talk to Ben.”
“That, too. And phone Cara, will you? She worries.” Ryan swung out of the door and clattered down the stairs. Heat prickled over his neck and down his spine, and he wiped his sweaty palms on his coat before he reached for his phone. “Can I please speak to Detective Sergeant Hobart?” he asked when the call connected. “This is Ryan O’Shaughnessy.”
“One moment, please.”
The line went silent. Ryan had started his car by the time the voice came back.
“DS Hobart isn’t available at the moment. Can I take a message?”
Ryan took a deep breath. Then another one. “Is Inspector Tarbert free?”
Again, the line went silent.
“DI Tarbert,” came the man’s voice a moment later.
“Thank you for taking my call, sir,” Ryan said, before he could change his mind. “Are you still interested in seeing inside the Box of Wishes?”
The unexpected question didn’t seem to surprise Ben’s boss. “We told you what we suspect, Mr. O’Shaughnessy. You’ve been in the firing line three times now. It would be in your best interest if we find out what’s going on.”
“I know. And Ben—DS Hobart—he’s helped me out of more than one tight spot. If you care to come down to the coffeehouse after three this afternoon, I’ll get the box out for you.”
